Apple of My Eye

by Patrick Redmond

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ She gave Jennifer a kiss, then walked over to him, holding out her own. ‘Use this.’

  He took it, dabbing at his mouth. ‘Does it hurt?’ she asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pity. You’re making a mess. Let me.’ She pressed the handkerchief against the wound, feeling him wince. ‘Hold still, Lancelot. And next time pick a fight with someone your own size. That way you might not get killed.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have got killed.’

  ‘Oh, sure.’

  ‘It’s true. My cousin used to treat me like a punch bag and he makes those two look like a pair of pansies.’

  ‘They are a pair of pansies. I’m glad your cousin beat you up. It’s what you deserve.’

  ‘I’m glad you’re glad.’

  ‘Why did he do it?’

  ‘To teach me to have respect for tarts.’

  She made herself frown. She was still angry with him. She really was.

  ‘I’m taking Jennifer home. If you’re going to follow then try not to get into any more fights. I’m not bailing you out again.’

  She jabbed the handkerchief against the cut, making him wince for a second time. Then she returned to Jennifer.

  Twenty minutes later Ronnie stood in Queen Anne Street, watching Susan take Jennifer home.

  The handkerchief was still pressed to his lip. The cut was tender but he didn’t notice. Too embarrassed at his reckless behaviour and the poor impression it must have made.

  Susan, holding Jennifer’s hand, knocked on the door of a house on the corner. It was opened by a middle-aged man with a kind face. Jennifer’s father presumably. The man touched Jennifer’s cheeks, obviously noticing the tear stains. Ronnie expected Susan to point the finger at him but she didn’t. Just stroked Jennifer’s hair, smiling down at her. It was a lovely smile. Really lovely.

  The man took Jennifer’s hand, leading her into the house. He indicated for Susan to enter too but she shook her head, gesturing that she had to go but would be back shortly.

  The door shut. She walked towards him, moving like a dancer, radiating strength with every step. People had told him that he radiated strength too. Perhaps he did. But he didn’t have her grace.

  She held out her hand. ‘My handkerchief.’ Her tone was brisk, her eyes unblinking. Those glorious eyes an unwary boy could fall into and be lost for ever. The sort of boy he would never be.

  Or so he had once thought.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten Jennifer. Please believe that.’

  ‘My handkerchief.’

  He gave it to her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

  She leaned forward and kissed him softly on the cheek.

  ‘Idiot,’ she whispered, before turning and walking away.

  The next morning heralded another beautiful day. Susan, carrying her school bag, made her way across Queen Anne Square.

  Ronnie stood on the corner, just as he had the previous day. This time it wasn’t a surprise. She had expected him to be there even though she couldn’t say why.

  And she was pleased. Even though she didn’t want to be.

  ‘Don’t you have anything better to do than hang around on street corners?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then you’d better walk with me.’

  They entered Market Court. People were already queuing outside shops that had yet to open. His lip was swollen. Her forehead was bruised but she could cover it with her hair. ‘Is Jennifer all right?’ he asked.

  ‘No thanks to you.’

  ‘Or you. Even I was frightened.’

  ‘And you a professional punch bag.’

  ‘Now retired and seeking a more dignified profession. Toilet brush perhaps.’

  She laughed while feeling uncomfortable at how easily he could make her do so.

  They continued on, eventually reaching the school lane. Others walked beside them, whispering about this strange new pairing. Alice stood at the gate, her forlorn expression becoming one of horror when she saw who Ronnie was with.

  ‘Your girlfriend’s spotted us.’

  ‘She’s not my girlfriend.’

  ‘Good. She deserves better than a professional urinal scrubber.’

  It was his turn to laugh. She felt pleased. Even though she didn’t want to be.

  They faced each other outside the gates. Martin Phillips was watching her warily. He was frightened of her now and with good reason.

  But was he frightened of Ronnie?

  ‘Be careful,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘I can take care of myself.’

  ‘Don’t let anyone provoke you.’

