Candy GIRLS

June and her granddaughter were very different – weren't they?

- Barbara Compton

Would you like a sweet, Ella?’ My granddaughter studies the white paper bag I’m holding full of sugar-dusted pineapple cubes. Mouthwatering and tangy.

After a few seconds’ thought, she says, ‘No, ta, Nana June.’

Ella and I share a sweet tooth, but we don’t like the same sweets. Bright-coloured gummies in an assortment of shapes and sizes are her favourite. Not that she’s offered me one for years because she knows I will refuse. They all taste the same to me. I prefer the real deal. Something weighed out from a jar – something with charm, crafted with love.

We are all different. Ella is a girl who knows her mind. She’s 16 now. Everything has to be her way. Modern, clean and tidy. Anything old-fashioned is anathema to her. Her clothes are fast fashion. It’s expensive to keep on trend, so a few months ago, she decided to find a Saturday job at one of the stores in the shopping centre. I keep forgetting to ask her where. I bet it will be in one of the trendy boutiques she holds in such esteem.

I buy my sweets from a tiny shop, Gloria’s Candy. Tucked away on a side street behind the station, where it’s been for years. The outside paint used to be red. Now, it is peeling off. A rainbow of past colours covers the walls.