Apple of My Eye

by Patrick Redmond

  ‘Did you see yesterday’s paper?’ she continued. ‘I don’t think they needed to include so much detail about his drinking. It’s not very pleasant for Susie and her mother, is it?’

  Anna shook her head.

  ‘Did you know he drank? I didn’t but my friend Moira Brent’s husband Bill said he was always in the Crown. Part of the furniture, were Bill’s words, though …’

  ‘Don’t you have anything better to do than gossip?’

  The tone was glacial. Mary was taken aback. ‘I only meant …’

  ‘He’s dead. It was a tragic accident like the coroner said, and you’re not helping Susie and her mother by raking over it.’

  ‘But I’m not. I was just …’

  ‘I have things to do. Goodbye.’

  Anna turned and walked away. Hurt and bewildered, Mary watched her go.

  *

  Thursday morning. While the rest of the English class debated the pros and cons of Dr Faustus selling his soul, Susan watched raindrops hit the window by her desk.

  The classroom was full of noise, just as her house had been in recent days. An endless stream of people had come to offer support and wallow in the drama, just as they had when her father had died. A colleague of Uncle Andrew’s had brought details of the will. Everything had been left to her mother. ‘A very tidy sum,’ they had been told. ‘I know it doesn’t make the loss any easier but at least you won’t have to worry about money.’ For all she cared he could have left them destitute, but for the sake of her mother’s peace of mind she was glad.

  Uncle George visited each evening, eager to help them bear their grief and, perhaps, share the pain of his own. His move to Australia had been cancelled. ‘Something like this makes you realize how important it is to be close to people you care about,’ he had told Susan. ‘And who Jennifer cares about.’

  Raindrops continued to slide down the glass like racing pearls. She traced the path of one with her finger and noticed Miss Troughton watching her. Instead of a lecture on the perils of inattention she received a sympathetic smile. Everyone was being kind to her, although, as when her father had died, she would occasionally catch other girls looking at her warily, as if her loss were an infection that could spread as easily as flu.

  The bell rang for mid-morning break. As the classroom emptied Charlotte came and sat beside her. ‘I didn’t think you’d come in this week.’

  ‘Mum insisted. She didn’t want me to miss any more school.’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘All right. She’s still got me and I know how to look after her.’

  ‘And how are you?’

  ‘Tired of people asking me that.’

  Charlotte looked apologetic. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s natural to ask. But since it happened it’s the only thing people talk to me about, and it would be nice, just for a bit, to talk about something else.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like you. What’s been happening in your life?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Charlotte told her. Then began to blush.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I’ve … er … made a new friend.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Colin Peters.’ The blush deepened. ‘He goes to Lizzie Flynn’s school but he’s leaving at the end of term to become a mechanic.’

  Susan remembered the debacle with Alan Forrester and felt protective. ‘Do you like him as much as you liked Alan?’

  ‘Much more! He’s nothing like Alan. This is real.’ Charlotte’s tone became conspiratorial. ‘He’s a fantastic kisser.’

  Susan burst out laughing. ‘Charlotte Harris!’

  ‘He keeps giving me love bites! I have to wear my collar up all the time so Mum and Dad can’t see them!’

  By now they were both laughing. Laughing and sharing secrets, just as they had when they were Jennifer’s age. Before her mother’s illness and her father’s death had changed her world completely.

  But she could change it back, and herself too. Back into the Susie Sparkle who knew that life was to be enjoyed, not endured. Now Uncle Andrew was gone she had everything she needed to be happy. Her mother. Jennifer. Charlotte.

  And Ronnie. Ronnie most of all.

  ‘Are you sure you want to know this?’ Charlotte asked her. ‘I mean …’

  ‘Of course! I’m your best friend, aren’t I? I want to know everything …’

  Twenty to four. Alice Wetherby climbed into her mother’s car. The school lane was full of them, all driven by parents who didn’t want their little angels to catch cold.

  Her mother lit a cigarette and gazed up at the sky. ‘I hope Edward will be all right.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t he be? You know how much he loves his stupid rugby practice.’