  ‘I’m not going to sit there and let people say things about you.’

  ‘They’re just words. They don’t matter.’

  ‘They do to me.’

  ‘Then you’re an idiot.’

  ‘Of course. What else could a professional urinal scrubber be?’

  People were staring. Ronnie didn’t seem to notice, let alone care. There was a contained quality about him. A strength that was like a shield, causing all the stares to bounce off him. Maybe he really could take care of himself after all.

  But she didn’t want to take the risk.

  ‘If people say things about me then don’t react. Please, Ronnie. For me.’

  He smiled. ‘OK. For you.’

  The bell rang. ‘I’ll wait for you after school,’ he said. ‘Buy you an ice cream to make up for the one I ruined.’

  ‘I don’t eat ice cream any more.’

  ‘Yes you do. No tart can live without ice cream. That’s a medical fact.’

  ‘And where did you learn that? Boy’s Own comic?’

  ‘No. Emergency Ward Ten.’ A sigh. ‘And people say it’s just cheap drama.’

  ‘Goodbye, then, Doctor.’

  ‘Goodbye, Susan.’

  ‘Susie. No one calls me Susan.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Stupid name.’

  ‘Blame my grandmother. My father named me after her.’

  ‘So she was Susan too.’

  ‘No. Dad just couldn’t spell Gwendolyn.’

  Again he laughed. Turning, she walked through the gates, shrugging off the watching eyes like flies. All except his, which nestled like two warm lights in the small of her back.

  She didn’t want to like the feeling but she did.

  Ten to four. She walked out of the school gates to find Ronnie waiting for her.

  The path was deserted. School had ended twenty minutes earlier. She had spent the intervening time sitting in the library, hoping he would have left by the time she emerged. But as soon as she saw him she was glad he had stayed.

  Half an hour later they sat by the river near Kendleton Lock, dangling their feet in the water with the sun on their faces and ducks and swans calling for scraps of bread. Ben Logan, the lock-keeper, paused from helping a woman tie up her boat to give them a wave.

  ‘My mother loves it here,’ Ronnie told her. ‘Just before the war she had a holiday with her family on a narrow boat in this part of the world. She’s always said it’s her most precious memory of being with them.’

  A fly buzzed around her head. She brushed it away with her hand. ‘It must have been terrible for her. Losing her family when she was even younger than us.’

  ‘You were only seven when you lost your father.’

  ‘But I still had my mother.’

  ‘I don’t know what I’d do if I lost mine.’

  ‘You really love her, don’t you?’

  He nodded, making waves in the water with his toes. She did the same, enjoying the coldness against her skin.

  ‘Were your relatives really horrible?’

  ‘They were to her.’

  ‘And you by the sound of it. Your cousin using you as a punch bag.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter about me. I can take care of myself.’

  ‘Yes, I think you can. Do you take care of her too?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Just like I take car
e of mine.’

  Silence. She waited for him to say something but he just stared across the river.

  ‘Alice must have told you about my mother. I can’t believe she’d have missed out something like that.’

  ‘It must have been frightening. At that age you couldn’t have understood what was happening to her.’

  ‘I didn’t. And it was frightening. Very.’

  He turned towards her, his eyes sympathetic. ‘Do you ever …’

  ‘Yes. All the time. But it won’t happen again. I won’t let it.’

  ‘She’s lucky to have someone as strong as you to protect her.’

  She struck a boxer’s pose.

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’

  ‘I know.’ A pause. ‘Thanks.’

  The lock gates opened. Boats drifted out into the river. ‘Mum had her holiday on a boat called Ariel,’ he said. ‘She still searches for it sometimes when she comes here.’

  ‘She comes here a lot. I’ve often seen her. She looks really nice.’

  ‘She is. You’d like her.’

  ‘Your stepfather looks nice too.’

  He nodded rather half-heartedly.

  ‘Don’t you like him?’

  ‘Of course. He’s her husband.’

