Apple of My Eye

by Claire Allan

  That weight in my arms, that had been in my belly, that was then taken from me. Physically at least. But not emotionally. I carried it with me always. I knew I’d only be able to put it down when I replaced it with the weight of a new baby. My baby.

  I prayed that God would send her home soon. And I vowed that I wouldn’t let her out of my sight again.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Angela

  As we stand outside the hospice, my daughter’s hand in mine, I feel my nerves rattle.

  My primary fear is for Eli. I’m reminded of her first day at school. The pair of us standing side by side outside a red brick building, holding hands just as we are now. I wore a long beige raincoat that day with black boots and jeans. Sensible. Not quite fashionable. The boots kept the September rain from soaking my feet.

  Eli wore a bright pink raincoat, with purple mittens and a purple bobble hat. She looked up at me, her eyes blinking at me from under her fringe, which I’d foolishly cut myself, leaving it slightly longer on one side than the other.

  ‘Do I have to go in, Mummy?’ she’d asked me.

  My gut response was to scream no. Of course she didn’t have to. She didn’t have to do anything she didn’t want to do. Except that she did have to go to school. She had to leave the safety of our family unit and spend her time with other children, other adults, other influences, and I had to let her. I had to encourage her even. So I put a bright smile on my face and squeezed her hand, those three little squeezes.

  ‘Of course you have to go in, darling. And you have to show them all just how amazing you are. You show them you can write your own name already. And not just Eli. Your full proper Eliana name and your last name. I bet you’re the only little girl in your class able to do that.’

  She looked at me, her face twisting as she thought about what to say next.

  ‘But can’t you teach me everything else? Like you taught me to write my own name.’

  ‘Oh, sweetheart, your teacher will know more things than I could ever know, and she’ll make learning lots and lots of fun. And when you come home at the end of each day, we can do all the fun things and not worry about boring old learning. We can even have a hot chocolate today, if you want.’

  ‘With marshmallows?’

  ‘Of course. And cream.’

  She didn’t look convinced. That was my little girl. Always questioning. Always thinking.

  ‘And you will be here for me at home time?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world even if I could be,’ I told her. ‘I will always, always be here for you.’

  I watched this little girl, all three foot of her, take a big breath and puff out her chest.

  ‘Okay then, Mummy. We should go in.’

  She squeezed my hand and I’m not sure which of us needed the reassurance more.

  Standing outside the hospice now, I feel those same emotions. I know in my heart my daughter has to go inside and face whatever will come. I also know there’s no way I can face it for her or make it easier for her. I doubt the promise of a hot chocolate will cut it this time.

  ‘I feel sick,’ she says, her voice small.

  ‘Whatever happens, we’ll cope.’ I say. ‘Whatever happens, it won’t change the fact you’re good and kind and wonderful.’

  She gives me that same unconvinced look she had when she was four.

  ‘Come on then,’ she says. ‘I’ll get this over and done with.’

  She lets go of my hand and walks a few steps in front of me, holding open the large glass-panelled door at the front of the building to allow me in.

  I’m not sure what I expect of the hospice itself. A sterile environment. A place with an air of death and dying. Sombre-faced staff. Weeping families in every corridor. It isn’t like that at all, of course. It’s warm and welcoming. Homely even.

  A woman I put in her fifties, with short blonde hair, stands up from behind the reception desk and walks over to us as soon as she sees Eli arrive. She pulls her into a hug and I can hear the pair whisper to each other. Soothing, reassuring noises. They pull apart and the woman looks at me.

  ‘Mrs Johnston, if you come with me I’ll get you a tea or coffee. You’re in luck today, one of our families brought in some fresh baked scones, too.’

  I bristle. ‘I was going to go in with Eli, actually,’ I say, looking to my daughter for confirmation.

  She shakes her head. ‘Mum, it’s not really the done thing. Lorraine here will look after you.’

  ‘But you can’t go in there alone! Not in your condition.’

  ‘I won’t be alone. I’ll have my union rep. Other staff members.’