  ‘It’s not stupid. He’s their top scorer.’

  ‘Only because the rest of the team are so useless they might as well be in wheelchairs.’ Alice brushed away smoke with her hand. ‘And can you blow that somewhere else?’

  ‘There’s no need to be rude. I didn’t have to come out and fetch you.’

  ‘And I didn’t ask you to either.’

  Her mother frowned. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Nothing. Everything’s fine.’

  Or it would be if she could only stop thinking about Ronnie.

  She didn’t want to think about him. He was just a boy and boys were only fit to be laughed at. Not longed for, day after day, so badly that it hurt more than any pain she had ever known.

  Her mother steered the car down the path, muttering at people who were slow to move out of her way. Alice brushed more smoke away from her face and saw Ronnie walking with Susan Ramsey, the two of them sheltering under a huge umbrella.

  As the car passed them she turned to look back. Ronnie, who was carrying the umbrella, was listening to something Susan was telling him. His face was full of concern, and something else that made it shine and made him more beautiful than anyone she had ever seen.

  Love.

  Poor Susan had lost her stepfather. Their teacher had made a speech the previous day reminding them of how kind they must be to poor Susan. After all, it wasn’t the first time poor Susan had suffered a bereavement. Poor Susan was to be pitied. And people did pity her. Even Kate Christie, who had always hated her, had said that it was sad.

  But Alice didn’t feel pity. Not for someone she couldn’t outshine or outwit. Not for someone she couldn’t dominate or intimidate. Not for someone who had never hidden the fact that they utterly despised her.

  Did Ronnie despise her too? Had Susan taught him to do that?

  Or had he done so all along?

  The pain became unbearable. She wanted to lash out. To wound and scar.

  Her mother continued to talk. She sat in silence, breathing in cigarette smoke and choking down the dark emotions that churned inside her. They were going to be sorry. Both of them. How, she didn’t know. Not yet.

  But she would find a way.

  Saturday morning. Two weeks later. Susan stood in her bedroom with her mother, looking at the doll’s house Uncle Andrew had given her after her father died.

  ‘It’s not as if I ever play with it,’ she said.

  ‘Jennifer might, though.’

  ‘She’s got her own toys, Mum, including a doll’s house that’s even bigger than this.’

  ‘You should still keep it. It’s valuable. Anyway, your children might like playing with it someday.’

  ‘Not if they’re anything like me. They’ll be too busy building dens and climbing trees. I’ll take it to the thrift shop this morning. Charlotte’s mother helps out there and she says there’s a girl in Holt Street who’d love to have it.’

  ‘Well, it’s a very generous thing to do.’

  She nodded, knowing that generosity had nothing to do with it. She had always hated the doll’s house. It reminded her of him, and now he was gone she wanted it gone too.

  ‘It’s heavy,’ her mother pointe
d out. ‘Can you carry it on your own?’

  ‘Ronnie’s going to come and help.’

  Her mother smiled. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’

  ‘You do like him, don’t you, Mum?’

  ‘Yes. He’s funny, just like your father was. But much better looking. The best-looking boy in town, I’d say, so it’s only right he’d like the best-looking girl.’

  She felt self-conscious. ‘Mum!’

  ‘It’s true. You’re a beautiful girl, Susie. And you’re strong. Unlike me you’ll never be frightened of being alone.’

  ‘You’re not alone. You’ve still got me and you always will have. I’ll look after you, Mum. You don’t ever have to be frightened as long as I’m alive.’

  Her mother stroked her hair. ‘You make me proud, Susie. Proud of the person you’ve grown into.’ The smile returned. ‘And I know your father would be proud of you too.’

  They hugged each other. The conch shell her father had bought her lay on the window sill. Unlike the doll’s house it wasn’t worth a penny. But it held memories of its own and she wouldn’t have parted with it for all the money in the world.

  That afternoon she sat in Cobhams Milk Bar with Ronnie and Charlotte.

  Others were there too. Lizzie Flynn. Arthur Hammond, her old friend from primary school, who was home from his Yorkshire boarding school for a long weekend. And Colin Peters, the budding mechanic who had given Charlotte her first love bite.

