Apple of My Eye

by Claire Allan

  My mother’s eyes narrow. I see her lips tighten. Her expression changes just enough that I can see she’s getting angry.

  ‘God, can you stop going on about that blasted mobile phone? How did the world survive without mobile phones? We don’t all need to be able to check up on each other every hour of the day, you know. Keeping tabs, tracing people, people too afraid of their lives to be without one of those devices. All this modern technology! It just allows people to stalk each other, if you ask me.’

  I sigh. ‘Look, I’ll just go and phone Kate and see what she wanted, then we can eat our tea and get on with our evening.’

  ‘If you must, but I’m telling you now, Eli. I don’t think I like that girl. I don’t think I want her near this house.’

  My head hurts. It was my mother who, just days ago, invited Kate here. Insisted that I talk to her, and now she wants me to stay away. I decide to call Kate anyway. I imagine she’s worried about me after our chat last night – and it seems increasingly likely that she has good reason.

  I close the kitchen door to provide some privacy, but just as I dial, I hear my mother open it again.

  Kate answers within three rings, her bright tone turning more serious as soon as she hears my voice.

  ‘I hear you called over today. I’m sorry, I was sleeping,’ I say with a forced jollity that I’m really not feeling.

  ‘I did. Are you okay?’

  ‘Ach, I’m just tired. I slept all day. And Mum’s keeping a close eye on me. I can hardly move, she’s fussing around. I think she’s afraid to let me out of her sight,’ I say lightly.

  I hope Kate will be perceptive enough to read between the lines and sense something isn’t as it should be.

  ‘So this isn’t about Martin’s visit then?’ she asks.

  Martin’s visit? Martin hasn’t visited. Has he? Surely not. Not even my mother would let me sleep through that. Would she?

  ‘I’m not sure I know about that,’ I say, trying not to give anything away in my voice, knowing my mother’s listening.

  ‘When I called today … well, I was sure it was him. I know I’ve never met him, but I recognised him from pictures on your Facebook. He looked upset, Eli. I thought maybe you’d had words. I wondered if that’s why your mum told me you were ‘sleeping’. I didn’t want to push, I mean we don’t know each other that well any more …’

  ‘I slept all day, just couldn’t keep my eyes open,’ I say, my heart thumping now.

  Those weird dreams where I was sure I’d heard his voice – were they more than just weird dreams? Maybe he’d really been here. I look at the kitchen door, towards my mother. My heart beats faster.

  ‘Eli, are you not free to talk just now?’ Kate asks and I know she’s on the right track.

  ‘That’s it exactly,’ I say brightly. ‘I think Mum would wrap me in cotton wool and lock me away until this baby’s born if she could.’

  ‘Jesus, Eli. Can you get away at all? Even over to mine for a bit. We can talk.’

  ‘Ah, she’s just making tea now to make sure I eat something decent and then she’s going to get some old pictures out for us to look at. Sure, who would go out on a night like this anyway? I wouldn’t want to worry her.’

  ‘Right …’ Kate says and I know she’s worried, too. ‘Eli, I’m sorry if this sounds overdramatic, but do you think you’re in danger?’

  Do I? I think my mother is most likely being manipulative. I think she might need help. I suppose I do feel afraid to confront her – but do I think she’d actually harm me?

  No. Not mum.

  ‘I think she’s just making sure I take good care of myself and the baby. We’ll be fine,’ I say.

  ‘Try to get away tomorrow. Come to the bakery even. She can’t object to you taking a wee walk up the street, can she? We can talk then. And if I don’t hear from you I’ll call in to check when I’m finished for the day. I’ll not leave her door until we’ve spoken, okay?’

  ‘That sounds lovely, Kate. You’re very good to think of me and us like that. I’ll keep all that in mind.’

  There’s a pause on the other end of the line. I can imagine my old school friend, who I hadn’t seen in years until this week, wondering what the hell she’s landed herself in.

  ‘Eli, if you need me, at any time, day or night, you call me, okay?’ she says.

