Every Love Has Its Own Shape Ann made her way outside and immediately shivered as the biting wind snuck beneath her thin cardigan—she hadn’t bothered with her coat. She stepped out into the garden, just standing there and glancing about, not even noticing the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Annie, why are you crying?”—She jumped when she saw Michael, the neighbour’s boy, a little older with wild hair sticking up at the back of his head. “I’m not crying, it’s just…—” Ann lied. Michael looked at her, then fished three sweets from his pocket and handed them over. “Here, just don’t tell anyone, or they’ll all be after me. Go inside,” he ordered firmly, and she obeyed. “Thanks,” she whispered, “but I’m not hungry… just…” But Michael had already figured it out. He nodded and walked on. In the village, everyone knew Ann’s father, Andrew, drank. He often went to the only shop and asked for credit until payday. Val, the shopkeeper, would scold him but still give in. “How you haven’t been sacked yet, I don’t know—” she’d mutter after him, “—you already owe a fortune,” but Andrew would quickly leave and spend the money on drink. Ann went inside. She’d only just come home from school, she was nine. There was never much food at home, but she didn’t want to tell anyone she was hungry, or else she’d be taken from her father and put in care—and she’d heard terrible things about that. Besides, who would look after dad? He’d fall apart on his own. No, better things stay as they are, even if the fridge was empty. That day, Ann had finished school early—two teachers were off sick. It was late September, a cruel wind hurled yellow leaves from the trees and chased them down the road. This September was especially chilly. Ann had an old jacket and worn boots; if it rained, they’d soak right through. Her dad was sleeping—still in his clothes and shoes—snoring on the sofa. There were two empty bottles on the kitchen table and more under it. She opened the cupboard, but it was bare—not even a bit of bread. Ann wolfed down the sweets Michael had given her, then sat down to do her homework, curling up on the wooden stool, but she couldn’t concentrate—numbers were the last thing on her mind. The wind outside bent the trees, swirling dead leaves everywhere. The garden outside, once lush and green, was now grey and dead. The raspberry canes had dried up, the strawberries gone, only weeds now grew on the old beds, even the apple tree was lifeless. Mum used to care for it all, nurture every sprout. The apples had been sweet, but this August, Dad had picked the lot early and sold them at the market, muttering, “I need the cash.” Ann’s father—Andrew—hadn’t always been like this. He used to be gentle and cheerful; they’d go mushrooming in the woods with Mum, watch movies together, have tea and pancakes in the morning—pancakes Mum made, with apple jam tarts on weekends. But one day, Mum got ill, and they took her to hospital. She never came home. “Something with her heart,” Dad said, and cried, and Ann cried too, cuddling close as he hugged her tightly, “Now your mum will be watching over you from above.” After that, Dad would just sit with her photo, staring into space, and then, in time, he started drinking. Unpleasant men started turning up at the house, talking loudly, laughing coarsely. Ann would retreat into her tiny room, or slip away to sit behind the house, out of sight. She sighed and finished her homework quickly—schoolwork was easy for her. After, she packed her books away into her schoolbag, and lay down on her bed. On her bed was her old rabbit, a soft toy Mum had given her when she was little—her favourite. She’d always called him Timmy. He’d faded from white to grey but she still loved him. Ann squeezed her battered rabbit tight. “Timmy,” she whispered, “do you remember our Mum?” Timmy was silent, but Ann didn’t doubt he remembered, just as she did. Sleepy memories came—blurry but bright. Mum, in her apron, hair tied back, kneading dough in the kitchen. Always baking something. “Come on, love, let’s make magic buns,” Mum would beam. “How are they magic?” Ann would wonder. “They just are, you’ll see!” Mum would laugh. “We’ll shape them like hearts, and when you eat a heart, if you make a wish, it comes true.” Ann would help Mum roll dough into little heart-shaped buns. They’d always come out wobbly, but Mum would only smile gently: “Every love has its own shape.” Ann would wait eagerly for the buns to bake, so she could eat one piping hot and make a wish. The whole house smelled of