  I’m not happy. I thought I’d be allowed in with her. That I’d be able fight her corner in the way only a mother can. I don’t want to be sidelined to a kitchen with a cup of badly made tea and a home-made scone. Stuff home-made scones.

  ‘Everyone here thinks very highly of Eliana,’ Lorraine chimes in.

  I want to shout at her to butt out but I can’t make a scene.

  ‘I need to do this on my own, Mum. I’ll be okay, I promise.’

  She looks so brave that I can feel my bruised heart swell with pride.

  ‘Okay,’ I concede before giving her a quick hug and allowing Lorraine to lead me to the staff kitchen to make a cup of tea.

  ‘You mustn’t worry, Mrs Johnston. People here know what a good nurse Eli is,’ she says with her back to me as she lifts a jar down from the cupboard. ‘It’s a disgrace sometimes the pressure they work under, but everyone knows she wouldn’t have done anything to hurt anyone intentionally.’

  ‘No, she wouldn’t have.’ Terse; I know I sound terse and I have to remind myself to stay calm.

  But I’m struggling, I can feel my muscles tense. I’m on edge. I don’t want to be here making small talk.

  ‘I mean, I know she’s been really unwell with this baby, but even then … well, it wouldn’t impact on her ability,’ Lorraine says, turning round to look at me.

  ‘No it wouldn’t. It hasn’t.’

  ‘She’s very capable,’ Lorraine says. ‘Can I get you milk and sugar?’

  ‘Just milk, please,’ I say, although I don’t have much of an appetite for tea or anything else.

  ‘I’m sure they won’t be all that long,’ she says as she hands me a two-litre carton of milk and sits down opposite me, two cups of tea between us.

  I thank her. Succinctly. I don’t want to engage in conversation. I look at the clock on the wall. It’s been five minutes already.

  I sense her looking at me. She’s trying to size me up, I imagine. I bow my head. I don’t feel comfortable at all.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she begins. ‘But do I know you? You’re familiar-looking. Did you go to St Mary’s?’

  ‘No,’ I reply, my heart starting to beat faster. I want to be with Eli. Not here.

  ‘I could swear we’ve met before. I’m usually very good with faces. Is it Creggan? Did you grow up there? I grew up in the Heights. I’d say we’re not far off the same age. What was your maiden name? Give me a few minutes, I’ll be able to place you, I’m sure.’

  ‘We’ve not met,’ I say, annoyed at her persistence. ‘I’m not from Derry. I grew up in Belfast, so I think you must have me mixed up with someone else.’

  She pulls a face as if she doesn’t quite believe what I’ve told her. I hate her kind. Perpetually nosy.

  I look at the clock – how can only ten minutes have passed?

  ‘You must be very excited about the baby?’ Lorraine says.

  ‘Of course I am,’ I say.

  ‘This is your first grandchild, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say, wishing she’d stop asking questions.

  Why does she think she has the right to ask? I take another breath, although my chest feels tighter. The effort required is something else. Is this what Eli’s been feeling over these last few days as her world has fallen in around her ears? Have I done this to my child?

  ‘Eli’s an onl
y child,’ I tell her. ‘So yes.’

  ‘I thought that; about Eli being an only child, that is. Well, a first grandchild is always extra special. I’ve ruined mine altogether. Well, I love them all, of course, but he’ll always have a special place in my heart.’

  ‘I imagine so,’ I say.

  I know I’m being rude. This Lorraine is perfectly lovely and welcoming, if nosy. She’s trying to engage me in conversation, but I want her – no, need her – to go.

  ‘This baby will certainly be surrounded by a lot of love. We’re all very excited here. It’s a long time since we had a baby about the place.’

  ‘Well, I think we should see how things go today. Not get ahead of ourselves.’

  If I have my way, this baby will be nowhere near this hospice.

  ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine,’ Lorraine says again, but her voice is quieter now.

  I think she’s starting to realise I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want her near me. I don’t want any of these people near me with their faux concern.