  ‘Will do. You take care, Kate. Thanks,’ I say and hang up just as my mother pops her head around the door to tell me my tea is ready.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Angela

  Eli didn’t give me any choice. I had to lock her in her room. I’ve also had to make sure she slept for as much of the day as possible. I needed the time to think.

  But I know I can’t keep relying on sedatives for much longer. I’ve taken chances by giving her such a high dose. All afternoon I’ve been panicking while she slept, terrified I’d gone too far. Given her too much. Hurt the baby.

  If only she hadn’t been so aggressive with me last night. Hadn’t threatened to leave. If only she realised I have her best interests at heart. Stupid girl, thinking she knows what’s good for her better than I do.

  I hear her talk to Kate on the phone. I can’t stop her from making that call, not without sounding every alarm bell going in her head. But it makes me uneasy.

  It feels as if we’re both playing a game right now in which we both pretend everything’s normal. I can almost convince myself it is and that everything is okay, but then I look at her and I notice how she looks at me.

  I notice how she flinches almost imperceptibly when I’m close to her, that something has shifted between us, and I’m not at all sure how or if I can shift it back.

  I have a sinking feeling she knows something, but I don’t know what. And there’s no way for me to know for definite without asking her.

  Of course if I ask her, and she doesn’t know what I’ve done, after all, it’ll only alert her to the fact that I’ve been lying. That I’ve done some things other people might consider to be bad.

  Other people who just don’t understand.

  It’s a no-win situation.

  So now, this carefully constructed house of cards, which had been standing for more than thirty years, is in danger of coming crumbling down.

  I know that if I lose her now, I’ll lose her forever. It’s all I can do to keep it together, and not fall to the floor and curl up into a ball to try to escape the voices in my head telling me my time is up.

  I butter toast as Eli walks back into the room, call her over. I have to appear normal. Exude calm. She looks flustered as she sits down at the table.

  ‘I’ve buttered you the heel of the loaf, I know you like that the best,’ I say, handing her a plate and sitting opposite her.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says before picking at her food, mashing the scrambled egg with her fork, bringing it to her lips but not really eating much.

  ‘Kate sends her love. I’m going to go and see her tomorrow. She has some baby things she says I can have.’

  She struggles to meet my eye. I feel myself tighten the grip on my knife and fork as my body tenses.

  ‘Sure, I’ve got us everything we need here. That room’s coming down with things.’

  ‘It’s nice of her to offer. I didn’t want to be rude and say no.’

  ‘And it’s a wee boy she has. What could she give you that would suit? I don’t know, Eliana. I’m not sure about her. I’ve told you. I think she’s not to be trusted.’

  In fact, I know she’s not to be trusted. Hadn’t she let Eliana phone Martin from her house last night? He’d told me himself when he called at the door. The cheek of him. I’d been shocked when he showed up, asking to speak to Eli. I didn’t think he had it in him.

  As if I’d let him over my threshold.

  ‘She’s out,’ I’d told him.

  ‘But her car’s there?’ he’d said, nodding towards his wife’s Nissan Note.

  ‘She does have legs, you know,’ I’d said tersely.

&nb
sp; ‘Well, maybe I could come in and wait for her?’ He’d raised his eyebrow hopefully.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea,’ I’d told him, leaning just enough of my weight against the door so that he couldn’t push his way in if he tried. ‘She doesn’t want to talk to you, Martin.’

  ‘But she phoned me last night?’ he’d said, and it had clicked. She’d called him from Kate’s.

  ‘Well that was last night. She was very clear about her feelings this morning.’

  ‘Still, I’d rather wait,’ he’d said, moving to come in.

  ‘Martin, I want you to leave. If you don’t, I’ll call the police and report that you’re harassing both my daughter and me. I’m sure it won’t look good along with the allegations that you’ve been cheating and someone’s been threatening Eli over it all.’

  ‘Angela, you know that the allegations are unfounded. I think if you ask Eli, she’ll tell you she believes the same now.’

