Apple of My Eye

by Patrick Redmond

  ‘I like him. He’s really nice.’

  ‘That’s why Susie’s chasing him. Nice people are more fun to hurt.’

  The first voice was unfamiliar. The second belonged to Alice Wetherby.

  ‘Paul Benson was nice too.’

  ‘And look what she did to him. He’d just lost his mother and she comes along and is all nice and concerned and I really care about you and isn’t it a shame your father doesn’t. She really damaged that relationship. Edward says that before she got involved Paul and his father were close but now they don’t get on at all.’

  ‘Ronnie’s really close to his mother, isn’t he?’

  ‘Not for much longer. She’ll find a chink and start scratching at it. Your mother doesn’t care about you, Ronnie. Not now she’s got her rich husband. Ronnie’s mother’s nice but she’s a bit pathetic. Susie will eat her alive.’ A sigh. ‘Oh well. It’s not my problem. I can’t see that book. It must be out of stock. Let’s go.’

  Footsteps moved away. A bell rang as the door of the shop opened and shut.

  Anna remained where she was, the book on Millais still clutched in her hand.

  She told herself that it was nonsense. Alice had been attracted to Ronnie but he was attracted to someone else. Her words were prompted by jealousy and spite.

  She paid for the book. The assistant complimented her on her choice. ‘It’s a birthday present for my son,’ she explained. ‘Millais is his favourite painter.’

  The assistant smiled. ‘He’s lucky to have a mother who knows what he likes.’

  And it was true. She did know what Ronnie liked. She knew him better than anyone. Their bond was as strong as steel and no third person could ever break it.

  Not that any such person existed. It was all spite.

  It was. She was sure of it.

  She walked out of the shop. Two elderly women stood on the pavement talking about the weather. One tapped the other on the arm and pointed. ‘What a beautiful couple.’

  Ronnie and Susan were walking through the Court. They moved slowly, arm in arm, deep in conversation and with their heads almost touching. Others were watching them too, but they didn’t seem to notice. Too wrapped up in each other to care.

  And they were beautiful. Radiant and magnetic. Like a pair of young film stars carefully paired so their colouring would enhance that of the other while completely extinguishing all those who came into their orbit.

  ‘The girl is Susan Ramsey,’ one of the women said, ‘but I don’t know who the boy is.’ Anna wanted to tell them he was her son but held back, suddenly fearful that she would not be believed.

  Ronnie’s mother’s nice but she’s a bit pathetic.

  Too pathetic to hold on to Ronnie if someone else chose to steal him away?

  But Susan didn’t want to steal him. She was a nice girl. She was. She really was.

  He’d just lost his mother and she comes along and is all nice and concerned …

  She’ll find a chink and start scratching at it.

  But that would never happen. Ronnie needed her as much as she needed him. She knew him better than Susan ever could. There were no secrets. Nothing she did not know.

  But what about the drawer?

  Ronnie and Susan continued on their way, still attracting stares as they took the path that led to the river, drawing some of the light after them.

  *

  Half an hour later. Anna sat on Ronnie’s bed, staring at the desk drawer.

  It was locked, just as it always was. He kept it so believing he had the only key.

  Unaware that she had kept one too.

  She held it in her hand, the metal cool against her skin. A quick look. That was all. Only a second and it would be done.

  Rising from the bed, she walked towards the desk.

  Then stopped.

  She couldn’t do it. He was her son. Her Ronnie Sunshine. And the contents of the drawer would be sunshine too. No darkness. No shadows. Nothing to make her afraid.

  Everything is all right. Susan is no threat. Ronnie is yours and whatever secrets he has are meaningless.

  It’s true. You know it is.

  She walked out of the room, leaving the drawer undisturbed.

  Thursday evening. Andrew Bishop sat in the living room of his home.

  He was feeling irritable. Susan had invited Ronnie Sidney for supper without asking permission first. Not that it would have been granted. The last thing he wanted at his dinner table was tedious adolescent chatter. He had considered revoking the invitation but decided against it. Ronnie’s stepfather was a rich and useful contact. Better not risk giving offence.

