Apple of My Eye

by Patrick Redmond

  And who stared back at him with those barrier-like eyes.

  What are you hiding, Ronnie? What’s going on inside you?

  Who is the real Ronnie Sunshine?

  He rose to his feet. ‘Better let you get back to your hieroglyphics.’

  ‘OK. Thanks again for the offer.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  Two minutes later he entered the living room.

  Anna sat sewing name tags into Ronnie’s school shirts. ‘Where have you been?’ she asked.

  ‘Fetching my pipe and having a chat with Ronnie.’ He sat down beside her. The television was on. A comedian told mother-in-law jokes to shrieks of laughter from the studio audience. Soon it would be time for a drama series they both enjoyed.

  ‘How is he?’

  Charles filled his pipe. ‘As well as a boy with maths homework can be.’

  ‘Do you think he’s being bullied?’

  ‘No. It was just a scuffle. My friends and I were always having them at school. If you think my face is a mess now you should have seen it when I was Ronnie’s age.’

  Silence. He had hoped for laughter or better still a gesture of affection. Instead she just sighed.

  ‘You mustn’t worry about him, darling. He’s tougher than you think.’

  ‘He’s never got into fights before.’

  ‘All boys have them occasionally. It’s part of growing up.’

  ‘If he got into fights I’d know about it. Ronnie doesn’t keep secrets from me.’

  ‘Which means he’d tell you if he were being bullied. If he hasn’t then he’s not.’ He gave her arm a squeeze. ‘So stop worrying.’

  She continued to sew. He lit his pipe, breathing smoke into the air. Outside, the setting sun sent rays of red and gold across the surface of the river. ‘If the good weather lasts,’ he said, ‘we could have tea in the garden on Saturday. Jennifer could feed the swans.’

  For the first time she smiled. ‘Is my cooking so bad she’d want to dispose of it?’

  ‘It’s inedible. Why do you think I’m putting on so much weight?’

  ‘I think I’ll stick to sandwiches and cake. The sort of things young children like to eat.’

  ‘And middle-aged men too. Shaming though it is to admit.’

  She laughed. Again he squeezed her arm while the television comedian finished his routine to loud applause.

  ‘I’m glad he’s made a friend,’ she said eventually.

  ‘I think Ronnie would like her to be more than that.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘She’s very beautiful.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose she is.’

  ‘As are you.’

  She ignored the compliment. ‘But Ronnie’s too young to be interested in girls.’

  He’ll be sixteen next month. The same age you were when you met his father.

  ‘Anyway, he’d have told me if he felt anything for her. He tells me everything.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘We never have secrets. If he did keep something from me it would be trivial. Nothing that mattered or meant anything.’

  He nodded. A strange thought crept into his head. As stealthy as a thief.

  Who are you trying to convince, Anna? Me or yourself?

  Do you think he’s hiding something too?

  Her hand slipped, the needle puncturing her finger. She winced, looking suddenly like a wounded child. Love swept over him like a wave. He ached to put his arms around her and hold her close. To keep her safe from harm and pain.

  But he couldn’t. Their marriage was about friendship, not romantic love. Separate bedrooms and no physical intimacy except for tiny gestures that amply displayed her fondness for him but could not begin to describe the world of emotion he felt for her.

  Taking her wounded finger, he pressed it to his lips. ‘Does it hurt?’ he asked softly.

  Her smile returned. ‘Not now it’s been kissed better.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Our programme starts in a few minutes. Shall I go and make some coffee?’

  ‘That would be lovely. Thank you, darling.’

  On reaching the door she hesitated, then turned back.

  ‘I’ll just check on Ronnie. But I won’t be long so keep my seat warm.’

  He did. But when the programme ended an hour later it was still empty.

  Early evening on Thursday. Ronnie walked with Susan across Market Court.

  His legs were aching. They had spent the late afternoon exploring the woods to the west of the town. Her knowledge of them was remarkable. She could navigate their paths almost blindfold and had shown him one, almost hidden by undergrowth, that led all the way to the river bank. ‘No one else uses it,’ she had told him. ‘I don’t think they know it’s here.’ He had found some wild flowers and she had helped him pick them for his mother.