sweet pastry, and when Dad came home, the three of them would have tea with Mum’s magic buns. Ann wiped away fresh tears from these happy memories. That was then. Now the empty ticking of the clock echoed the emptiness inside her, the loneliness, the ache for Mum. “Mummy,” she breathed, hugging Timmy close, “I miss you so much.” Over the weekend, when there was no school, Ann decided to go for a walk after lunch; Dad was lying comatose on the sofa again. She layered an old jumper under her coat and headed out, towards the woods. Not far off was an old house—Mr. Edwards’ place, though he’d died two years back—but his apple and pear orchard was still there. She’d been before, climbing the fence to gather fallen apples and pears, telling herself: “I’m not really stealing… I just pick up the ones on the ground—no one else wants them.” She only vaguely remembered old Mr. Edwards—a kindly man with white hair and a cane—who used to give apples and pears to the local kids, sometimes even a sweet from his pocket. He was gone, but the orchard still fruited. Ann dropped over the fence and reached for an apple when— “Oi! Who are you?” She jumped, seeing a woman in a coat standing on the porch. In her surprise, Ann dropped the apples. The woman came closer. “Who are you?” she repeated. “I’m Ann… I’m not stealing…just picking up what’s on the ground… I thought…” “I’m Mr. Edwards’ granddaughter. Just arrived yesterday—I live here now. Have you been coming here long?” “Since Mum… since Mum died…,” Ann choked, tears brimming. The woman hugged her gently. “There, there, no more tears now. Come inside, I’m Anna—Anna Silver. When you’re older, they’ll call you Anna too.” Anna Silver quickly realised the girl was hungry, and that life hadn’t been easy for her. They went in. “Take your shoes off, I’ve cleaned up since yesterday, though I’ve barely unpacked. I just made some soup and a little something else. Looks like we’re neighbours now,” she said, eyeing Ann’s skinny frame, old coat, too-short sleeves. “Is your soup… does it have meat?” “With chicken, darling,” Anna replied kindly. “Come, let’s eat.” Ann didn’t hesitate—she was starving. She sat at the table, checkered cloth beneath her elbows, the house warm and cosy. Anna Silver brought over a bowl of soup, with a plate of bread. “Eat as much as you’d like. If you want more, just ask. Don’t be shy, Ann.” And Ann wasn’t. She finished the bowl in minutes, bread and all. “Would you like some more?” Anna asked. “No, thank you, I’m full.” “Then, time for tea!” Anna brought out a low basket under a tea towel, and when she pulled it off, the scent of vanilla filled the room—inside lay heart-shaped buns. Ann picked one up, took a bite, and closed her eyes. “These… these are just like Mum’s,” she whispered. “My mum made magic buns just like these.” After tea, flushed-cheeked and content, Ann sat back, and Anna Silver spoke gently: “So, Ann, tell me about your life—where you live, who with. I’ll walk you home after.” “That’s all right, it’s only a few houses away, no need—” Ann didn’t want Anna to see the mess at theirs. “I insist,” Anna replied. Their house was silent when they arrived; Dad still on the sofa, bottles and rubbish everywhere. Anna looked around, shaking her head. “Now I see…” Then she said briskly, “Come on, let’s tidy up.” She swept the rubbish off the table, put empty bottles in a bin bag, threw open the curtains, shook out the filthy mat. Ann blurted out: “Don’t tell anyone how we live. My dad’s a good man—just lost. If people find out, they’ll take me away, and I don’t want that. He really is good, just misses Mum so much…” Anna hugged her. “I promise, your secret’s safe with me.” Time passed. Ann ran off to school with neat plaits, a new coat, smart boots, backpack over her shoulder. “Annie! My mum says your dad married again—is it true?” her classmate Martha asked. “You look lovely—your hair’s so pretty now!” “It’s true—I have a new mum now, Auntie Anna!” Ann replied proudly, hurrying off to school. Andrew had long stopped drinking, helped by Anna Silver. Now they always walked together—Andrew tall and handsome, smartly dressed; Anna dignified, confident, and kind. They were always smiling—and Ann was adored. Years flew by. Ann was a university student. She returned home for the holidays and burst in through the door: “Mum, I’m home!” Anna rushed to meet her, wrapped her in a hug and laughed, “Oh, my clever girl, welcome home!” And in the evening, Andrew would come back from work, happy and proud. Every love, indeed, has its own shape.

