Apple of My Eye

by Patrick Redmond

  But still the longing remained, and as she sang to the doll she would stare into its painted eyes, willing it to live and make her dreams come true.

  *

  Kendleton, like most small towns, had its exclusive addresses.

  The most prestigious was The Avenue: a collective description for the grand houses to the south-east of the town centre, all with huge gardens that backed on to the Thames. Susan’s parents were not friends with any of the residents of The Avenue, but one of Susan’s classmates, Alice Wetherby, lived there, and Susan and her friend Charlotte had been to Alice’s house for a party. During the party Alice’s elder brother Edward had thrown Charlotte’s glasses into the river and made her cry, so Susan had punched Edward in the mouth and made him cry, immediately being sent home in disgrace and so bringing to an end her association with Kendleton’s elite.

  But she still had connections. The next most desirable address was Queen Anne Square; a quadrangle of beautiful red-brick houses in the shadow of Kendleton Church and home to Susan’s godmother Auntie Emma and her husband Uncle George. The two of them had married the previous summer and Susan had been bridesmaid, sharing the honours with a girl called Helen, who had thrown a tantrum because she didn’t like her dress and then been spectacularly sick when they were halfway down the aisle.

  The heart of Kendleton was Market Court: a huge oval space at the centre of the town with streets running off it like the strands of a spider’s web. The wealthier members of town lived on the east side, where houses were larger and streets wider, and ‘crossing the Court’ was something that many a west-side resident longed to do.

  Market Court was full of shops, including Ramsey’s Studio, which belonged to Susan’s father. He was a photographer, specializing in portraits. Two years earlier a local newspaper had run a competition to find ‘Little Miss Sparkle’ and Susan’s father had submitted her portrait. She had won and received ten shillings, a book of fairy tales and the honour of having her picture in the paper under the heading ‘Little Susan Ramsey sparkles like a star’. Her father had had the article framed and hung on the wall of his shop so that everyone could see.

  And from that day on she was always his little Susie Sparkle.

  July 1952.

  Until it happened, Susan had no idea that her mother was ill.

  There were no obvious signs. Though her mother had complained of tiredness she often had trouble sleeping. And if she was quieter than usual, it was Susan’s father who had always been the exuberant one.

  It happened on a Wednesday afternoon. A hot, sticky afternoon two days before the start of the school holidays. Susan and Charlotte walked home with Charlotte’s mother, whose turn it was to collect them, their satchels bouncing against their thighs as they made plans for the summer. Charlotte’s cousins from Norfolk were coming to stay and Susan said that they should build a den in the woods to the west of the town. Her father had built dens there when he was a boy and had promised to show them a good place.

  They reached number 22: Charlotte’s house. Charlotte’s mother asked Susan whether she wanted to come in and play but Susan said that she had promised to be home promptly. After saying goodbye she ran on to number 37 and knocked on the door.

  She waited but the door remained closed. After counting to twenty she knocked again. Still nothing. She opened the letterbox. ‘Mum, it’s me. Let me in.’ The wireless was playing in the background. Her mother must be there. Why wasn’t she opening the door?

  She stood on the doorstep, unsure what to do. Mrs Bruce from number 45 passed by, carrying her shopping basket and battling with her dog, Warner, who was pulling in the other direction. She gave Susan a wave. Susan waved back while wondering whether to call Charlotte’s mother.

  Then the door did open. But only an inch. From behind it she heard footsteps moving away. Slow and heavy. Like those of an old person. Not like her mother at all.

  For a moment she hesitated. The first pricklings of fear starting within her.

  Then, pushing the door open, she walked in. From the living room came the sound of movement, so she entered it.

  Her mother was sitting on the sofa, wearing a dressing gown. Both her feet were bare. A hand kept tugging at a lock of hair. On the coffee table was a teapot and two cups, a huge plate of sandwiches and an apple with a candle burning in its centre.

  ‘Mum?’

  No answer. The wireless was broadcasting a play about sailors.

  Susan began to approach. Her mother turned. For a moment her eyes were so blank it was as if she didn’t know her daughter at all. Then the light of recognition. But faint. Like a flickering bulb that could blow at any moment.

