and the subsequent perseverance were the thing. She discovered her apple and then found it to have some excellent and unique properties.’ Mrs Millwood was now talking really quite loudly, and quickly, as if competing with both background noise and other demands on her attention. Mr Doubler smiled at the image of the patient dismissing doctors and nurses with a wave of her hand. ‘Her apple could be stored for a very long time, you see, which made it suitable for shipping around the world or for keeping through the winter.’
‘That is interesting. But being a perishable good can be a blessing, too, Mrs M. One of the more interesting things about the potato, Mrs M, is that it doesn’t travel well. It doesn’t last! And why is that good, do you suppose?’
Mrs Millwood sighed loudly for dramatic effect. ‘I have absolutely no idea, but I suspect you’re about to tell me.’
‘It means the potato can’t be traded as an international commodity! Meat you can freeze and trade, other grains like rice will keep for ever, but the potato likes to be in the ground or in your stomach and it doesn’t hang around in between.’
‘And that’s a good thing because . . . ?’
‘That’s a good thing because as soon as a commodity is traded on the international market, it becomes a political pawn. Prices go artificially high; growers are squeezed out; quotas are imposed; sanctions are declared. It’s not possible with the potato, so we all just get on with it and each country grows their own. It means that in times of hardship and economic turmoil, the potato remains affordable. You can trust a potato.’
‘And you’re saying you can’t trust a Granny Smith?’
‘No. I’m just saying that longevity isn’t always a bonus.’
‘If you’re an apple, it’s a bonus. A couple of world wars were fought and won with the help of the Granny Smith, I don’t doubt. Imagine – no fruit, no veg for weeks on end and then somebody allows you to sink your teeth into a sweet, crisp, juicy Granny Smith apple as fresh as the day it was picked. You’d think your ship had come in.’
‘A persuasive argument, I’ll grant you that, but it still sounds a bit like luck rather than judgement.’
‘Luck? You call that luck? A woman sets sail for the other end of the planet, plants an orchard by hand, has the presence of mind to observe the cross-cultivation of a common old crab apple and a domestic apple, and then nurtures it to establish a new variety. You call that luck?’ Mrs Millwood turned from the phone to cough weakly, the first sign that she was in any way diminished by her hospital stay. Her coughing sounded distant and muffled, and there were other sounds, too – the noises, perhaps, of Mrs Millwood pouring herself a glass of water. Doubler listened, finding pleasure in the intimacy of the moment. When she returned to the phone, her voice was restored to its usual vigour.
‘She was both a scientist and a pioneer. You know, you can’t breed the Granny Smith apple today? If you try to, it reverts back to its components, a sour old crab apple or an undistinguished domestic apple. If you want a Granny Smith, you have to go right back to the original rootstock. Every single Granny Smith consumed today comes from that one chance seedling.’
‘Well, goodness, I suppose that was an achievement, wasn’t it? I wonder how many Granny Smiths are consumed these days?’
‘A huge number. More, perhaps, than the Maris Piper, do you think?’
‘Well, it would be a close-run battle, I suppose. Goodness, between them, my Mr Clarke and your Mrs Smith certainly knew how to leave a legacy.’
‘My point is, Mr Doubler, I’d like you to be a bit more respectful of her, and her apple.’
‘More respectful?’
‘Yes. I mean, the way you talk about your Mr Clarke, you’d think he was the only unsung hero in the world. Think about the obstacles Mrs Smith faced! She was a woman travelling to foreign shores in the 1800s! And Mr Clarke might not have had much of an education, but that’s only interesting to you because you assume all men should get an education. A woman in the 1800s couldn’t assume to get any education whatsoever, quite frankly. All they were supposed to do was look pretty and breed.’ Mrs Millwood paused briefly to breathe, before rushing on. ‘And it seems that my Mrs Smith was good at breeding children and
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