Every Love Has Its Own Shape

Annie stepped outside and instantly shivereda biting wind wormed straight through her flimsy jumper. Shed nipped out into the garden without her coat, and now, arms wrapped around herself, just lingered by the gate, casting half-hearted glances up and down the street, entirely oblivious to the tears sliding down her cheeks.

Oi, Annie, whyre you crying? The voice made her jump. There stood Mikey, the lad from over the fence, a bit older with unruly hair sticking out at the back.

Im not crying, I just Annie fibbed.

Mikey looked her up and down, then silently fished out three boiled sweets from his pocket.

Ere. But dont tell anyone or theyll all be after me now get inside, go on. His tone brooked no argument, so she did as she was told.

Thank you, she whispered. But Im not hungry, really… its just…

Mikey, who clearly understood more than he let on, nodded sagely and marched off. It was well known on their little cul-de-sac in Yorkshire that Annies dad, Andrew, had a taste for drink. Hed often tip down to the corner shopthe only one in the villagebegging Margaret the shopkeeper to let him buy on tick until payday. Margaret huffed and puffed about it but always handed over the goods in the end.

How youre not sacked yet, heaven knows, shed scold as he made a sharp exit, pockets lighter but heart heavier, headed straight for the nearest can of lager.

Annie trudged back inside. She was nine, fresh from primary school. There was barely a slice of bread in the larder, but she wouldnt tell a soul she was hungryotherwise, heaven forbid, the council might cart her off to a childrens home. Shed heard enough horror stories about those places: cold dormitories, uncaring matrons, no one to love you. No, better to stick it out at home. Besides, whod look after Dad if she left? Hed go to bits. The fridge mightve been empty, but shed rather stay put.

That afternoon, school had finished early as Miss Smith had caught a cold. September was drawing to a close, and the wind outside bullied the yellow leaves off the trees, herding them down the lane. Annie was kitted out in a battered old jacket and leaky boots; if it rained, her socks didnt stand a chance.

Dad was sprawled out, fully clothed and boots on, snoring on the settee. On the table were two empty bottles, and another rolling under the chair. Annie rummaged the kitchen cupboardsbare as Old Mother Hubbards. Even the bread bin was empty.

She wolfed down Mikeys sweets for tea and, feeling slightly more human, sat on a rickety stool and opened her maths book. She stared at her sums, but numbers didnt seem to matter this evening. Outside, the wind bent the trees double, sending golden leaves cartwheeling across the lawn.

The garden looked bleakit used to be a cheerful plot, new green shoots everywhere, but now it just lay dormant. The raspberry canes were withered, strawberries long gone, only weeds on the beds. Even the old apple tree, once the pride of the garden, was now little more than a stick. Mum had once fussed over every flower and fruit. The apples, especially, had been deliciousuntil, one August, Dad picked them all early and flogged them off at the Saturday market.

Need the money, hed grumbled.

Andrew, her dad, hadnt always been like this. Once, laughter and music filled the house. He and Mum would go rambling through the woods, theyd watch telly together, drink strong, sweet tea, and gobble crisp golden pancakes Mum fried in butter. There were always apple turnovers cooling on the windowsill.

But then Mum fell ill, whisked off to hospital and never came back.

Mums heart wasnt strong enough, Dad choked out, and for the first time Annie had seen her father cry. He hugged her tightly, promising that her mum would be watching from above now.

Days turned into weeks. Dad sat for hours staring at Mums photo, and then the drinking started. Rough blokes began coming around, guffawing loudly in the kitchen. Annie hid away in her poky bedroom, or sometimes sneaked outside to the bench by the back fence.

With a sigh, Annie went back to her homework. She was a bright girl; schoolwork usually came easy. As soon as her sums were done, she packed her books away and stretched out on her bed.

Her most precious possessionan ancient stuffed rabbit called Buttontook pride of place on her pillow. Mum had bought him in a far-off, happier time. Button, once pristine white, was now a grim shade of grey, but Annie loved him dearly. She cuddled the poor, battered bunny.

Button, she whispered, do you remember Mum too?

Button said nothing. Still, Annie was sure he did. She shut her eyes andalmost instantlymemories flooded in. Mum, hair pinned up, bustling in the kitchen, always baking something.

Love, lets make magic buns, shall we? Mum would say.

Hows a bun magic, Mum? Annie would laugh.

Oh, all heart-shaped buns are magic, shed wink. Eat one, make a wish, and if you believe, it might just come true.

Annie would clumsily roll the dough into hearts, never quite the same shape, but Mum would smile, Every loves got its own shape, darling.

Those days, the house was full of the smell of baking, and when Dad came home, the three of them drank tea and munched magic buns together.

Now, though, only the kitchen clock ticked. The house felt hollow. Annies eyes filled again, her heart aching for Mum.

Mummy, she breathed into the fur of her old rabbit, I miss you so much.