  ‘My daughter’s told me she doesn’t want you in her life and that’s all that matters to me, so why don’t you stop upsetting yourself and all of us and just leave.’

  ‘She’s my wife and she’s carrying my baby!’ he’d spat at me, angry.

  ‘And she’s my daughter and I swear to you, Martin, nothing in this world will make me allow you to hurt her any more.’

  ‘I’ve not done anything wrong,’ he’d shouted.

  But the truth is he had done something wrong. He just selfishly didn’t realise it was me he’d wronged and not my daughter.

  ‘Just go,’ I’d told him, slamming the door and then panicking that the noise might have woken Eli.

  I’d stood in silence in the hall for a moment, listening for any sign of movement upstairs. When it stayed quiet, I’d walked to my window and looked out, just in time to see Martin drive off.

  But I know it’s only a matter of time before he comes back.

  I have to deal with this once and for all.

  ‘Eli,’ I say, adopting my very best concerned-mother tone of voice. ‘I don’t want to upset you any further, but I can’t keep this from you either.’

  She looks at me. Probably the first time she’s looked directly at me since our argument last night.

  ‘You need to know the truth.’

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  Louise

  I’d been watching her house. I saw it empty for a few days and then I saw the lights come on, the car in the driveway, the sight of a tired and pale woman rocking a baby in her arms walking back and forth in front of the window. The ceiling light illuminated the picture of motherhood in front of me.

  Advertised it, even.

  I saw her handsome husband leave for work each morning just before nine. He didn’t return at lunchtime. But he came home just after five – no working late with a newborn. I noticed that she was never dressed in time for him coming home. That she handed the baby to him when he walked in the door and he took up the task of walking in front of the window for a while, until it was time to close the curtains. The show ended for another day.

  It had been ten days since I first saw them walking up and down in the living room. It was then I decided it wouldn’t be wise to leave it much longer. The day I’d been waiting for, planning for and praying for had come.

  I’d stopped and bought a bunch of flowers. I’d coloured my hair red and that day I’d pulled it back into a bun. I’d put on a pair of reading glasses I’d bought in the chemist. It was a weak disguise, admittedly, but I hoped it would be enough to confuse her tired eyes.

  I’d slipped into a dress, a coat and a pair of horrible sensible shoes – brown, laced – which I picked up in a charity shop. I could discard them as soon as I got away.

  I parked my car two streets away. I had a large bag with me. A blanket in it. A folder. Maternity notes. She’d have had no reason to know or think they were mine and not hers.

  I’d seen how tired she was. How her eyes were dead in her head from exhaustion. How she looked ahead, staring into space as she paced up and down and up and down in front of the window.

  She was practically begging someone to take her child.

  A girl.

  My daughter.

  I’d seen a pink balloon. Pink cards. Flowers – pink carnations. A pink blanket.

  It was meant to be.

  I knew it all along.

  My Eliana was ready for me to bring her home.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  Eli

  Mum leaves the room, leaving me wondering just what she was going to tell me. Will she admit what she’s been doing? Apologise even.

  Maybe if she apologises I can forgive her. I can try to understand.

  She came back downstairs and pushed a white envelope in front of me. Just like the others. The same printed handwriting. A stamp on this one. No postmark. My hands start to shake.

  ‘This came earlier when you were sleeping,’ she says. ‘I was just going to throw it away. I didn’t see any need to annoy you further if you’d left Martin anyway. But then I thought you might need it as evidence, you know, in the divorce hearing.’

  I open the envelope. A cufflink falls out. One of the one’s I’d bought Martin as a wedding present. The note is three-lines long this time:

  Thought you might want this back.

  My slut of a girlfriend had it among her things, after your husband’s trip to England. Seems he had company for a night or two.

  ‘Oh, Eli,’ she says. ‘I’m so sorry. So very sorry. He’s such a bastard.’

  She looks so genuine. So honest. So completely like my mother. Totally believable in every way. Totally normal. And yet this is proof that not only is my husband not lying to me, but that she is. And she’s been lying to me all along.

  I can barely look at her, let alone breathe.