  And it wouldn’t happen again. Within weeks Susan would be in Scotland.

  Besides, there were consolations. Jennifer was having supper with them too. ‘She likes Ronnie,’ Susan had explained. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ And he had shaken his head and said, ‘Of course not. She’s almost family, isn’t she?’

  Jennifer sat at his feet, wearing a blue dress, playing with the doll’s house he had given Susan after her father died. Moving dolls from room to room, singing to herself.

  ‘Having fun, Jenjen?’ he asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘Are you making up a story?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He patted his knee. ‘Come and tell it to me.’

  She climbed into his lap, the fabric of her dress sliding up to reveal her thighs. He felt an ache in his groin. The desire to touch them was almost overwhelming.

  But he could be patient. Not much longer now.

  Jennifer prattled on, beaming from ear to ear. She was very pretty. Just as Susan had been. He put his arms around her, tickling her ribs and kissing her cheek. Giggling, she kissed him back. She didn’t yet know that this would soon be her home. When she found out she would be upset, but not for long. She loved her Uncle Andrew. Just as Susan had.

  She continued to smile. Her pale blue eyes wide and trusting. But knowing too.

  Just as Susan’s had been.

  She wants it to happen. Deep down I know she does.

  A bottle of whisky stood on the table at the centre of the room together with a box of chocolates. Presents from Ronnie. It was good whisky. He would enjoy drinking it when the time came.

  From the distance came the sound of clattering pans. His wife was making chicken casserole. There were voices in the hallway. Susan was talking to Ronnie. He could see them through the half-open door. Susan’s face was anxious. Troubled.

  His curiosity roused, he began to watch.

  Susan touched Ronnie’s arm. He smiled at her, looking suddenly uncomfortable. She leant across and kissed his face. Still smiling, he moved very slightly away, then wiped his cheek. Susan looked hurt. Rejected.

  Andrew experienced an odd sense of déjàvu. Though why he couldn’t say.

  Jennifer continued to tell her story. Susan entered the room. ‘I’m going to help Mum.’ Ronnie remained in the doorway, still looking uncomfortable.

  ‘Enjoying school, Ronnie?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes. The facilities are amazing. Especially the sports pitches. At my old school all we had was a patch of grass marked out with weedkiller.’

  ‘I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.’

  ‘Well, there was a good side. If you wanted to get out of games you just fell on a patch of dead grass and started screaming about industrial burns.’

  He laughed. Jennifer frowned. ‘What are ’dustrial burns?’

  Susan reappeared. ‘Uncle Andrew, Mum says could you come and taste the casserole. She’s not sure if she’s put enough salt in.’

  ‘Of course. I’ll come now.’

  The kitchen was hot and stuffy. He tasted the casserole while his wife watched him anxiously. ‘Fine,’ he told her. She nodded while Susan stood by sniffing.

  ‘Getting a cold?’ he asked.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Well, try and keep it to yourself.’ He made his way back to the living room, choking down irritation as S
usan gave a thunderous sneeze.

  When he reached the doorway he stopped and stared.

  Jennifer and Ronnie were crouched together by the doll’s house. Jennifer was poking around in the rooms, completely wrapped up in her imaginary story. Once again her skirt had slid up revealing her thighs.

  And Ronnie was stroking them.

  His fingers slid over them so lightly they barely touched the skin. Not enough contact for Jennifer to even notice. A gesture that could possibly be taken as one of innocent affection, were it not for the look of frustrated desire on his face.

  A strange tremor ran through Andrew. A mixture of shock and recognition.

  And excitement.

  He cleared his throat. Both looked round. Jennifer gave him a wave. Ronnie’s eyes widened with alarm.

  ‘Having fun?’ he asked, smiling and pretending to have noticed nothing.

  Instantly Ronnie relaxed. ‘Jennifer’s telling me a wonderful story.’

  ‘I’m sure she is.’

