Apple of My Eye

by Patrick Redmond

  Eventually she led Paul away from the water into trees so tightly packed together that their branches blocked out the sky. Then they parted, opening into a clearing with a large pond at its centre. Dragonflies danced over its surface, avoiding the eager tongues of frogs perched waiting on water lilies.

  ‘I used to come here with Dad,’ she said. ‘We used to eat picnics and he’d tell me stories. He called this place the nymphs’ grotto. He had names for every place we used to go. Secret names we didn’t tell anyone else. Not even Mum.’

  ‘But now you’ve told me.’

  ‘Yes, now I’ve told you.’

  A single tree stood by the pond, its branches casting shadows over the water. They sat beneath it. A clump of roots stuck out of the shallows of the pool. She pointed to them. ‘Dad used to call them the troll’s fingers.’

  ‘And he called you Little Susie Sparkle.’

  She felt a sudden emptiness inside. ‘That was a long time ago.’

  ‘My mother used to call me her little miracle. She thought she could never have children, you see, but then I came along. And now she’s gone and all I have is Dad. Do you know what he calls me?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘My little pansy. That’s what he thinks of me.’

  ‘He doesn’t mean it.’

  ‘That’s what they all think. Edward Wetherby and his friends. I hate it.’

  ‘They’re just idiots.’

  He lowered his head, staring down at the ground. Overhead the air was full of birds.

  ‘But I can’t be a pansy because if I am then why do I want to kiss you so much?’

  He looked up, staring at her with eyes that were like her father’s except for the sadness at their centre. She wanted to make the sadness go away and never return.

  ‘I want to kiss you too,’ she said.

  So they did. Her tongue parted his lips, caressing the inside of his mouth. He put his arms around her, pulling her close.

  The girls in her class talked constantly of sex, giggling in corners about this wicked, wonderful act that none of them dared experience but which fascinated them all. And as they talked they would think of Emma Hill; an older girl who had become pregnant and been forced to leave school. A grim warning of the dangers in straying from the path of virtue, however sweet the temptations might be.

  She kept apart from these discussions, fearful the girls would discover the nature of her own experience, while wondering whether this act she had been told she wanted but which had always left her feeling dirty and ashamed could ever be as glorious as they seemed to believe.

  Paul stroked her cheek. He looked exposed. Vulnerable. Filling her with the same feelings of protectiveness she experienced with Jennifer. But his arms were strong and they made her feel safe. Conflicting emotions that should have been confusing but instead left her with a glow she had never known before. It was stronger than desire. Better. Purer.

  Perfect.

  ‘I love you,’ she told him.

  They kissed again. She lay back in the grass, pulling him towards her, knowing what was coming and feeling no shame. Just a desire to be close to him, and make him happy.

  He was clumsy. Nervous and hesitant. It was she who took the lead. Coaxing and soothing. Guiding him inside her. He thrust a few times then withdrew, juddering to a climax and pressing his face into the grass.

  She whispered his name. He didn’t answer. She tried again.

  He turned towards her. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I wasn’t very good.’

  She stroked his hair. ‘Yes you were.’

  ‘It’s because it’s my first time.’

  ‘It was lovely, Paul. Really it was.’

  ‘It’s always difficult the first time.’

  ‘That’s right.’ She smiled reassuringly. ‘I’ve never liked it before but …’

  His eyes widened. Suddenly she realized what she’d said.

  ‘Before?’

  Her heart began to race.

  ‘Before?’

  ‘Just once. With a boy at a party last summer. He got me drunk. It wasn’t my fault.’

  ‘You said you’ve never liked it. Plural.’

  ‘No I didn’t.’

  ‘Yes you did.’ The warmth left his face, replaced by hurt and anger. ‘How many people have you brought here?’

  ‘None!’

  ‘So why me?’

  ‘Because you’re special.’

  ‘Is that what you told the others?’

  ‘There were no others!’

  ‘How do I know that?’