  ‘Sit down. Eat your tea.’ The voice was flat. Empty. Not like her mother’s voice at all. The hand continued to pull at the lock of hair.

  Susan looked at the table. The sandwiches, neatly cut and trimmed, were empty. Just pieces of bread curling in the heat of the room. Wax from the candle slid over the apple and down to the table beneath.

  The fear kept growing inside her. She didn’t understand. What was happening? Why was her mother acting like this?

  Her mother pointed to the apple. ‘Make a wish.’

  ‘Mum?’

  ‘Make a wish. Wish for something nice. Wish …’

  The voice faded away. The hair was so frayed it was starting to break. The wireless played on regardless while outside boys rode past on their bicycles, ringing their bells and laughing.

  ‘Mum, I don’t understand …’

  Her mother began to cry. A soft, whimpering sound like a wounded animal. Susan put her arms around her, hugging her as tight as she could and starting to cry too.

  The phone rang in the hallway. She ran to pick up the receiver and heard her father’s voice. ‘Dad, something’s wrong with Mum. Come home, Dad. Come home, please …’

  The rest of the day was a blur. Her father sent her to play in her room. Auntie Emma arrived to take her to Queen Anne Square. ‘It’s just for tonight,’ she was told. ‘Don’t worry about Mum. Everything will be fine.’

  In the end she stayed with Auntie Emma for most of the summer. Her father visited every evening. Her mother never came.

  Auntie Emma and Uncle George were very kind. Auntie Emma, young and pretty, took her on picnics by the river and trips to Oxford for new clothes and toys, and once to see Peter Pan at the theatre. Uncle George, homely and nudging middle age, was an architect who helped her draw pretend cities and told her stories about New York, where he had lived for three years and which was the most exciting city in the world.

  Auntie Emma and Uncle George had a friend called Mr Bishop who was a lawyer and also lived in Queen Anne Square. When he came to visit he told Susan to call him Uncle Andrew. He had a sports car and once took Susan and Auntie Emma for a drive in the country with the roof down and the wind blowing in their faces. He thought that Susan looked like Elizabeth Taylor too.

  Whenever she asked about her mother they said that there was no need to worry. ‘Mum’s gone on holiday but she’ll be home soon and wanting to know all your news.’ The explanation came with smiles that were just a little too bright and told her that they were lying.

  Sometimes, when she couldn’t sleep, she would creep downstairs to eavesdrop on their conversations. From these she gathered that her mother had had something called a breakdown, that she was in a special hospital and that they were all very worried about her.

  She never told them what she had heard because she knew they didn’t want her to find out. They didn’t want anyone to find out.

  But of course people did.

  A hot Monday in September. The first day back at school. Susan’s teacher was taking the class for a nature walk.

  They took the path by the river that led west out of town and on towards Kendleton Lock. They walked in pairs, the boys wearing caps, the girls hats, to keep the sun off their heads. Their teacher, Mrs Young, kept up a running commentary on the surrounding fauna but no one listened, all too
busy exchanging waves and greetings with the people on the brightly coloured narrow boats that were waiting to pass through the lock and continue their journeys down river.

  Eventually the high spirits boiled over. As they walked through a field of bored looking cows the boy at the front of the line started hurling the caps of his friends into the river. The line came to an abrupt halt as Mrs Young scolded him and a good-natured boatman tried to rescue the fast-sinking caps with a fish hook.

  Susan and Charlotte, standing near the back, discussed which narrow boat they liked best. Susan favoured one called Merlin, less for the castles painted on its side than for the yellow dog sunning itself on the roof. Charlotte was just telling Susan which boat she liked when Alice Wetherby announced that people who wore glasses were ugly.

  Charlotte fell silent. She was the only person in the class to wear glasses and hated doing so. Charlotte’s mother and Susan were always telling her that they looked nice but she didn’t believe them.

  ‘People who wear glasses are ugly,’ said Alice again. Louder this time.

  ‘I’m not ugly,’ Charlotte told her.

  Alice grinned, pleased to have provoked a reaction. She was a pretty girl with long blonde hair. ‘Yes you are. You’re the ugliest person in the world.’

