The Secret Collector by Abigail Johnson

Author:Abigail Johnson [Johnson, Abigail]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Friendship, Family & Relationships, Death; Grief; Bereavement, Humorous, General, Coming of Age, Humor
ISBN: 9781035057764
Google: NEcFEQAAQBAJ
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 2025-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

28

The perfect apple pie

‘So,’ Alfred said, flattening the page of the maths book, ‘last question, Dan, and then we’re done. You’ve come on leaps and bounds. George baked one hundred and eighty apple pies. If one tray holds twelve pies, how many trays does he need to hold all the pies?’

‘Why did he bake that many pies?’ Dan said. ‘He’d be sick.’

‘Yeah, bit greedy,’ Kian agreed, puffing out his cheeks to make Dan laugh.

‘I love apple pie – I could eat two hundred! Anyway, I know how to do this one.’ Dan scribbled down the answer and held it up for Alfred to see.

‘That’s right! Perfect. You’re going to fly in this exam, young man. I’m very impressed.’

Dan stood up, beaming, and flung his arms around Alfred, who momentarily recoiled in surprise. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had hugged him.

‘Thanks for helping me,’ Dan said. ‘You’re the best ever.’

Alfred was sure he’d grown two feet taller as he squeezed Dan back. ‘You’re the best ever, too.’

Kian rolled up his sleeves. ‘Yeah, cheers, Al. You’ve been brilliant helping Dan like this. Time for lunch, I reckon. What we making today then?’

‘I thought we could make a risotto and, for afters, how about apple pie?’

‘Just the one, though, yeah?’ Kian said, holding a finger up towards Dan and laughing.

He rolled out the pastry, while the apples Alfred had chopped simmered in a pan with a pinch of cinnamon and a dash of sugar. The smell of Sunday mornings with his family prickled at Alfred’s memories.

‘My Ida used to make one of these pies every week. Risotto needs a stir,’ he said, nodding towards the pan.

‘Do you miss her?’ Kian asked, adding some more stock to the pan of rice.

The obvious answer was yes, only that didn’t go nearly far enough. How could he explain the magnitude of his feelings that were tied up in the small word that was ‘grief’? Alfred took off his glasses and wiped them with a cloth while he thought back to those terrible first few months after Ida died.

‘It’s a bit like breaking a leg. At first the pain is unbearable, and you can’t imagine it ever getting better. You can’t function properly and even the simplest tasks seem impossible. Then slowly, as time goes by, you adapt. You learn to live with it. You might be left with a limp and you never quite walk the same, but you do walk again.’

‘Sounds rough,’ Kian said.

‘I’ll show you how to make the custard.’ Alfred tapped the lid of a tub of Bird’s custard powder.

‘When we’ve finished eating, I’m gonna drop Dan back and then we need to get on. You agreed we’d go to the dealers with all this lot this afternoon, yeah?’ Kian prompted.

Alfred couldn’t put it off for ever, he knew that. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

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