  They reached the corner of Queen Anne Square. ‘I’ll wait for you tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t you ever get tired of hanging around on street corners?’

  ‘No. It’s in my blood. I must be descended from housebreakers.’

  She laughed. Someone called her name. A tall, plumpish man approached them wearing an expensive suit and a genial expression. ‘Hello, Susie. Have you been walking?’

  ‘Yes, Uncle Andrew.’

  ‘And who can blame you on such a lovely afternoon.’

  Ronnie held out his hand. ‘I’m Ronnie Sidney.’

  The man smiled at him. ‘And I’m Andrew Bishop, Susie’s stepfather.’ The handshake was firm and friendly. ‘Sidney, eh? You’re not Mrs Pembroke’s son, are you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, welcome to Kendleton. How are you enjoying life here?’

  ‘Very much. Mum said it was beautiful but her letters didn’t do it justice.’

  ‘Has Susie been showing you the sights?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I’ll know who to blame when her homework suffers.’ Mr Bishop laughed affably.

  Ronnie turned to Susan, relieved that his first meeting with a member of her family seemed to be going well. She smiled at him, looking just as she always did.

  But something about her was different.

  He knew it instinctively. A change he couldn’t see so much as feel. Her physical presence was diminished. The aura of invulnerability reduced. This girl who had more courage than anyone he’d ever met. Who wasn’t afraid of anyone.

  But she’s afraid of him.

  ‘Are those flowers for your mother?’ asked Mr Bishop.

  ‘Yes, provided they haven’t died before I get them home.’ He laughed too, giving no indication that he had noticed anything. ‘Actually Mum’s invited Susie and Jennifer to come for tea on Saturday.’

  ‘How kind of her.’ Mr Bishop beamed at Susan. ‘What a lovely treat for Jenjen.’

  Susan nodded. ‘Yes, she’ll really enjoy it.’ She was still smiling and her voice was steady but her body discharged tension like electric waves. Particularly when the abbreviation of Jennifer’s name was used.

  ‘We’d better get home,’ said Mr Bishop. ‘Susie’s mother gets very cross if we’re late for tea.’ He grinned at Susan. ‘Doesn’t she, Susie?’

  ‘Yes, Uncle Andrew. ’Bye, Ronnie.’

  ‘’Bye, Susie. Goodbye, Mr Bishop. It was nice to meet you.’

  ‘And you, Ronnie. See you again soon, I hope.’

  They walked away. Mr Bishop turned and gave him a wave.

  Why is she afraid? What have you done to make her afraid?

  Still smiling, he waved back.

  Saturday afternoon. Charles sat in the garden with Anna, Ronnie and their guests.

  They had an extra guest that afternoon: Mary Norris, widow of his friend Dr Henry Norris who had died of a stroke the previous winter. He and Henry had been undergraduates together and Mary had an open invitation to visit whenever she wanted.

  It was proving a lively gathering. Jennifer was treating them to a medley of songs she had learned at school. A spirit
ed performance of ‘Land of the Buffalo’ had just been eclipsed by an even more passionate rendition of ‘Little Donkey’.

  ‘Now I’m going to sing “My Old Man Said Follow the Van”,’ she announced.

  ‘That’s enough singing for now, Jenjen,’ said Susan quickly.

  ‘No it’s not. Mrs Boyd said I sang it best in the class.’

  ‘And I’d love to hear it,’ added Mary.

  ‘See.’ Jennifer gave Susan a meaningful look then once again burst into song. Charles, fighting an urge to laugh, noticed Mary’s lips also twitching. He caught her eye across the table and gave her a grin.

  The table was laden with food. Sandwiches, crisps and an assortment of buns and cakes, all of which Anna had made herself. Jennifer, stopped singing mid-verse, gulped down some lemonade, gave a contented sigh and started up again. Charles’s need to laugh increased. Biting down on his lip, he watched swans land on the water and swim towards the bank. Though the sun was bright there was a nip in the air, warning that autumn was finally on the way.

  At last Jennifer finished. ‘That really is enough now, Jenjen,’ said Susan firmly.