  ‘I’m not!’

  Alice began to prod Charlotte with her finger. ‘Ugly ugly ugly.’ Alice’s gang took up the chant, surrounding Charlotte and prodding her too. They enjoyed picking on people. The previous term they had taken against a girl called Janet Evans and tried to stop all the other girls from speaking to her. Janet had been very upset.

  As was Charlotte. She shook her head, close to tears. Charlotte was afraid of Alice. But Susan wasn’t. She pushed herself into the circle and shoved Alice away. ‘You leave her alone. You’re the ugly one.’

  ‘Shut up!’

  Susan began to prod Alice. ‘Make me.’

  ‘Stop it!’

  ‘Make me!’

  ‘Stop it, loony mother!’

  Susan stopped. ‘What?’

  ‘Your mother’s a loony.’

  ‘No she’s not.’

  ‘Yes she is. She’s in a loony bin.’

  ‘She’s on holiday.’

  ‘She’s in a loony bin. Everyone knows.’

  ‘She’s not!’

  Alice’s eyes began to shine. ‘Loony mother! Loony mother!’ Again her gang took up the chant, while on the river the yellow dog jumped into the water to chase the ducks that swam by the boat. ‘Samson!’ bellowed his owner. ‘Come back ’ere!’

  ‘Loony mother!’ continued Alice. She started to dance around in front of Susan, pulling crazy faces. ‘Loony! Loony!’

  Susan grabbed Alice by the hair, marched her off the path and into the field of cows. ‘Get off!’ Alice yelled. ‘Leave her alone!’ shouted Alice’s friends. ‘Susan Ramsey! Stop that this instant!’ bellowed Mrs Young. Susan ignored them all. She dragged Alice on until she found the perfect spot then shoved her hard. Alice fell forward, landing on her stomach in a cow pat much to the surprise of the cow chewing grass near by.

  ‘Cows eat people covered in poo,’ Susan announced. ‘Come on, cows. Lunch!’

  Alice jumped to her feet and ran screaming across the field, terrifying the cows, which parted before her like the Red Sea before Moses. ‘Alice Wetherby, come back here,’ cried Mrs Young, giving chase as fast as her ample frame would allow and looking rather like a lumbering cow herself.

  Susan began to laugh. Others did the same while Samson emerged from the river, shaking himself dry and drenching them all.

  ‘She said things about Mum.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘Horrid things.’

  It was six o’clock. She sat on her father’s knee in the living room of their home. Now that term had started she was living with him again.

  ‘What things, Susie?’

  ‘That Mum was a loony. That she was in a loony bin.’

  ‘She’s on holiday.’

  ‘That’s what I told Alice.’

  ‘Good girl.’ He smiled down at her. His eyes were grey, his hair light brown. Her colouring came from her mother. She didn’t want to upset him but she had to know.

  ‘What’s a breakdown?’

  The smile faltered.

  ‘She is in a loony bin, isn’t she?’

  ‘Susie …’

  ‘Isn’t she?’

  ‘Listen …’

  ‘Is it my fault?’

  ‘Oh, Susie.’ He pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. ‘No, my darling, it’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.’

  She rested her head against his chest. On his finger was a signet ring that had once belonged to her grandfather. She twisted it back and forward, watching it catch the light. ‘What’s a breakdown, Dad?’

  ‘Nothing bad, Susie. No matter what anyone says. It means that Mum … that Mum …’

  ‘What?’

  Silence. His eyes were thoughtful. She waited expectantly.

  ‘When you fought with Alice were you scared?’

  ‘I’m not scared of her.’

  ‘But Charlotte is, isn’t she?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You still like Charlotte, though, don’t you? You don’t think bad things about her because she was scared.’

  ‘No. She’s my best friend.’

  ‘When someone has a breakdown, Susie, it means that they’ve become scared of everything. That’s what’s happened to Mum. So she’s gone away to learn how to feel brave again and when she does she’ll come back home.’

  Again he smiled. A reassuring gesture. One she did not return.

  ‘What if she gets scared again?’

  ‘She won’t.’

