Apple of My Eye

by Claire Allan

  I feel her squeeze my hand. A silent plea for me not to continue with this. I squeeze her hand back, three times, to try and remind her I love her. I have her back. I’m fighting her corner.

  Martin just rolls his eyes. ‘This is ridiculous. All of this is so ridiculous.’

  He runs his hands through his hair. It looks like it hasn’t been washed in a few days so it sits slick against his scalp. I’d always considered my son-in-law to be quite a handsome man, but today? He looks repulsive. In the filth of this living room, I hope that’s how my daughter sees him, too.

  ‘I don’t want to have this conversation,’ Eli says. ‘I just want to go home.’

  ‘Home?’ He jumps on the word, then lifts one of the empty beer bottles from the coffee tables and throws it at the floor. It smashes, scattering its amber shards across the marble tiles. ‘This is your home. Here. With me. With our family. Maybe if you’d put us first, ever, over your mother …’

  I feel anger start to rise. I want to scream at him that he stole her from me. That from the moment they met she’s put him first, but I can’t risk that conversation now. My emotions are too raw. I might say something I’ll regret. I clasp my hand to my mouth and muffle a fake sob. It has the desired effect.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Martin!’ Eli shouts. ‘You’re the one in the wrong here. You’ve been cheating, for the love of God. Yes, I found out our baby’s sex, but I needed to know to start to fall in love with her. You didn’t need to look elsewhere for anything. And you certainly don’t need to bring my relationship with my mother into it.’

  She pulls my hand and we walk past Martin, who’s sat down on the sofa, amid his clutter, and now looks defeated.

  ‘I’m not lying, Eli,’ he shouts, but I know she isn’t listening.

  ‘Just leave me alone, Martin. Just leave us alone. I’m going to grab a few things and then I’ll be gone. I just need you to leave me the hell alone.’

  I’m impressed by her determination, but as we reach the top of the stairs, I hear her let out a sob. She stops for just a few seconds, as if the grief has to come out in a short, sharp burst, before she straightens herself.

  ‘Let’s get this done, Mum. I just want out of here.’

  So I follow her into the bedroom, which is in a similarly unkempt state as the living room. The duvet is crumpled in the middle of the bed. The bed sheets have come away from the mattress. Her scatter cushions are scattered to the four winds. Discarded in piles around the floor are two days of dirty clothes, along with a small mound of damp and smelly towels.

  A couple of empty beer bottles sit on the bedside table on Martin’s side of the bed, along with some abandoned crisp packets, and beside those sits a saucer with two stubbed-out cigarettes ground into it.

  I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

  ‘What do you want me to do, Eli?’ I ask her, but she’s in a world of her own.

  She goes into their walk-in wardrobe and pulls out a mid-size suitcase. I smile inwardly. She means business. She lays it on the floor and starts opening drawers, pulling clothes and underwear from them.

  ‘Shoes,’ she says, walking into the wardrobe and bringing out a pair of boots and a pair of trainers, along with a couple of tunic tops still on hangers.

  She dumps the lot unceremoniously in her case.

  ‘Should you bring something for the baby?’ I ask nervously.

  ‘I’ve ages to go yet.’

  ‘But surely you have a hospital bag or something like that ready? I know you, Eliana. It won’t hurt to bring it, just in case. You don’t know how long you’ll be in Belfast for.’

  She stops then. Stops the hurried throwing of items into her case. Stops the manic way she was moving around the room as if it burned her to be there in the first place. For a second, I fear she’ll decide not to go. She’ll decide to stay here ‘for the sake of the baby’. That the reality of it all has become too much for her.

  ‘Eli?’ I say gently. ‘I know this is scary, but one thing at a time, eh? Remember.’

  Slowly, she turns her head to look at me before pulling herself to standing, wobbling a little as she tries to find a centre of balance she isn’t quite used to yet with her expanding tummy.

  ‘You’re right. I should. I will. I’ll go and get it now from the nursery.’

  Breath rushes from me with relief as she leaves the room.