  ‘That’s not a reason to like someone.’

  ‘But it’ll do.’

  ‘What was your father like?’

  He picked up a stone and skimmed it across the river.

  ‘Your mother must have told you about him.’

  A nod.

  ‘It’s awful him dying so young. How long were they married?’

  ‘They weren’t.’

  She was taken aback. ‘Really?’

  ‘My father was a soldier. Mum met him at a dance when she was sixteen. He promised her that when the war was over he’d come back and marry her but the war ended and he never came.’

  ‘Is that why your relatives tried to make her give you up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But she didn’t. That was brave.’

  ‘If you got pregnant and weren’t married would you give your baby up?’

  She had an image of Jennifer lying alone in the dark, watching shadows. Afraid but with no one to help her. ‘No. I don’t think I could.’

  ‘Are you shocked?’

  ‘Should I be?’

  ‘People in Hepton were. Everyone was always gossiping about it. Using it as a way to put my mother down and make out that she wasn’t as good as them.’

  ‘Does anyone know in Kendleton?’

  ‘Only my stepfather.’

  ‘And now me.’

  They stared at each other. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And now you.’

  ‘Thank you for trusting me. I promise I’ll never tell. I know how to keep a secret.’

  He skimmed another stone. More boats entered the lock. ‘There are other things I could tell you,’ he said eventually.

  ‘Are there?’

  He looked embarrassed.

  ‘You can tell me, Ronnie. If you want to, that is.’

  He took a deep breath. She waited expectantly.

  ‘The capital of Albania is Tirana.’

  For a moment she was confused. Then she burst out laughing. ‘Idiot!’

  ‘Hardly. I can recite pi to two hundred places.’

  ‘I take it back. You’re unbelievably clever.’

  ‘Unlike you.’

  ‘Tarts don’t need to be clever.’

  ‘Do you know which film star you really look like?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Norma Shearer. People said she had a face unclouded with thought.’

  She kicked water at him. He kicked some back. Ducks paddled away from them, squawking reproachfully. ‘I know her,’ he said, pointing to one with a crooked wing. ‘She’s always at the bottom of our garden. Mum feeds her so much it’s a miracle she doesn’t sink.’

  ‘It must be lovely having a garden on the water.’

  ‘Come and see it.’

  ‘I can’t do that. Alice will put up roadblocks.’

  ‘Don’t worry about those. It’s the landmines you need to watch out for. Come for tea next weekend. You can meet Mum.’

  He was smiling again. As she looked at him she realized she was happy. That being with him made her feel happier than she had since …

  Paul.

  Her defences resurrected themselves. She was not going to allow another boy to distract her. Now, more than ever before, she had to cut all distractions out of her life.

  ‘I can’t. I’m looking after Jennifer at the weekend.’

  He looked disappointed. She felt bad. But it couldn’t be helped.

  ‘You really love Jennifer, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I can keep a secret.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Nothing. I just wanted you to know it.’

  He was still staring at her. This handsome boy with his air of self-sufficiency and calm. Suddenly she ached to tell him all her secrets. To share her burden with someone who looked as if he might be strong enough to help her carry it. But she couldn’t tell anyone. Not ever.

  ‘I have to go, Ronnie.’

  ‘Not yet. I still owe you an ice cream.’

  ‘Another time perhaps.’

  ‘If you go I’ll throw myself in the river and the swans will kill me.’

  ‘No they won’t.’

  ‘Yes they will. They believe that bathing in human blood keeps their feathers white. I heard that on Emergency Ward Ten too.’

  Her lips began to twitch. ‘Stop trying to make me laugh.’

  ‘Why? It’s easier than trying to make you think.’

  She kicked more water at him, starting a battle that didn’t end until both were drenched.

  Fifteen minutes later they entered Cobhams Milk Bar.

  All the tables were full with boys and girls from Heathcote and other schools. Martin Phillips sat with Edward Wetherby, but his presence didn’t bother her, just as it didn’t seem to bother Ronnie.

