It's just an apple

The littlest Carboncopy has been up all night with a cough, so I keep him off school for the day. At lunchtime Carbonlite rings to ask for a lift home from the station. He’s been in Manchester for a business meeting. On the way out of the door, the Carboncopy begins to whine. He’s hungry. My first reaction is to give him a picnic lunch, but then remember the new rule. No food in the car. What’s to be done? An apple. A lovely fresh green organic apple, full of vitamin C. Well it’s fruit not food isn’t it? No calories, you see. The Carboncopy munches on it happily as we drive to the station.

“Which platform for the Manchester train?” I ask the ticket man.
“Platform number two, under the bridge and last on the left,” he replies.
“And do you have a bin?” I enquire, feeling like a model citizen, as I hold up the remains of the apple by the stalk.
“Platform number two, under the bridge and last on the left,” he says, without glancing up from his computer.

I carry the apple, arm outstretched through the ticket office and into the tunnel. It has hardly been touched, but bears a neat circle of nibbles all the way around its circumference. The Carboncopy spots his Dad as we turn the corner under the bridge. He runs to him. I pass them by. They clasp each other tightly, while I hold the apple stalk at arms length. Carbonlite raises his eyebrows in a silent question.
“ I’m looking for a bin. Platform number two, under the bridge and last on the left, apparently” I tell him.
“You’re putting that in a bin? Why? It’s a perfectly good apple.” he exclaims.
“It’s a perfectly munched apple,” I say, pointing to the ring of mini teeth marks. “What do you suggest I do with it? ”
“Eat it.”
“No thanks. Second hand spit. Not my thing.” I head off towards platform two once again but Carbonlite grabs me by the arm.
“Take it home then.”
“What for?”
“To eat. You could….make a crumble.” says Carbonlite.
“A crumble. With half an apple?” I ask, turning around reluctantly and starting to walk back under the bridge behind my husband and son, all the time holding the apple by its stalk.
“Yup, its called Recycling.”
“It’s called a stupid idea.”

I catch up with Carbonlite as he reaches the car.
“I’ll drive,” he says.
Oh no you won’t.” I reply. “You can hold the apple. Here, take it!”
“No, it’s yours.” The other passengers who spilled out of the station with us are now staring as I open the door and thrust a half munched apple into my husband’s lap. He puts it on my chair and starts the engine.
“It’s not my apple!” I cry, then, “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.” I plonk myself down into the seat, once again holding the twig at right angles to my body. “It’s ridiculous and pedantic.”
“It’s a perfectly good piece of food.” Carbonlite replies. “And it’s not me being pedantic. You still don’t get it do you? It’s symptomatic of the way we live and this whole wasteful society. Just because an apple is cheap and easily available, you throw it away.”
“I don’t normally waste them, but I happen to be at a railway station miles from home…and the teethmarks aren’t my own and…it’s just an apple!” I am shouting again.
“Yes it is just an apple and it may seem like a small thing but if everyone in the UK threw away an apple every day of their lives then it’s not a small thing any more. It’s the same as the argument as the lightbulb; if everyone changed to a lower energy lightbulb we could shut down a power station. And in any case, didn’t I ban food in the car?”
I sigh, my thumb and finger aching from holding the stalk..Another argument lost. Our Carboncopy has tired of us and fallen asleep. Carbonlite starts the engine and I am left, like Eve to his Adam, still holding the now discoloured apple. “I am so not going to make you a crumble when we get home.”