  I glance around again until I see them twinkling on the chest of drawers. Cufflinks. The platinum ones, both studded with a single diamond, which Eli had given Martin as a present on their wedding day. I’d helped her choose them. She’d been so happy back then. So full of hope, but then I had been, too. I’d been convinced that we were on our way to a happy ending for us all. Not losing a daughter, gaining a son. All that nonsense. I’ve been such a fool. Everything gets taken from me in the end. I lose everything I love. But not this time. Not now. I wasn’t going to allow it to happen.

  Martin doesn’t deserve Eli. He never has. He certainly doesn’t deserve my granddaughter. I pick the cufflinks up and slip them into my pocket, zipping it closed.

  ‘Do you need any help?’ I call to her, but she walks out of the room next to her own, a grey baby-changing bag slung over her shoulder.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she says and I carry the case downstairs.

  Martin’s waiting for us. I see his face crumple when he sees the baby bag. I’m not immune to his emotions. I know this is hard for him. But he brought it on himself.

  ‘I spoke out of turn,’ he says quietly.

  Eli stops, looks at him straight in the face. For a moment I think she’s going be swayed by the picture of misery in front of us. That my beautiful people-pleaser of a daughter will decide to put his emotional needs above her own. I hold my breath until she speaks.

  ‘I have to go, Martin,’ she says. ‘Just let me go.’

  He sags but retreats to the living room, and I lift her case and carry it outside again. I’m expecting her to break down but she’s stoic. Remarkably calm.

  ‘Mum. I’m thinking, I’m going to drive my own car up to Belfast.’

  I don’t like that. Not when she’s so upset. I want to keep her near me.

  ‘Oh, I’m not sure about that, sweetheart. You were very tired earlier and you’ve had an awfully stressful day.’

  ‘I want some freedom if I’m to be in Belfast a while. I want to be able to go out and about,’ she says.

  ‘You can always borrow my car,’ I offer, but she looks determined. I don’t want to argue with her. I have to be the hero of the piece today. So, very reluctantly, I agree. ‘No, you’re right. Take your car. That’s very sensible. Just drive safely, okay? I worry about you. I’ll stay behind you.’

  Maybe if I can see her, I can make sure she’s okay.

  ‘I always drive safely,’ Eli says, fishing in her handbag for her keys and pointing them at her car to unlock it.

  I help her to pack her bags into the boot of her car. Make sure she’s checked her fuel levels.

  ‘And you’re sure you have everything?’ I ask as we stand together on the driveway. I’m reluctant to let her go.

  ‘I’ve enough anyway,’ she says, ‘we’ll cope.’

  She kisses me on the cheek and climbs into the driver’s side of her car. I pause for a moment to watch as she turns the key in the ignition and adjusts her seat belt.

  In my own car, I take a deep breath and try to centre myself. I look up to check my mirrors, only to see what looks like a figure in the distance. In the trees. Is someone there? Or are the shadows playing tricks on my mind?

  I feel cold, clammy. My skin prickles. I feel as if I’m being watched. My chest tightens. I feel as if I can’t breathe.

  I look around me. The shadows dance and I can’t make out where one shape ends and another begins. We’re being watched, I’m sure of it. I can feel eyes on me. I start to feel dizzy. Faint.

  I was stupid to ignore those emails.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Louise

&n
bsp; I saw her. She was back. I was so excited, I almost got caught.

  I got too close.

  It was such a stupid mistake to have made.

  Imagine to have gone all that way to mess it up then …

  I was feeling more and more on edge as each day passed and sometimes, I swore I was starting to lose my mind.

  Starting to hallucinate. Seeing things that weren’t there.

  People who weren’t there.

  Hearing voices. Good and evil.

  One telling me I was in God’s favour:

  Blessed are those that mourn, for they shall be comforted.

  One telling me I didn’t need to fear the Devil, for I was surely doing His work.

  I had to get a grip. If I didn’t get a grip – and quickly – I wouldn’t have been well enough to be a mother. I’d had a loose enough grip on my sanity before, so I knew how easy it would have been to let go of it again.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Angela

  ‘Mum, Jesus, are you okay?’