  Susan appeared, still sniffing. ‘Jenjen, come and help me lay the table.’

  ‘I can help too,’ said Ronnie.

  ‘Don’t worry. Jenjen and I can do it.’ Her tone was civil but cool.

  Susan and Jennifer left the room. Ronnie rose to his feet. Fleetingly Andrew glanced at his groin, noticing a faint bulge that could have been the fold of his trousers.

  Could have been.

  ‘Jenjen’s got quite an imagination,’ he said affably.

  Ronnie nodded. ‘Carol did too.’

  ‘Carol?’

  ‘The daughter of our neighbours in Hepton. I used to babysit for her. It was an easier way to earn money than having a paper round.’

  I bet it was.

  ‘Thanks again for the whisky. I’ll enjoy it.’

  Ronnie gazed longingly at the bottle.

  ‘Do you like whisky?’

  A guilty look. ‘I’ve never tried it.’

  ‘Really?’

  The expression became sheepish. ‘Well, a couple of times.’

  ‘And did you like it?’

  ‘Yes, but it doesn’t like me. I had some at my aunt’s Christmas party and ended up telling Mum I’d cheated in one of my exams.’ A grimace. ‘She was horrified.’

  ‘I’m sure I cheated in the odd exam when I was your age.’ A quick wink. ‘And I used to sneak the odd whisky too from my father’s cabinet.’

  ‘And then fill it up with water?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Ronnie grinned. ‘So did I. Carol’s father had a bottle in his cupboard. I was sure he’d notice but fortunately he never did.’

  What else didn’t he notice? What else did you do when you and Carol were alone?

  And will you tell me? When a few swigs of whisky have loosened your tongue?

  The ache in his groin had returned. He swallowed. His throat was dry.

  ‘Susie says you like history.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve got some eighteenth-century prints of Kendleton in my study. Perhaps, after supper, you’d like to come up and have a look.’

  ‘I’d like that. Thank you, Mr Bishop.’

  ‘My pleasure, Ronnie. My pleasure.’

  Saturday afternoon. Susan stood on a street in Oxford, looking at her watch.

  Someone called her name. Charles Pembroke approached. ‘Hello, Susan. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Just some shopping.’

  ‘Did you come by bus?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘My car’s here. I could give you a lift home but I wouldn’t mind a coffee first. Will you join me?’

  ‘I’d like that.’

  Five minutes later they sat together in a smart tea shop.

  ‘Ronnie not with you, then?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I’m trying to find him a birthday present. I think he’s doing some homework, though he said he might go for a walk.’

  As had Uncle Andrew. The two of them might even run into each other.

  ‘So what have you bought him?’

  ‘Nothing yet. He’s difficult to buy for. Clever people always are.’

  ‘And he’s certainly that.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll get into Oxford?’

  ‘Yes, if he wants to. As will you.’

  ‘I won’t. Not a chance.’

  ‘There’s every chance for someone with your brains.’

  She smiled. ‘What brains? You should see my school reports.’

  ‘And you should have seen mine. I was the despair of my teachers.’

  She was taken aback. ‘You’re really clever.’

  ‘But I hated school. Not because it was an awful place but because I had an awful home life.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, and then felt embarrassed. ‘Sorry. It’s none of my business.’

  ‘Don’t apologize. I brought it up. It was because of my father. He could be charming when he wanted to but he also had a temper, and when he drank, which he did a lot, he took it out on my stepmother and younger brother. I always felt it was my job to protect them but I never knew how. I used to worry about them and him all the time and it affected my ability to concentrate.’

  ‘So how did you learn how to concentrate?’

  ‘My history teacher befriended me. I think he realized I wasn’t quite the simpleton others believed me to be. He encouraged me to confide in him and advised me on how to deal with the situation. Just being able to share my worries with someone really helped.’

  He smiled at her. His eyes were kind. Just as his teacher’s must have been.

  Just as her father’s had been.

  Suddenly she felt the urge to tell him everything. To confide in him. To have him advise her on what she should do.