  They stood at the counter, watching the waitress prepare their ice-cream cones. As Ronnie paid for them a girl came to ask for change to put a record on the jukebox.

  Then Edward Wetherby called out, ‘We’ve both had your girlfriend, Ronnie.’

  The milk bar fell silent. People shifted in their seats, excited at the prospect of trouble. Susan’s eyes locked with Ronnie’s. He looked completely relaxed and she knew instinctively that whatever he did would be perfect.

  Which it was. Without even turning, he replied in a voice clear enough to be heard by everyone: ‘I know. And I’d like to thank you for giving her, collectively, the best five seconds of her life.’

  The place erupted in laughter. Edward turned crimson. Susan touched Ronnie on the arm. ‘Not five seconds, Ronnie,’ she said, again loud enough to be heard. ‘I told you it was more like seven.’ Then leaning forward, so her face and Edward’s were almost touching, she lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Just so we’re clear, if you fight with him I’ll fight with you.’ A quick nod in Martin’s direction. ‘And I’ll win.’

  The laughter continued. She stood up, taking her ice cream from Ronnie.

  ‘Bring Jennifer at the weekend. Mum won’t mind. She loves children.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Good.’

  They walked out of the milk bar, leaving Edward to his embarrassment.

  Tuesday evening. Charles knocked on Ronnie’s bedroom door.

  Ronnie sat at his desk studying a textbook. ‘Am I disturbing you?’ asked Charles.

  Ronnie shook his head, gesturing to a chair next to the desk. His textbook showed rows of mathematical formulae. Charles shuddered. ‘Those look like hieroglyphics to me.’

  ‘Didn’t you like maths at school?’

  ‘I hated it. My teacher had a speech impediment so we never understood a word he said. How any of us passed the exam is God’s own mystery.’

  ‘My old French teacher wa
s Viennese so we learned to speak French with an Austrian accent. It was so strong that when our class went to Paris no one there could understand it.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘I didn’t know you’d been to Paris.’

  ‘I haven’t. Mum wanted me to go but couldn’t afford the trip.’

  Dig.

  ‘She tells me we have guests this weekend.’

  ‘Is that all right? She said you were happy for me to invite friends over.’

  ‘More than happy.’ A pause. ‘Susan’s a beautiful girl.’

  Ronnie nodded.

  ‘Do you like her a lot?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You should take her to the pictures some time. Or to see a rock’n’roll group.’

  Ronnie looked amused. ‘Which group would you recommend?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Cliff Richard and the Comets. The Everly Quintuplets.’

  Ronnie laughed. Charles was pleased. ‘Seriously, Ronnie, if you want to take her somewhere but are strapped for money then let me know. I’d be happy to help out.’

  ‘That’s kind.’

  ‘Not at all. Anything to help the path of true love run smooth.’

  ‘But she’s not the sort of person who’d like someone just because they had money.’

  Dig.

  ‘Well, the offer’s there if you need it.’

  ‘I know.’ Ronnie smiled. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Is the lip hurting?’

  ‘No. Is Mum still worrying?’

  ‘A bit. But that’s a mother’s job. Actually, Ronnie, I’ve been thinking that her bedroom walls look bare. Why don’t we have some of your drawings framed so they could hang there?’

  ‘That’s a great idea.’

  Again Charles was pleased. ‘We’ll have to pick some out. Say, half a dozen?’

  ‘I can do that. I know the ones she’ll like.’

  Dig.

  But was it really? Were any of them?

  ‘Of course. Let me know when you’ve chosen.’

  ‘I will.’

  Silence. Charles tried to think of something to prolong the conversation. He wanted the two of them to be friends. To be close. He had always longed to be a father and knew from Anna that Ronnie had always felt the absence of one. Now there was nothing to stop each fulfilling such a role for the other.

  But only if Ronnie wanted it too.

  He stared at the boy who faced him. This handsome, clever boy whose behaviour towards him was never less than gracious.