  Eli’s voice is there, pulling me back into focus. I feel my chest loosen. I breathe in, almost cry with relief as I exhale.

  ‘You’re very pale. And clammy. Mum, let me check you over.’

  Her eyes are filled with such concern and such love for me. With her hand on mine, I feel my breathing return to normal. I feel my heartbeat slow. She takes my pulse, puts her hand to my forehead. Soothes me.

  ‘What happened, Mum?’ she asks.

  ‘I … I thought I saw … something. But I’m sure it was just a shadow from the trees.’

  The last thing I want is for her to go and look, to put herself in any danger.

  She looks past me towards the field to the right of her house. It’s still bright; visibility is good despite the rain. I follow her gaze, but no one appears to be there. The branches of the trees are casting shadows, but that’s all. I’m sure that’s all.

  ‘Maybe I should get Martin,’ she says. ‘Maybe call the police. What if it’s whoever was behind the notes? We could get them, Mum.’

  I shake my head. I don’t want her to call Martin. I don’t want to call the police. I feel silly now. Sure it was just shadows. There’s no way he could’ve traced us here. None. No way he could possibly know.

  Eli chews on her lip. A habit she developed in childhood. ‘I really think we should.’

  ‘Please, Eli, I just want to go home. I’m sure it was just the stress of the last few days. I’ve been worried sick about you. I didn’t sleep the best last night. The more I think of it, the more I’m sure it was just my imagination running away with me.’

  ‘Oh, Mum,’ Eli says, ‘I hate that this is causing you so much stress, too.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, Eli. Let’s just go. I was just being a silly old woman. Get in your car. Let’s go. Let’s just get out of here.’

  ‘I’ll just tell Martin, in case you did see something,’ she says and turns to walk to the house.

  I call her back.

  ‘I don’t want you going in and upsetting yourself again. This has been an ordeal for you as it is. I’ll call him. Just to be safe.’

  She pauses for a moment then nods. ‘Okay. If that’s what you want.’

  ‘I’ll call him now and I’ll be right behind. Go on, get on the road.’

  Reluctantly, she leaves as I lift my phone, and I watch her drive off.

  As soon as she’s out of my sight, I bury it in the bottom of my handbag.

  I won’t be calling Martin Hughes or anyone else.

  *

  My head’s thumping. It’s no wonder after the day I’ve had. Part of me wants to sit on the sofa and lose myself in a large glass of red wine or two. But I can’t. If Eli needs me, I can’t risk being drunk.

  My anger towards Martin is peaking now. How manipulative he’s been – I bet he spent the time between receiving my message telling him to think about staying away to stage the scene of a ‘heartbroken husband who can’t cope without his wife’.

  It’s so pathetic. So clichéd. He’s using every trick in the book to try to get Eli to feel sorry for him – but this afternoon he’d gone too far. He’d openly criticised her relationship with me. My daughter’s as loyal as I am – and she isn’t going to let anyone get away with attacking me.

  Least of all a man who’s been sleeping with her best friend behind her back.

  What a stupid, sorry excuse for a man he is.

  And to think we’d believed in him for so long. Really thought he’d be able to fit into our family dynamic.

  It would’ve been better for everyone if it had just stayed the two of us.

  Men can’t be trusted. I know that. Well, I’m not going to let him manipulate her any further.

  Eli’s in the bath, so I have time to act. I creep upstairs and into my daughter’s bedroom, see her handbag hanging on the end of her bed. Very carefully, I peek in until I can see her phone – a blue light flashing to indicate unread notifications. I lift it out, take it into my bedroom and tap in her passcode.

  Of course, there’s a text message from Martin.

  And of course I read it. I click in, feel the pressure in my head get tighter as I look as his needy words:

  Please. Eli. I need to speak with you. We need to talk. I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier. I’m just so scared of losing you. I don’t know how to prove to you that I’m not a cheat. And Rachel? That’s just madness. I love you and our baby. I know things have been tough between us, but if we’re to fix things, we need to talk at least. Just the two of us, Eli. I know you love your mum but this has to be about us. You can’t just walk away from us. Please call me. You are my person. You will always be my person. All in, remember?