  But Uncle Andrew had once reminded her of her father too. And she already knew what she had to do.

  ‘I don’t have that excuse. My home life’s fine. I’m just lazy.’ Quickly she changed the subject. ‘Jennifer’s learnt some new songs.’

  For a moment she thought he looked disappointed. But she could have been mistaken.

  Then he smiled again. ‘And you’re happy about that?’

  Not as much as the farmers. She sings when we walk near their fields and now all their cows have stopped giving milk.’

  He burst out laughing. A woman on a nearby table gawped at his damaged face. The sight made Susan angry. ‘Can we help you?’ she called out. Flushing, the woman looked away.

  ‘That was a bit hard,’ he told her.

  ‘She was staring. It’s rude.’

  ‘But it’s natural. Besides, it doesn’t bother me.’

  Something told her that this wasn’t completely true. But perhaps it was.

  She hoped so.

  ‘Anyway, Ronnie’s mother screamed when she first saw me and now we’re married. Trust me, our fellow diner will have decided I’m the love of her life before she’s finished her cream slice.’

  It was her turn to laugh. He looked pleased. His eyes really were like her father’s. She remembered the way he had put her at ease the previous Saturday and felt a warmth in the pit of her stomach.

  I like you. You’re a good man. You really are.

  Again she felt the urge to confide. But she suppressed it. He wasn’t her father and the only person she could depend on was herself.

  And Ronnie.

  Eight o’clock that evening. On the pretext of going to post a letter, she met Ronnie.

  ‘It went perfectly,’ he said.

  ‘Did anyone see you?’

  ‘No. People saw him, though. The lock-keeper for one.’

  ‘He was drinking at lunchtime. Nearly a bottle of wine.’

  ‘It made him a bit unsteady on his feet. The lock-keeper will have seen that too.’

  How long were you together?’

  ‘An hour. He brought Carol up after fifteen minutes. Casually, like it wasn’t important. I didn’t say anything explicit. Just enough to make sure he’d want to meet again.’

  ‘When?’
/>
  ‘Next Sunday. Like we agreed. With whisky this time to loosen my tongue.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I can do it alone. You don’t have to be there.’

  ‘Yes I do. We have to alibi each other.’

  ‘We don’t need alibis. It’ll be a drunken accident. That’s what everyone will think.’

  ‘We do it together, Ronnie. That’s how it is.’

  ‘Then that’s how it will be.’

  ‘I’m scared. That’s stupid, isn’t it?’

  ‘No. Just unnecessary. I love you, Susie, and I won’t let you down.’

  ‘I know you won’t.’

  They kissed each other, slowly and tenderly.

  Then turned and made their separate ways back home.

  Eleven o’clock. Anna sat in bed trying to read a novel but finding herself unable to concentrate. Too many other things were occupying her mind.

  There was a knock on the door. Charles entered. ‘Is it too late to disturb you?’

  ‘No.’

  He sat on her bed, bringing with him the comforting smell of pipe tobacco. ‘So what’s bothering you?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘And does that nothing concern Ronnie?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I know you.’ He stroked her hand with his finger. ‘And I also know what they say. A nothing shared is a nothing halved.’

  She smiled. ‘Even with my appalling arithmetic I know that calculation is flawed.’

  ‘But my hearing isn’t. Try me.’

  ‘It’s stupid.’

  ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

  ‘He went for a walk this afternoon. I said I’d go with him but he didn’t want me to.’

  His finger continued to stroke her hand. She looked down at the bedspread, feeling foolish. ‘Told you it was stupid.’

  ‘He wanted to be on his own. We all want that sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So?’ His tone was encouraging.

  ‘It’s just that I didn’t think it would be like this. Ever since I came to work for your mother I’ve dreamed about having him here with me, and now he is and he’s …’ She paused, searching for the right words.

  ‘Not nine years old any more?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Growing up doesn’t mean growing away. There’s a saying. If you want the bird to stay then keep your hand open. If it’s free to go it will always come back.’