  ‘Because it’s true.’ She was close to tears, wanting him to hold her and say that he believed her. Instead he hacked at the dry earth with a stick.

  ‘There weren’t any others. That’s the truth.’

  He stood up. ‘We should go. Your stepfather will be angry if you’re out too long.’

  They walked along the river bank in silence. Her heart was still pounding. The ducks accompanied them as on the outward journey. She wished she could turn the clock back to then. She wished that this had never happened.

  They reached her house and faced each other on the pavement. ‘There weren’t any others, Paul. Just the boy at the party.’

  He nodded.

  ‘You’re still my friend, aren’t you?’

  A smile. Faint but still a smile.

  ‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’

  ‘No.’

  She watched him walk away. On reaching the corner he would normally turn and wave. This time he just kept going.

  Martin Phillips was bored. He stood with Brian Harper by the Norman cross in Market Court waiting for Edward Wetherby, who was stealing cigars from his father’s desk.

  Paul Benson walked past. Feeling the need for distraction, he shouted out, ‘Been to see your boyfriend?’

  Paul ignored him.

  ‘Benson, I’m talking to you!’

  Slowly Paul approached. ‘Why the long face?’ demanded Brian.

  ‘Probably still heartbroken that Eddie Fisher left Debbie Reynolds for Liz Taylor and not him,’ joked Martin. ‘Never mind, Benson. Montgomery Clift is still single.’

  Paul shook his head. ‘You don’t know anything.’

  ‘We know you’re queer,’ Brian told him.

  ‘Why do you keep picking on me?’

  ‘Because it’s fun.’

  Paul turned to go. ‘D’you know something?’ Martin called after him. ‘We’re starting a campaign to ban queers from Kendleton. Better pack your bags.’

  Paul stopped. Stood still. Then walked back towards them.

  ‘You seem very knowledgeable about queers. Sure you’re not one yourself?’

  ‘Fuck off!’

  ‘How many girls have you had sex with, then?’

  Martin felt uncomfortable. This was a delicate subject. None of his friends would admit to being a virgin though he was sure they all were. Just as he would not admit it himself.

  ‘More than a queer like you.’

  ‘I’ve had sex this afternoon.’

  ‘What was his name?’ jeered Brian.

  ‘Susan Ramsey.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ Martin told him.

  ‘Don’t, then. It doesn’t matter. I know it’s true.’

  Martin remembered Edward boasting about a girl he had slept with on holiday in France. ‘She loved it. We did it four times.’ His tone had been aggressive, as if fearful that his lie would not be accepted. Not that there was any need to worry. His audience were all too anxious to have their own fantasies believed to dream of questioning those of another.

  But there was no aggressiveness in Paul’s eyes. Just a quiet certainty.

  ‘Seriously?’

  Paul nodded.

  ‘You screwed the ice queen? God, Benson, I’m impressed.’

  For the first time Paul smiled.

  ‘What was it like? Come on, you can tell us. We’re your friends.’

  The
smile became conspiratorial. ‘I just hope I didn’t catch something.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She’s not the ice queen you think she is …’

  Alice Wetherby lay on her bed listening to records.

  Her brother Edward entered her room. She threw a pillow at him. ‘Try knocking!’

  ‘Got any chocolate?’

  ‘You’ve been smoking. I can smell it. Mum will go mad when she finds out.’

  He threw the pillow back while Cliff Richard sang about pleasing his living doll. ‘How can you listen to this rubbish?’

  ‘Because I like it and so do you. You only pretend to like jazz because you think it makes you look mature when really it makes you look queer.’

  ‘It doesn’t.’

  ‘It does. Soon you’ll be making dresses with Paul Benson.’

  ‘Paul’s not queer, either. He’s done it with Susan Ramsey and he’s not the only one either.’

  Alice felt disgusted. The idea of doing it with one person was bad enough. But to do it with several.

  Then, suddenly, a light bulb went off in her brain.