  ‘But it was a lovely treat,’ Mary told her. ‘You sing very well.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Jennifer gave her a dazzling smile, then turned to Charles and gave him one too. Something she had been doing on a regular basis since her arrival. He smiled back, careful to keep the damaged side of his face from view.

  ‘Would you like some chocolate cake, Jennifer?’ asked Anna.

  ‘Yes please.’

  ‘Would you like to be a singer when you grow up?’ asked Mary.

  Jennifer nodded. ‘Or a cowboy. I know a song about cowboys.’

  ‘Which you’re not going to sing,’ Susan told her.

  Jennifer looked indignant. ‘Why don’t you sing it to us after tea?’ suggested Mary, and was rewarded with another dazzling smile. As was Charles, though he wasn’t sure why.

  More swans approached the bank. ‘We can feed them later,’ Anna told Jennifer.

  ‘Do you like swans, Jennifer?’ asked Mary.

  ‘Yes. Susie and I feed them bread by the lock.’

  ‘Then you don’t want to be a cowboy,’ Ronnie told her. ‘There aren’t any swans where cowboys live. Only buffaloes and coyotes and Red Indians with tomahawks.’ He gave an Indian war cry that made her giggle. Susan smiled, but only briefly. She seemed subdued and not entirely comfortable.

  ‘Would you like some more food?’ Charles asked her.

  ‘No thank you, Mr Pembroke.’ She sipped her lemonade, staring down at the table. On first arriving she had appeared sure of herself but that confidence had quickly evaporated. Again he wondered why.

  ‘Did you ever want to be a cowboy, Ronnie?’ asked Mary.

  ‘Ronnie always wanted to be an artist,’ answered Anna, looking proudly at her son. ‘From the moment he first picked up a pencil.’

  Mary turned to Susan. ‘And what about you, dear? What would you like to be?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘No ideas yet?’

  Susan shook her head. She seemed particularly awkward with Mary, though there was no need to be. Mary liked young people and they usually liked her too. Jennifer certainly did.

  And Susan had seemed to at first. The two of them had been talking quite happily.

  Up until the moment when Mary revealed who her husband had been.

  Charles felt a rumbling at the back of his head. The hiss of a memory yet to take shape.

  ‘Of course,’ continued Mary, ‘you could be a model with your wonderful looks.’

  ‘My dad says that too,’ Jennifer told her between mouthfuls of cake.

  Mary nodded. ‘My cousin’s daughter is a model and she’s nowhere near as beautiful as you. She lives in London now and is always going to parties with actors.’

  ‘That’s what Susie should be,’ said Ronnie.

  ‘What? An actor … I mean actress?’

  ‘Not just an actress. A film star. That’s what she looks like. A film star.’

  ‘You’re right,’ agreed Mary. ‘She does.’

  The rumbling in Charles’s head grew louder.

  And suddenly, the memory came.

  He was sitting in a pub with Henry, listening to him talk about a girl patient he had treated for venereal disease. A disease she had contracted from her father.

  Such a beautiful kid too. Looks like a film star.

  And how many girls in Kendleton looked like Susan?

  Her father would have been dead by then. Long dead.

  But not her stepfather.

  He couldn’t be sure, of course. Yet he was.

  A shiver ran through him. As if someone had walked over his grave.

  Jennifer gave him yet another smile then turned to Susan and said, ‘Was Mrs Hopkins in the library brave in the war?’

  ‘Why do you ask that, dear?’ asked Mary.

  ‘Because she’s got a horrid face.’

  ‘Shut up, Jenjen!’ hissed Susan.

  ‘But you said Mr Pembroke had a horrid face ’cos he was brave in the war.’

  Susan turned crimson. Everyone else looked flustered except Jennifer, who just looked confused.

  ‘I don’t think this is a horrid face,’ Charles told her. ‘At least not as horrid as this one.’ He stuck out his tongue and began to wiggle his ears.

  Jennifer shrieked with laughter.

  ‘Or this one.’ He struck another pose.

  The others relaxed. Mary and Ronnie began to laugh too.

  ‘And look at this.’ He performed an optical illusion, seeming to remove his thumb and then replace it. Jennifer squeaked, her eyes almost popping out of her head.

  ‘It looks like magic, Jennifer, but it’s easy really. Shall I show you how to do it?’