  It was a lively gathering. As they drank coffee or milk shakes, Ronnie entertained them with descriptions of some of his neighbours in Hepton. A couple called the Browns sounded particularly grim. ‘She was the biggest snob you’ve ever met and he was the biggest lecher and convinced he was irresistible. If Marilyn Monroe moved into our street he’d think she’d done it just to be close to him.’

  Everyone laughed. ‘Not much chance of that happening,’ Lizzie pointed out.

  ‘But that doesn’t stop him trying. He keeps writing to her in Hollywood, sending her maps of East London and photographs of himself in his vest and underpants signed, “Come and get me, baby”.’

  More laughter. Susan watched Colin wipe coffee from his lip. He was heavy set with a nondescript face and little to say that did not involve motorcycles. But he also had a nice smile, a friendly manner and clearly adored Charlotte, and that was enough to make her like him immensely.

  Ronnie continued to tell anecdotes, provoking more mirth in his audience. As he spoke he caught her eye and gave her a quick wink. She winked back.

  ‘How’s school?’ she asked Arthur.

  ‘As wonderful as ever.’ Arthur rolled his eyes. He was small, blond and delicate and looked like a flimsier version of Ronnie. ‘Henry’s head of house now but says he’ll stand down if we don’t win the inter-house rugby championship.’

  ‘That’s tempting fate,’ observed Lizzie.

  ‘I know. The whole team are planning to go lame on the big day just to make sure.’

  Yet more laughter. ‘Have you met Arthur’s brother Henry?’ Charlotte asked Ronnie.

  ‘Ronnie hasn’t had that pleasure,’ Susan told her.

  ‘And it is a pleasure,’ added Arthur. ‘Believe me.’

  ‘He’s a complete idiot,’ elaborated Lizzie. ‘You can tell that from the fact he’s friends with Edward Wetherby. No one but a moron would want to be friends with him.’ She turned to Charlotte. ‘Do you remember that party we went to at their house when we were about six and he threw your glasses in the river?’

  Charlotte giggled. ‘And then Susie punched him in the face and made him cry.’

  Colin put his arm around her. ‘If he ever does anything like that again I’ll be the one that makes him cry.’ He gave Susan a grin. ‘But thanks for stepping in for me.’

  Arthur went to put an Eddie Cochrane record on the jukebox. Susan noticed Uncle George standing by the door, looking self-conscious in such a predominantly teenage environment and holding a beaming, balloon-clutching Jennifer by the hand.

  ‘She saw you through the window,’ he explained, ‘and wanted to come and say hello.’

  ‘Can I stay with Susie?’ Jennifer asked her father.

  ‘If she doesn’t mind.’

  Susan patted a space between Ronnie and herself. Uncle George kissed Jennifer on the cheek. ‘Be a good girl for Susie, darling.’

  Jennifer nodded. She was wearing a blue dress that matched her balloon and looked very pretty. ‘Have you been to a party?’ asked Charlotte.

  Jennifer nodded. ‘We played games and sang lots of songs.’

  ‘But you’re not going to sing now,’ Susan told her.

  Ronnie made his hand into a gun and pointed it at the balloon. ‘Or old Bluey gets it.’ Jennifer giggled. Lizzie offered her some milk shake. ‘Don’t give her too much,’ said Susan anxiously.

  ‘Or what? Going to throw me in a cow pat like you did Alice Wetherby?’ Lizzie grinned at Ronnie. ‘Did you know your girlfriend was a thug?’

  ‘Yes. But she’s not my girlfriend. She’s my soulmate.’

  Susan, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and extreme pleasure, sipped her coffee and tried to act nonchalant.

  ‘You’ve gone red,’ Jennifer told her.

  ‘Just drink your shake and be quiet.’

  ‘What’s a soulmate?’

  ‘A soulmate,’ answered Ronnie, ‘is the most special person in your life. So special that you can sit with them for hours and they’ll never ever want to sing.’