  Five minutes later she was on the phone to Kate Christie. ‘You’ll never guess what …’

  The first day of the new term. Susan made her way along the lane towards school.

  She walked quickly. The way she always did when she was anxious. A cyclist rushed by, ringing his bell. Alan Forrester from the year above. Charlotte liked Alan.

  But not as much as she liked Paul.

  They hadn’t seen each other since the afternoon at the river. She had phoned but no one had answered. Perhaps he had just been busy. Perhaps.

  She noticed a group of girls staring at her. One began to giggle. Some boys were staring too. Whispering to each other and smirking.

  What was going on?

  She approached the gates where the usual crowd was gathered. Alice Wetherby and her gang. Idiots like Martin Phillips posing on their bicycles.

  And all were staring.

  An anxious-looking Charlotte hurried over. ‘It’s not true, is it? What people are saying about you and Paul Benson.’ An awkward pause. ‘And all the others.’

  She felt a lurch in her stomach.

  ‘Everyone’s talking about it. Alice is having a field day. I told her it was rubbish. I was right, wasn’t I?’

  She swallowed. Her throat felt dry.

  Then, behind her, she heard a familiar voice.

  Paul was approaching, Brian Harper by his side. The two of them talking together like old friends.

  She stood, waiting. Paul didn’t even stop. Just walked by as if she were invisible.

  Charlotte took her arm. ‘Come on. Let’s go to assembly.’

  Pushing her away, she followed Paul. As he reached his gates she called his name. He ignored her. She tried again.

  This time he turned. His eyes were cold and contemptuous. ‘Get lost, you tart,’ he said before continuing on his way.

  Alice and her gang were laughing. She wrapped her arms around herself, realizing that she was trembling, feeling as exposed as if she were naked. Her veneer of decency stripped away to reveal the wickedness that lay beneath.

  Martin Phillips grabbed her waist. ‘Forget him. I’m not doing anything tonight. Who knows what fun we could have.’

  For a moment her legs threatened to collapse, sending her tumbling to the ground. Around her the laughter was growing while Martin’s hands crawled all over her.

  And then, from somewhere deep inside her memory, came a voice. One that had been silent for years. Deep, warm and resonant. As comforting as a hug.

  Her father.

  You’re strong, Susie. Never forget that. You’re strong and you can survive this.

  Her spine straightened as if pulled by an invisible hand. She rammed her elbow into Martin’s chest, making him cry out in pain. ‘Go to hell,’ she told him, before striding towards her own school gates, holding her head high, ignoring the whispers that chased after her like hungry insects.

  Late afternoon. She walked home alone. Charlotte had wanted to walk with her but she had refused, unable to face the sympathy and the questioning eyes.

  But Charlotte had been loyal; refusing to believe the stories that were spreading round school like wildfire, each more elaborate than the last. She would not forget that.

  Market Court was crowded. Women with shopping baskets and men in work suits. She made her way towards the bakery, head still high, feeling as if all eyes were upon her. She was going to buy a chocolate shortbread cat. Jennifer’s favourite. She was babysitting for Jennifer that night.

  She passed Cobhams Milk Bar; a popular venue with the town’s teenagers. Martin Phillips sat at a table near the window with Edward and Alice Wetherby. Kate Christie was there too, and Brian Harper.

  And Paul.

  They were all laughing about something. Her, probably. Paul’s face was happy and relaxed. No longer the outsider, he had been welcomed into the fold. His admission a simple matter of her total humiliation.

  She stood, watching him. The first boy she had ever cared about. For a moment his betrayal hurt so much that she wanted to curl up and die.

  But that would have been the weak thing to do.

  So she entered the shop.

  When he saw her the smile faded from his face. As well it might.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said, raising her voice so everyone could hear. ‘There’ve been dozens. So many I’ve lost count and none of them were as pathetic as you. You were so bad it was all I could do to stop laughing.’

  A chocolate milk shake stood on the table. She threw it over him. Some boys from another school began to cheer.