  Jennifer leapt from her seat and rushed to stand by his. ‘Show me!’

  So he did. Teaching her the trick while the others offered encouragement. He kept glancing at Susan but her eyes remained focused on Jennifer and she didn’t seem to notice.

  Half an hour later, he sat smoking his pipe and watching the others feed the swans.

  ‘Mr Pembroke.’

  Susan stood beside his chair, looking as awkward as she had earlier. ‘I wanted to say that I’m very sorry …’

  ‘I’m extremely flattered you think I’m brave. That’s a great compliment to pay someone.’ He smiled. ‘However undeserved.’

  The awkwardness vanished, replaced by a smile of her own. He realized that she reminded him of Eleanor, the girl he had been engaged to before his accident. Susan was more beautiful but the resemblance was still there.

  ‘So please don’t feel embarrassed. There’s no need. Especially as it gave me the chance to display my prowess as a magician.’

  ‘Which is very good.’ A pause. ‘Unlike Jennifer’s singing.’

  ‘I disagree. Her rendition of “Little Donkey” had real pathos.’

  ‘She sings all the time! It’s like being with a walking jukebox except that unlike a jukebox you can’t switch her off.’

  He laughed. Jennifer, helped by Ronnie, climbed into a tree that hung over the water. ‘That’s the wonderful thing about being that age,’ he said. ‘You know no fear. Life is one big adventure. It’s only as you grow older that you learn how to be afraid.’

  Her eyes became thoughtful. He waited for a reply but none came.

  ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘Not for her.’

  ‘We’re all afraid sometimes. Even the bravest of us.’

  ‘She won’t ever be if I can help it. I want her to stay just the way she is.’

  ‘She’s lucky to have you as a friend.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you strike me as someone it would take a great deal to frighten.’

  Another smile. ‘Don’t you believe it. All sorts of things frighten me.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘School lunches. French homework. Not getting picked fo
r the lacrosse team.’

  And what your stepfather did to you in the dark when there was no one there to help.

  Jennifer called out to Susan. ‘You’re being summoned,’ he told her.

  She nodded, turned to go, then turned back.

  ‘Thanks, Mr Pembroke.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  He remained in his seat, breathing smoke into the air. Jennifer sat in the tree, throwing bread to the swans beneath. Susan climbed up beside her, holding her round the middle, whispering into her ear. Briefly Jennifer looked over in his direction. He gave her a wave and received a huge grin in return.

  Anna stood with Mary, observing the scene just as he was. He hoped she had enjoyed the afternoon and had seen Susan for what she was. Genuine. Warm hearted. And no threat.

  Time passed. Susan said they had to go. Jennifer ran over to where he sat. ‘Thank you for teaching me the trick,’ she told him before kissing him on the cheek. He was touched that a child would want to kiss so damaged a face. As, perhaps, Susan had intended.

  He watched them walk away. Ronnie was going with them as far as Market Court. Jennifer held Susan’s hand, swinging her arm through the air. A pretty little girl with reddish blonde hair who loved to sing and knew nothing about being afraid.

  But Susan did. He was sure of it.

  A very great deal.

  ‘What charming girls,’ observed Mary. ‘It’s lovely they’re so fond of each other.’

  He nodded, keeping his worries to himself.

  Ronnie stood on the corner of Queen Anne Square, waiting while Susan walked Jennifer the rest of the way home.

  His shoulders ached. Jennifer had sat astride them for much of the journey, singing yet more songs. Not that he had minded. He liked Jennifer.

  As they crossed the square, Susan’s front door opened. Mr Bishop appeared, calling out to them. They stood waiting for him, Jennifer bouncing up and down excitedly while Susan smiled and seemed diminished. Just as she had before.

  Mr Bishop squatted on his haunches and said something to Jennifer. She started to laugh. He tickled her ribs then picked her up, throwing her into the air and catching her, stroking her hair and kissing her cheek. Still laughing, she kissed him back.

  And Susan shuddered. Even though her smile remained in place.

  Suddenly Ronnie was back in Hepton, watching Vera humiliate his mother. Sitting in silence at the kitchen table, night after night, masking the fury that burned inside him like acid at the pain being inflicted on someone he loved with all his heart.