  ‘I need some space,’ I mutter and, as fast my feet can carry me, I rush to my room, close the door and sit in front of it.

  My head’s spinning, nausea rising. I swallow it down, try to calm my breathing. I can feel the full force of a panic attack, or something like it, something more visceral, start to descend on me. Fear? Yes, fear is there. That my mother can be so twisted. So messed up. So fully evil. Protecting her ‘baby bear’. That childish saying makes me feel sick now. There’s nothing about what she’s done that can be construed as protecting me. She’s betrayed me in the worst way.

  The one person who I never thought would hurt me is playing some twisted game – a game in which she seems set on destroying my marriage. Now. Now, when we’re having a baby. She’s swooped in when I’m at my most vulnerable – when my marriage is at its most vulnerable – and she’s created a show of smoke and mirrors so twisted that I’ve walked out on Martin.

  My heart aches for him. I’m trying to breathe. Trying to stay calm for me, and for our baby. This baby I hadn’t felt connected to for so long but who I now want to protect more than anything. I want Martin. I’d scream with frustration if I thought it’d do any good. I want to call him, but I’m here with no phone and my mother on red alert for my every move.

  And God, I’m angry. Anger is my primary emotion. She did it. She’s been behind it. No one posted that blasted cufflink. It wasn’t among anyone’s things when they returned from London. It had been on the chest of drawers in my bedroom just two days before when I’d picked up more clothes. I’d seen the pair there, glinting in the sunlight as I’d packed my case. I’d almost lifted them myself. I’d been so angry at Martin. I’d wanted to take them. A stupid, puerile attempt to wind him up – taking back the wedding present I’d gifted to him. They’d been there and now, here was one of them. In my mother’s house. With a note matching the other notes.

  I don’t know who she is any more and, worse still, what she’s capable of. She’s unstable. Willing to lie and steal and fake a break-in. To scare me. To make me think I was being hunted in some way. She’d looked so distraught that night, but she’d known all along there was no bogeyman to be afraid of. She was the boge
yman.

  I need to get out of this house as quickly as I can, but I’m scared of what she might do. Maybe I should just make a run for it. My car keys are in my handbag on the end of my bed. I could be out and away and … as long as she doesn’t lock the bedroom door again. That was nothing to do with her ‘valuables’, I realise, horrified. It was about control. All this has been about control.

  I scramble to my knees, crawl to my bag and look for my keys. If I go now, before she has the chance to turn the key in the lock, I might have a chance.

  They aren’t there. Nor is my purse, my bank cards. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that’s where I’d put them the night before when I’d let myself in from Kate’s.

  Another gut punch. I know she’s taken them just as she took my phone.

  ‘It’ll be okay, Eli.’

  ‘Whatever happens, I’m here for you, Eli.’

  ‘Look what I’ve done for you and the baby, Eli.’

  She’s deluded. Sick in the head. Dangerous.

  I feel my stomach tighten as fear and nausea wash over me again. I’m going to be sick. There’s no way to hold it back. I get to my feet and half run, half stumble to the door, through to the bathroom, where whatever small amount of dinner I managed to eat comes back up. I convulse as my stomach tightens and I retch again and again, desperate to purge myself, even though there’s nothing left to purge.

  I feel a cold sweat break out at the back of my neck, spreading over my body, down my back, beads of sweat running down between my breasts. I feel my arms and legs shake. The violence of my sickness, coupled with the pressure of the baby, makes me lose control of my bladder. Powerless to stop the indignity of my wetting myself, I sob as I convulse over the toilet bowl, suddenly sure I’ll faint. I’m going to lose consciousness. I might bang my head as I fall. Hurt my stomach. Hurt my baby. I want to scream for help, but who will help me? Really help me. My mother?

  The blackness creeps over me slowly, starting at the back of my neck, through my head, a mixture of warmth and tingling, until I feel the world start to close in around me. My body becomes weightless and I’m falling, trying to turn to protect my baby. I try to keep my eyes open, but I’m gone.