  Angry, I type a response, jab the send button:

  Martin, leave me alone. Just give me peace. I don’t want to fix things any more. Things are broken. They were broken before you cheated.

  I pull the back off Eli’s phone, remove the SIM card and slip it into the bottom of my jewellery box. The phone itself, I put in a shoebox on top of my wardrobe. She’ll never see his message. Never know that I’ve responded.

  Now, I just have to face whatever is in those emails head on. I can’t hide from them any more.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  Eli

  Mum seems to be on edge tonight. I suppose I can’t blame her. It’s been a horrible day all round. I feel guilty for putting her through it. In fact, I feel guilty for everything at the moment. Everything I touch seems to be turning to dirt. I feel as if I’m on a roller coaster that I can’t get off. I don’t know when it’ll end – and the safety harnesses seem to be on the blink.

  The episode earlier, in the car, had scared me. For a moment I wondered, was she going to have a heart attack? She was so pale and clammy. She looked so frightened. I was terrified that I was going to lose her, too, on top of everything else.

  It’s clear the stress is getting to her and how could it not? She’d been downstairs when whoever it was had thrown that rock through my window. She’d seen my face when the text message arrived. She’d tried to keep me calm all way to Derry today for the meeting at the hospice.

  I feel so ashamed. I’d not only let Mrs Doherty down when it mattered the most, but I’d let myself down, and I’d let my mother down. She’s always been so proud of me. How can she be now? Between work and seeing the horror show my marriage is becoming, her rose-tinted glasses must be well and truly shattered.

  I know she says I’m welcome to stay with her for as long as I need to, but I’m sure this wasn’t in her plan. Having her pregnant daughter back under her roof – her marriage crumbling round her ears. Her pregnant daughter who killed someone – regardless of what any internal inquiry has found.

  She’s been tetchy with me ever since I came downstairs after my bath. She seems tense.

  I ask her if everything’s okay and she blinks at me for a second. I half expect her to tell me that of course nothing is okay. Everything is messed up. But she doesn
’t.

  ‘I think I’m probably just tired, too,’ she says, but her eyes don’t quite meet mine.

  She doesn’t seem able to sit still. Keeps getting up to do things. Put a wash on. Brush the floor. Make a cup of tea. Her answer to everything – a cup of tea. When she brings one in to me, I haven’t the heart to tell her I really don’t think I can face it. So I take it and sip from it gingerly while she sits at the other end of the sofa, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

  ‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ I ask. ‘You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? If something was wrong. Do you feel okay after that funny turn earlier?’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Eli, stop fussing. You’ll give me a headache.’

  Her tone is so sharp, I feel completely taken aback. I feel tears prick at my eyes, but I hold them in. I won’t cry. It’s my fault she’s wound up.

  I just finish my tea, make my excuses and go to bed. She doesn’t try to stop me, or ask me to sit with her for just a few more minutes as she normally does. She simply nods, as if she hasn’t quite heard me, then goes back to staring at the fire.

  By the time I reach the top of the stairs, I start to realise just how very tired I am. I’ve barely the energy left to brush my teeth.

  I’m just about to climb into bed, when I remember I need to charge my phone, so I reach for my bag to find it. Martin always teases me about the weight of my handbag, fakes a pulled muscle if I ask him to hand it to me. I don’t think it’s that bad but it’s bad enough that things often get lost amid the detritus.

  I rifle through it. A notebook. My purse. A pocket-sized packet of tissues. Receipts. A half-used box of Rennies. A small hairbrush, pressed powder, two lipsticks. Keys, of course. Some letters from work that I need to file away. An appointment card or two. An empty Polo Mints wrapper. But no phone.

  I’m sure I put it in my bag. I try to go over my actions in my head.

  I had it before the meeting at the hospice. I’d put it on silent just before we got out of the car. I didn’t take it out of my bag while I was inside. I’d brought my bag into my house when I went to pick up my things, but had I taken my phone out then? I can’t remember. It’s possible I’d got an email, but my brain’s increasingly fuzzy and foggy, and I’m not sure even a gun to my head will make me remember with 100 per cent clarity.