Come the weekend, there was no school, so after lunch (her dad snoozing, as ever), Annie pulled an old woolly jumper under her jacket and went for a wander. She decided to head towards the woods, where an old house stoodonce home to grumpy-but-kind Mr. George. Hed passed away a couple of years back, but his garden still boasted ancient apple trees and overgrown pear bushes.

Shed been there before, hopping the fence to gather windfall fruit lying in the grass.

Im not stealing, she told herself. Theyd only rot otherwise.

She barely remembered Old Georgejust that hed been white-haired, leaning on a stick, always quick with a pear for any child who wandered by. Now the garden ran wild with no one to care for it.

Annie scrambled over the fence and began collecting apples, giving one a good rub on her coat. Shed barely taken a bite when a voice startled her again.

Oi! Whos that?

She dropped the apples in fright, spinning round to see a woman in a smart coat watching her from the porch.

SorryreallyIm not stealing, Annie stammered, just picking ones off the ground. I thought it was empty… it always was before.

Im Georges granddaughter. Arrived yesterdayplanning to live here now. How long have you been coming round here for fruit?

Annie gulped, Since… Mum died. Her voice wobbled and the tears returned.

The woman knelt and gave her a gentle hug.

There, there, love. Come inside a bit, will you? My names Anna Spencerjust like yours! When you grow up, folks will call you Anna too.

Anna Spencer could see well enough that the girl needed a good meal and kindness. She led Annie into the house.

Kick your boots off; I spent all day yesterday cleaningstill got a few boxes to unpack. Ill make you something to eat. I made a nice chicken soup this morning. Looks like were neighbours, eh? She studied Annies skinny frame and bobbly old coat, clearly far too small for her.

Does your soup… does it have meat in it? Annie asked, sheepish.

Of course, chicken and all sorts! Anna said, ushering her in. Come on, sit at the table, theres plenty.

Annie didnt have time for embarrassmenthunger won out. Her stomach was protesting, having had nothing but a few sweets all day. She took her place at the table, cheeks warm in the snug kitchen, chequered cloth spread out before her. Anna brought out a steaming bowl of soup and a chunky slice of bread.

Eat as much as you like, Annie-girl. Theres more in the pot, no need to be shy.

She didnt need any more encouragement. Soon the bowl was empty, along with the bread.

More? Anna asked.

No thank you. Im full, Annie said, clutching her tummy.

Well then, time for a nice cup of tea, Anna declared, setting a low basket on the table. She whipped off the tea towel to reveal a batch of heart-shaped buns, their rich vanilla aroma filling the kitchen. Annie took one, closed her eyes as she bit into it.

These taste just like Mum used to make, she whispered.

With tea and buns finished, Annie relaxed, cheeks glowing. Anna sat down beside her.

Sotell me your story, love. Where do you live, who with? Ill take you home afterwards.

I can manage! Its only four houses down. Dont trouble yourself! Annie protestedshe simply didnt want Anna to see the mess at home.

But Anna was firm, No arguments.

Annies house greeted them with an uncomfortable silence. Dad was still out for the count, boots and all, on the sofa. Empty bottles, fag ends, and odd socks littered the place.

Anna looked round and sighed.

I see… Right, lets have a tidy-up, shall we?

Without waiting for a reply, Anna swept the table clean, bagged up the bottles, pulled back the curtains, and shook out the filthy rug. Annie whispered, anxious:

Please, dont tell anyone. Dads not bad, just… lost, I suppose. He misses Mum. If people knew… theyd take me away, and I dont want that. Hes a good dad, really, just muddled.

Anna kneeled and hugged her, My lips are sealed, love. Promise.

Time did its bit. Soon Annie was bounding off to school sporting plaits, a smart new coat, rucksack slung over her back, shiny boots kicking up autumn leaves.

Hey Annie, my mum says your dads remarriedis that true? piped up Molly, a classmate. And you look so pretty now, posh hair too!

Annie beamed, Truenow Ive a new mumAuntie Anna! and dashed off.

Andrew had stopped drinking, with Annas help. Now the pair of them walked out together most afternoons: Andrew, tall and tidy, looking happier with his lot, arm-in-arm with Annasmart, confident, always with a kind word. They adored Annie to bits.

The years sped by. Annie became a student at university, and every term a familiar shout would ring out as she burst through the door.

Mum, Im home!

And Anna would come rushing in for a cuddleThere she is, my clever girl!while laughter echoed around the kitchen. By twilight, Andrew would arrive home from work, still content and smiling.

Every love truly does have its own shape.