  We fall into a not-so-companionable silence. I can’t help but look at the clock. Has it slowed? It feels too warm. The heating on full to ward off the wintry weather. I want to push open the window and suck in some fresh air.

  A phone rings, breaking the silence with its shrillness. I’m immediately grateful for it.

  ‘Ah, that’ll be for me,’ Lorraine says. ‘No rest for the wicked and all that.’

  I give a half-smile.

  ‘There are some magazines here, why don’t you distract yourself with a quick read while you wait for Eli?’

  She doesn’t wait for my response, which I’m exceptionally grateful for.

  I glance at the cover of the nearest magazine. ‘I thought I could trust my sister, but she tried to ruin my life’ the headline screams in red-and-yellow. Cheap and tacky. I wonder what the sister’s version of the story is – I know more than most that there’s always more to a story than there first appears.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Angela

  I’m staring at the cold remnants of my cup of tea, watching little flecks of milk swim to the top of the biscuit-coloured liquid, when I hear the door to the kitchen creak open. I look up immediately and there she is: my daughter – her face pale. Tired-looking. Her eyes red.

  ‘Can we go, Mum? I’m done.’

  I want to say yes, grab her and run. But I can’t show any panic.

  ‘What did they say?’ I ask, standing for a hug.

  She sags into my arms.

  ‘They can’t link the overdose directly to her death given how critically ill she was anyway. The medication wouldn’t have been the primary factor in her passing. The dose was high, but not catastrophic,’ she says as she starts to cry. ‘I’m not going to lose my licence. There won’t be any prosecution or anything like that, but they’ve started my maternity leave. Want me to take time out.’

  Temporary relief floods through me. There will be no prosecution for her to go through. She won’t be taken from me.

  ‘That’s as good an outcome as you could’ve hoped for,’ I tell her.

  ‘The woman is still dead, Mum. She still didn’t get to say goodbye to her son, nor he to her. I’ll have to live with that.’

  ‘Did you talk to him?’

  She nods. More tears fall.

  ‘He says his mother wouldn’t hold anything against me. She spoke so fondly of me to him. He thanked me for helping her to manage her pain.’

  I feel tears prick at my eyes. I’m so proud of this woman before me.

  ‘That just makes me feel even guiltier,’ she says, pulling away from me. ‘Please, Mum, I just need to get out of here. I’ve a lot of decisions to make. Including whether or not I’ll ever be back here.’

  ‘Now’s not the time to make hasty decisions,’ I tell her, feeling ashamed that my concern for her is dangerously close to being outweighed by the little fizz of excitement in my stomach that comes with the loosening of another string tying my beloved daughter to this city.

  We’re just leaving, when I hear a voice call to Eli, and she stops and turns around. It’s Rachel. She might be in a uniform and not swigging a vodka and Coke, but I recognise her at once. I squeeze Eli’s hand. Try to offer some silent reassurance.

  Eli walks to her but they’re still within earshot, so I can listen in.

  ‘How are things at home?’ Rachel asks.

  Eli tenses. ‘I’m staying in Belfast for a few days,’ she says.

  A few days? It’ll be more than that. I stay quiet, look to the door. I want to leave.

  ‘You know you can talk to me, if you need to,’ Rachel says.

  She sounds sincere. How Eli keeps her cool is beyond me, but she does. She just nods then turns and walks back towards me. No hugs. No friendly banter. Just her walking towards me and to the door, to my car.

  As I switch on the engine, I allow myself to exhale. We got out of there. We’ve got over this latest hurdle.

  But we’ve a bigger hurdle yet to climb.

  ‘Do you want to go and pick up some more of your things?’ I ask her.

  ‘I suppose we should,’ Eli says. ‘I can’t keep wearing this same maternity bra for the foreseeable. Or keep alternating the two tops I packed. I’m not even sure they’ll fit me for much longer. I’ll have to resort to wearing my nightie over my leggings.’

  She gives a weak laugh. It’s nice to hear, even if it is strained.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Angela

  My stomach drops when I see Martin’s car in the driveway outside their house.