  ‘But what if she does?’

  ‘She won’t, I promise.’

  ‘But what if she does? Will she have another breakdown? I don’t want her to go away again. Not ever.’

  ‘She won’t get scared, Susie. Shall I tell you why?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because we won’t let it happen. We’ll protect her. Just like you protected Charlotte.’

  She nodded. They would. No matter what it took, they would.

  After supper they walked by the river. The same path she had taken earlier in the day. A wind was rising, sending banks of clouds galloping across the sky.

  They sat by the river bank, dangling their feet in the water, throwing pieces of bread to the ducks while the last of the boats passed through the lock. Her father made up stories about them, pretending they were pirate ships off to seek treasure on the Spanish Main. One came to moor beside them. An old man sat in the stern, smoking a pipe and smiling at the stories while his wife cooked a meal in the galley and their small black dog ran up and down the bank.

  ‘You tell the best stories in the world,’ she said when he had finished.

  ‘Not me. Your grandfather. He used to bring me here when I was your age. Your grandmother would make us sandwiches and as we ate them he’d tell me the stories I’m telling you. Only he told them much better. Your grandmother said he should get them published but he never did. He said that they were just for me. Now they’re for you.’

  The dog came to sit beside them. The old man told them that his name was Bosun. ‘You’ve got a friend there,’ he said, winking at Susan. His wife appeared, carrying mugs of tea and biscuits for Bosun.

  It was growing late. The light started to drip out of the sky. A swan landed on the water, sending circles to stretch across its surface. The old couple went down to the galley to eat, leaving Bosun on the river bank with his head in Susan’s lap. She made a chain of flowers to hang around his neck while the cold water lapped at her toes.

  ‘I wish you’d known my father, Susie. He would have been so proud of you.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re strong.’

  ‘I’m stronger than Alice.’

  He touched her chest. ‘I mean strong in here. Strong inside
. Stronger than either your mother or me. Your grandfather was the same. He was a quiet man. Shy. Private. Not a noisy little baggage like you. But he had this strength inside him. Something very few people have. You felt safe around him because you knew that no matter what you asked of him he’d never let you down.’

  The wind blew hair across her face. He brushed it back. ‘You don’t understand what I mean, do you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You will one day.’ He turned, looking at the field behind them. The cows were lying down now, bedding in for the night. ‘Is that where you pushed Alice over?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He pretended to look cross, then the smile that was so much a part of him spread across his face. ‘I love you, Susie Sparkle. Don’t ever change. Always stay the way you are.’

  Suddenly he raised his foot, spraying her with water. She did the same. Soon both were drenched while Bosun ran around barking, frightening the unfortunate cows almost as much as Alice had done.

  Noon, the next day. Susan’s class sat in rows of double desks, copying the names of capital cities on to maps of Europe.

  ‘I’m going out for a minute,’ Mrs Young told them. ‘Work in silence until I return.’

  At first her order was obeyed. Then Alice Wetherby said, ‘I’m glad my mother’s not a loony.’

  ‘I’m glad I’m not ugly,’ said one of her gang.

  Susan pointed to the window and let out a gasp. ‘Run, Alice! The cows are coming!’

  Everybody laughed. A few boys made mooing sounds. Charlotte gave Susan their special best-friend smile. Smiling back, Susan carried on with her work.

  In November her mother came home.

  She returned on a Friday. All week Susan had been unable to concentrate, her head too full of everything she wanted to tell her mother when they were finally reunited. But as she entered the house and saw her mother standing there all words went out of her head. She started crying and couldn’t stop; the fear and dread of the previous four months discharging themselves in a tidal wave of pure joy.

  On Sunday they went to Auntie Emma’s for tea. Auntie Emma had made scones, and as Susan ate she told her mother about the cities she had drawn with Uncle George and the picnics she and Auntie Emma had shared. Her mother tried to thank them but neither was having any of it. ‘It was our pleasure,’ said Uncle George. ‘It was just as much fun for me,’ said Auntie Emma. ‘We found lots of lovely places, didn’t we, Susie? We gave them special names too. You’ll have to show them to your mum.’