Dont worry, Mum said, sliding into the car and waving at me. She and Dad drove off for a holiday, leaving me for a whole month at Uncle Toms sister, Aunt Margaret, in a tiny hamlet out in the Cotswolds.
The hamlet looked more like a scattered farmstead than a village. Once it had been a proper English village, but now only a handful of halfruined cottages remained. Granddad and Grandma Joan also headed off on a break, while the other granny was sent to a spa in Bath.
I was thirteen, so I could have stayed home alone, but Mum insisted I needed a break too. Thanks, Mum, for such a wonderful vacation. I was glad Id taken a few books with me: *The FifteenYearOld Captain*, *Dandelion Wine*, and *The Count of Monte Cristo*. I loved reading, often devouring whole chapters in one sitting, much to my parents chagrinthey feared Id go blind. Books were my friends; they opened magical, astonishing worlds.
So I decided Id spend the whole summer lounging with a bookquite a decent way to relax. Aunt Margaret was a kind old lady who never piled work on me, but my older brother, whod gone off to the seaside with his mates, had taught us that a bit of effort was respectable. I often found myself practically begging Aunt Margaret for a chore, just to feel useful. Imagine a modern teen sent to a rural retreat, pleading for work while clutching novels It sounds absurd now, but the world has changed
That day I begged Aunt Margaret to let me pull some grass for the rabbits. I trudged to the far edge of the garden and started yanking at the weeds. A thin, highpitched voice began humming a strange, aching little tune, and I stopped to listen.
Step by step, step by step, the voice sang, wider stride, not a rush I leaned closer, trying to catch the melody, remembering the tune. I slipped over the flimsy fence that separated our plot from the neighbours and tumbled into the next garden.
Oops! a girl about my age shouted, lying on the grass with a book in her hands. Were you spying on me?
No, just I got too close and fell, I stammered.
She bit into an apple, juice splattering everywhere, and kept munching the green fruit without a second thought.
Its green, I said.
So what?
And sour, I added.
Fine, she shrugged. If you wait, itll ripen and taste sweet.
What if I never have the time? I asked.
Ah, she sighed, I dont have the luxury of waiting. I grow fast. She paused, then continued, Seven years ago I was six, now Im thirteentime flies, doesnt it?
Same for me, I said. I was six too, and now Im thirteen.
You feel it? she asked.
The rush of time? I guessed. I cant wait for the apples to mature.
The apples, right! Im Tessa, and you are?
Will, I replied. Friends call me Will, but my full name is William Carter.
Nice, Ill call you Will then, she said, smiling. Friends call me Tessa, too.
Summer stopped being boring after that. Tessa and I roamed every crumbling shed, abandoned water tower, and overgrown field we could find. I brought my dog, Scout, so Aunt Margaret felt at ease while the three of us explored. The derelict water pump became our ship, and the roofs of vacant houses turned into treasure hunts. It was a summer like no other.
We promised to meet again the next year, but things went awry. I didnt return to Aunt Margarets place straight away; I came back in autumn to help dig potatoes with Grandma and Grandpa. One evening, while sorting through the old garden shed, I asked, Did Tessa ever come back?
She did, Aunt Margaret said, blushing, but
I ran to our makeshift ship, where an old notebook served as a log. Tessas scribbled verses were clumsy and funny, yet they meant the world to me.
Hello, they read,
Ill come each day at four,
Just as before,
Waiting here,
You may be in your flat,
Forgotten the nightfires glow,
Farewell, my friend,
Youll never see
My true, sincere smile
Those verses struck me profoundly. I asked Aunt Margaret if she knew Tessas address, but she only remembered her maiden nameHarper. I even wrote my own address and phone number in the log, hoping Tessa would find it. I scoured every Harper in the county, from Harpers in Yorkshire to Harpers in Devon, but none matched.
Years slipped by. One cold, damp autumn I drove to my friend Georges house in Manchester to exchange a floppy diskback when we swapped games on those. My sneaker was caked in mud and the bus was late, but then I saw a bus pulling up and thought, Ill hop on any bus to get home. As I bent to pull the mud from my shoe, the bus doors opened and I caught a glimpse of a girl at the window.
It was Tessa. I lunged after the bus, but it sped away, her face pressed against the glass. I felt a pang I hadnt felt since childhood.
Later, while convalescing from a bout of flu, I overheard my grandmother on the phone, cursing the old landline that lacked caller ID. Whos calling? she asked.
Some girl, asking for Will, the voice replied.
I whispered, Will, and felt a strange mix of hope and dread.
When I finally recovered, I took a job despite my parents protests, saved up, and bought a new phone with caller ID. Yet Tessa never called again.
Months later, I was pushing a pram with my twomonthold nephew when a small group of girls passed by. One lingered, staring at me, but by the time I turned around, she was gone.
I met a new woman who reminded me of Tessa, and my pragmatic friend Tom said, Will, its time to stop living in a fantasy. You had a childhood crush; youve grown up. Maybe shes married with kids, maybe she never even remembered you. Let it go and start living.
My friends were settling down, parents asking when Id do the same, while I kept chasing that fleeting memory of green apples and hurried time.
Eventually, I proposed to my longtime girlfriend, Emma. She burst into tears of joy, my parents sighed with relief, but I felt a hollow ache, as if something had been left behind.
One night, driven by an impulse I could no longer ignore, I drove back to Aunt Margarets hamlet. I wasnt sure what I wantedperhaps to say goodbye to my childhood dreams. I sprinted up the creaking porch, boards rotting in places, and there she was, perched on the highest step.
Captain, have you abandoned ship? she asked, halfteasing, halfserious. Good thing you have a first mate, or the vessel would have been lost forever.
Tessa, I said, reaching for her, but she turned away, tears in her eyes. I told you I have little time! My days rush by. Yesterday I was thirteen; today Im twentyseven. I have to eat the green apples now, before they turn sour.
Life had taken us both far from that summer, but the lesson lingered. Years later, sitting with Emma in our cosy garden, I watched our grandchildren chase each other around the orchard.
Will, Emma said, biting into a ripe apple, time flies, doesnt it? Yesterday I was six, and now our little one is six, too. Before you know it, therell be greatgrandchildren running about.
I laughed, Youve installed the new motor on the old boat, havent you?
Yes, she replied, smiling. All set, Captain.
We embraced, feeling the steady rhythm of a life lived fullycherishing the past, embracing the present, and not letting fleeting fantasies steal the moments we truly have. The true treasure, Ive learned, isnt a green apple waiting to ripen, but the love and memories we nurture while we have the chance.
