Competition Thirty-One Highly Commended: Where the Apple Reddens by Chris Cottom

As he hefts another crate into the whitewashed cool of the apple store, Clem asks if I’m yet fifteen, if I like being in service, if I have a bed to myself, whether there’s a rug to save my knees when I say my prayers.

I’d tell him such matters are no business of his, that one day I’ll be a lady’s maid and take no notice of a hobbledehoy garden boy who sleeps in the bothy, talking to his peas. But Clem’s club-footed, been turned down for Flanders, so I say nothing and arrange another row of Bridgwater Pippins on their slatted wooden shelf, ‘as close as kin but not touching’, exactly as he’s shown me.

He says there’s one called ‘Fair Maid of Taunton’, claims it has ‘glossy skin the colour of pale straw’, sometimes ‘a faint red blush’, but I pay no heed to his nonsense, just keep working, apple by apple, row by row.

In the dazzle of noon, Clem upends a couple of empty crates, places them side by side against the wall, bids me sit, says we’re to eat the fruit of our labour, ‘as we’re told in the Psalms’. After lobbing an apple heavenwards, he catches it like a cricketer, shines it on his sleeve for me. ‘Bartletts Glory. Finest in Somersetshire.’

I laugh when he throws another but fluffs the catch. As he hobbles after it, I remember Our Lord’s love for the blind and the lame. Most lasses would want better, yet all that matters is a heart that’s pure. Clem sits down, his shirtfront damp with sweat, the smell of tobacco on his skin, and I feel my face reddening. When he shuffles closer, I don’t move away, just sit there in the sunshine and take my first bite.

Chris Cottom lives near Macclesfield, UK. His work features in 100 Word Story, Fictive Dream, Flash Frontier, Gooseberry Pie, Leon Literary Review, MoonPark Review, NFFD NZ, Oxford Flash Fiction, Oyster River Pages, Roi Fainéant, The Lascaux Review, and other fine places.

@chriscottom.bsky.social

chriscottom.wixsite.com/chriscottom

Photo by Roman Bulatov via vecteezy.com

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