  He’s home. I’d taken a chance when I messaged him earlier. I’d told him we were coming to pick up some things and maybe it’d be better for both of them if he made sure he was out. In hindsight, it was a stupid move. He hasn’t spoken to his wife in a few days. She won’t answer his messages – if she even gets them – and he’s desperate to see her.

  If I’d said nothing, he may well have been at work. We could’ve been in and out without going anywhere near him.

  ‘We don’t have to go in,’ I say.

  Eli looks at me.

  ‘I mean, if you don’t feel comfortable, we can just go. We can shop for the things you need in Belfast. You don’t have to put yourself through this. You’ve had a tough enough day as it is.’

  ‘I have to face him sometime,’ she says.

  ‘But it doesn’t have to be today.’ Am I sounding too controlling? ‘Or you can wait in the car. I’ll go in for you if you tell me what you need.’

  For a second she pauses and I think she’s going to agree, but she simply shakes her head.

  ‘I’m almost thirty-four years old, Mum. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet. Even doing the horrible stuff.’

  I can’t argue with that, even if I’d prefer he doesn’t get the chance to try to persuade her of his innocence. So I simply nod and tell her I’ll go in with her anyway, just in case she needs me.

  The stale air when we walk into the hall is the first thing that greets us. Walking through to the living area, it looks as though a pack of feral students has moved in. Empty takeaway cartons are sitting on the granite worktops, along with a collection of empty beer bottles and a half-drunk bottle of whisky. Eli puts her hand over her nose and mouth and says she feels sick, walking quickly to the bifold doors and pulling them open, letting a gust of freezing air into the room.

  The cushions on the sofa are in disarray, a discarded pair jeans and a pair of socks lie on the floor in front of the coffee table, where a pizza sits half eaten in its box, cheese congealing to a dark yellow, tiny pools of oil gathering on the surface.

  Paperwork is scattered on the floor, the hearth speckled with chipped pieces of wood and ash where he hasn’t brushed up after throwing more logs into the burner. Muddy footprints mark the tiled floors and a cupboard door hangs open. There’s no obvious sign of Martin.

  ‘Oh! Mum,’ Eli says. ‘I wasn’t expecting this. He must be struggling.’


  ‘Don’t you go feeling sorry for him, Eliana Johnston,’ I tell her. ‘He’s brought this on himself, playing around.’

  She sighs. I watch as she rubs her tummy, looks around the room. Does it still feel like her home?

  ‘I really believed he loved me,’ she says, walking to the doors and taking a deep breath.

  I think I hear a creak on the stairs, which she doesn’t seem to notice. I know I have to manipulate this situation to my advantage.

  ‘I’ve no doubt that he does, Eliana. How could he not? But like many men, he wants his cake and to eat it, too. You deserve more. Your daughter deserves more than a cheating father.’

  ‘Daughter?’

  Martin’s voice is loud and I swing round to see him walking down the hall. Wretched-looking. A stained T-shirt, pyjama bottoms and an unshaven face.

  I fake shock. ‘Oh! Martin, I didn’t see you … I didn’t know if you were in. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said …’

  Eli’s standing there, her face a picture of shock. He’d begged her not to find out the sex of their baby. She knows what his reaction will be.

  ‘Daughter?’ he repeats. ‘How do you know? Eli?’ He looks visibly shaken by her betrayal of his trust.

  ‘Look, Martin, I don’t think this is anything to be getting yourself upset about. We’re just here to get a few things and we’ll be off again.’

  He raises a hand to silence me, walks towards Eli. ‘How do you know?’ he repeats.

  ‘I had to find out,’ she says. ‘You know I was struggling to bond.’

  ‘You promised,’ he says, and I can’t tell if he’s angry or upset or just a horrible combination of both. ‘How could you go behind my back?’

  It’s just the question I hoped he’d ask.

  ‘You’ve some nerve talking about going behind people’s backs,’ I say, walking towards Eli and taking her hand. ‘After what you’ve been at. And with one of your wife’s best friends, too. I don’t know how the pair of you can hold your heads up at all. You and that hussy should be ashamed of yourselves.’