  Everyone laughed. Lizzie and Charlotte asked Jennifer what songs she was learning and discovered they knew them too. They began to sing, deliberately mixing up the words while Jennifer earnestly corrected them. Susan felt Ronnie’s hand stroke the back of her neck and realized that for the first time in years she was completely and utterly happy.

  They smiled at each other while the others continued to make a mess of songs and suffered Jennifer’s correction.

  Half an hour later she walked through Market Court with Ronnie, each holding one of Jennifer’s hands and swinging her through the air to shrieks of delight. It was growing dark and housewives rushed by them, all eager to finish their shopping and return home, while a group of boys collected money for a Guy Fawkes celebration that was taking place the following evening.

  Someone called her name. Turning, she saw Paul Benson coming towards her. Taken by surprise, she stood waiting.

  ‘How are you, Susie?’ he asked.

  ‘All the worse for seeing you, I expect,’ said Ronnie.

  ‘I wasn’t asking you,’ Paul told him.

  ‘But I’m telling you anyway. Get lost. She has nothing to say to you.’

  ‘I’ve got something to say to her.’

  ‘What? More names to call? Shouldn’t you wait until there’s a bigger audience?’

  Paul shuffled from foot to foot, looking deeply uncomfortable. ‘So what do you want to say?’ Susan asked him.

  ‘That I’m sorry about your stepfather. I really am.’

  She nodded. Jennifer tugged impatiently at her hand. ‘Susie, I’m getting cold.’

  ‘Isn’t there something else you should be sorry for?’ Ronnie asked Paul.

  Paul continued to shuffle.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Leave it, Ronnie,’ Susan told him.

  ‘I’m sorry for how I treated you,’ said Paul suddenly. ‘It was wrong and it was cruel.’ He swallowed. ‘And for what it’s worth I’m ashamed.’

  She stared at him, waiting for the sense of triumph. Remembering how she would once have given anything to have him apologize and then throw the words back in his face. But that had been before meeting Ronnie.

  And now the words were spoken she felt nothing except an unexpected sense of pity.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s ancient history.’ A pause. ‘How are things with your father?’

  Relief swept over his face. ‘Better.’ He smiled. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ she told him.

  Jennifer was
still pulling at her hand. This time she allowed herself to be led.

  *

  After seeing Jennifer home she walked back across Queen Anne Square with Ronnie.

  ‘Can’t you stay out a bit longer?’ he asked.

  ‘Not tonight. I need to be with Mum. You understand, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Did you really mean what you said about me in Cobhams?’

  He nodded. ‘Every word.’

  ‘More fool you, then.’

  He smiled, his eyes twinkling in the dusk light. ‘Sad, isn’t it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Having a tart for a soulmate.’

  ‘Not as sad as having one who’s a bastard.’ She stroked his cheek. ‘And a common one at that.’

  They kissed each other. ‘I knew it the moment I saw you,’ he said. ‘That we belonged to each other. That we were meant to be together.’

  ‘I didn’t. Not then. I wish I had.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. You know it now.’

  She caressed his lips with her tongue. An elderly couple walked past, muttering about the youth of today. ‘Imagine if they knew,’ she said.

  ‘No one will ever know.’

  ‘I don’t feel ashamed. I keep expecting to but it never happens.’

  ‘It never will. We did what had to be done. That’s all you need to feel.’

  Again they kissed. Slow and tender. ‘I have to go,’ she whispered. ‘Mum’s waiting.’

  His arms tightened around her. ‘But I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course. We could go to the firework party. The others are going.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Didn’t you like them?’

  ‘Yes. But I want tomorrow night to be special. I want it to be just about us.’

  She smiled. ‘Then it will be. But now I must go.’

  His hold remained firm. ‘In a minute.’

  They continued to kiss, there in the dwindling light, while the elderly couple shook their heads, clucked their tongues and predicted the imminent decline of Western civilization.

  The following evening Charles ate dinner with Anna, Ronnie and Susan.

  A Guy Fawkes celebration was taking place across the river. Fireworks filled the sky with noise and light to an accompaniment of cheers from the crowd gathered beneath.