  ‘So brag all you want if it makes you feel like a man, but just remember that the only things you made me feel were pity and boredom.’

  The furious-looking proprietor marched over. ‘I’m going,’ she told him, staring contemptuously at Paul, who was wiping his face. ‘There’s nothing here worth staying for.’

  The schoolboys continued to cheer. She blew them a kiss, turned and left.

  Early evening. Uncle George described the contents of his kitchen. ‘There’s milk in the fridge and cocoa in the cupboard. A hot drink often helps her sleep.’ She nodded while a pyjama-clad Jennifer bounced on the sofa beside her.

  ‘You’ve got a contact number. Call if there’re any problems.’

  He walked into the hall. Jennifer followed him, wanting to help him put on his coat. He crouched down, smiling as she guided his arms into the sleeves before lifting her up and hugging her. ‘Who’s my special girl, then?’

  ‘Me!’

  He tickled her ribs, making her giggle. As Susan watched them she remembered the smell of her father. A mixture of cologne, pipe tobacco and musty old clothes. Suddenly her nostrils were full of it, transporting her back to a time when she had felt as safe and secure as Jennifer did now.

  The tears she had been fighting all day finally came. She wept silently, struggling to hold on to a memory that threatened to slip through the fingers of her mind and be lost for ever.

  The front door opened and closed. Then footsteps. Jennifer stood, watching her. She tried to smile but the tears kept coming, like a burst dam that could not be stopped through willpower alone. Jennifer climbed on to her knee, hugging her while she sobbed into the blonde hair with its reddish tinges, despising herself for being weak but unable to stop.

  ‘I’m sorry, Jenjen,’ she whispered when her emotions were under some semblance of control. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’

  ‘Why are you sad?’

  ‘I’m just being silly.’ She wiped her eyes. ‘I must look horrid.’

  ‘You look beautiful. I wish I was beautiful like you.’

  ‘You are. You look like your mum and she was beautiful too.’

  A worried look came into Jennifer’s face. She put her thumb in her mouth.

  ‘What is it, darling?’

  No answer.

  ‘Jenje
n?’

  ‘My mum’s in heaven.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I don’t want Dad to go there too.’

  She was taken aback. It had never occurred to her that someone so young could dread the loss of a loved one. Gently she stroked Jennifer’s hair. ‘Does that thought scare you?’

  A nod. Jennifer’s lip started to tremble.

  ‘Your dad won’t go to heaven for ages, Jenjen.’

  ‘Sam Hastings said he would.’

  ‘Sam Hastings is a stupid baby who still wets his bed. What does he know? Your dad won’t go to heaven until you’re a big, grown-up girl with babies of your own who won’t wet their beds because they’ll be much cleverer than Sam.’

  The lip continued to tremble. The sight distressed her. ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘Do you promise?’

  She opened her mouth to do so.

  But Dad died when I was seven. Only two years older than she is. What if something happens to Uncle George like it happened to him? I can’t promise that it won’t.

  ‘Promise?’

  She took Jennifer’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. ‘Do you love me, Jenjen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I’m going to make you a very special promise. One that I will never, ever break. I promise that I will always take care of you. I will always protect you and I will never let anything bad happen to you because you’re my little sister and because I love you too. I love you more than anyone else in the world.’

  The last sentence was an afterthought, intended simply to comfort and reassure. But as soon as the words were spoken she realized with a shock that it was true.

  Slowly Jennifer’s face broke into a smile. The sight made Susan happier than being with Paul had ever done. Far happier.

  ‘I’m sorry I frightened you, Jenjen. I’ll never do it again. That’s a promise too.’

  Jennifer curled up on her lap. Susan cradled her like a baby, singing softly, watching her drift into sleep.

  The next morning she sat in class staring down at a blank sheet of paper. Battles could be fought and won, empires rise and fall, but the ritual of the holiday reading list was as constant as the stars.