Apple of My Eye

by Claire Allan

  I’m too tired to go back downstairs. I’m sure it must have fallen out in the car but it can stay there until morning. My limbs are leaden and I feel my head spin a little. I lie down and let sleep wash over me. I’ll worry about everything else tomorrow.

  *

  I can hear my mother moving about in the kitchen below me when I wake. Silly domestic sounds. Familiar sounds. It sounds different to my home in Derry. My mother’s listening to Radio Ulster, a host of Northern Irish voices talking about the news of the day. She’s always been a morning person and always hits the ground running. No sitting around in her nightdress. She’s up and ready to go within ten minutes of waking. The washing machine will be on. The vacuum will be pulled around the floors whether they need it or not. Windows open to the world. Purse in the pocket of her coat and off she trots to the shops and back again. A newspaper, which she barely looks at these days, and a pint of milk in a bag she pays ten pence for.

  There’s a comforting routine to it. Or it had been comforting at one stage. As I lie in bed this morning I don’t feel comfortable. Yes, I’d slept, but my dreams were strange. Disturbing. In one I could hear a baby cry, a baby I knew was mine, but I couldn’t find her, no matter how hard I looked. I feel as if I’ve spent the night tossing and turning.

  I struggle to pull myself away from sleep and sit up. The usual morning bout of nausea washes over me and my need to run and be sick is what gets me out of bed.

  I rinse my mouth with mouthwash, not feeling quite brave enough to risk brushing my teeth and sending my gag reflex into overdrive. Then I walk downstairs, where the smell of fresh coffee almost turns my stomach again.

  ‘Mum, have you seen my phone?’ I ask, walking into the kitchen.

  My mother’s sitting at the table, coffee mug cradled in her hands, reading some celebrity gossip in the newspaper. Fully dressed, her greying hair perfectly coiffed, she looks up at me and shakes her head.

  ‘Do you want me to ring it from mine?’

  She seems, perhaps, less on edge this morning.

  ‘Could you?’ I ask, sitting down at the table and wondering if I dare risk eating anything.

  My mother lifts her phone and dials my number. I listen out for my ringtone, but there’s only silence.

  ‘It’s gone straight to answer. The battery must’ve died. Where did you last see it?’

  ‘I’m not sure. My head’s gone these days,’ I tell her, eyeing the slice of wholemeal toast she’s eating. ‘I might have left it in the car. I’ll go and check in a bit.’

  I stand up and slip a slice of wholemeal bread into the toaster.

  ‘I hope I didn’t leave it at home. I don’t think I did, but you know, I wouldn’t put it past me at the moment.’

  ‘Wouldn’t do you any harm to be without it for a while anyway. Get a proper break. I don’t know how you young ones tolerate it, being on call 24/7. Never getting away from those blasted phones. I doubt all those radio waves or whatever can be good for you either. You work with cancer patients, Eli, you should know how dangerous things can be more than most people.’

  ‘Phones are fairly necessary these days, Mum. You know, for work and stuff …’ I pause.

  For work. I feel my stomach sink. There’s no work to think of just now. I suppose I don’t really have much need for my phone. Who would call me anyway? My estranged husband? The friend he’s cheating on me with?

  I butter my toast, just a thin skim. Watching it sink into the toasted bread, I pour myself a cup of tea and sit down, but my appetite has left as quickly as it arrived.

  ‘So,’ my mother says, closing her paper and declaring there’s nothing worth reading in it anyway. ‘What shall we do today? Do you fancy going to Victoria Square for a wee run out again? Or there’s a lovely new coffee shop opened just down …’

  ‘Actually, Mum, I think I might just take it easy. Maybe go and see Kate later. After she’s finished at the bakery.’

  Mum looks taken aback. She tenses.

  ‘Why not invite her and that lovely wee boy of hers over for tea? I’m sure I could rustle something up. And he’s such a dote.’

  There’s no denying that, Liam’s as lovely a little boy as they come, but I feel the need to get out and about. I can’t help but feel the growing tension between us is related to just how much time we’ve spent in close quarters this last week. I think we could both do with a breather from each other.

  That’s not to mention that it’d be lovely to see Kate again. It had amazed me, really amazed me, how quickly Kate and I had fallen back into old patterns when she visited. When she gave me a big hug and told me everything would be okay, there was something in the timbre of her voice that made me believe her. We’d talked, briefly, about school and about what our old friends were doing, and then she’d asked me, sincerely, her brown eyes fixed on mine, how I really was, and I’d told her.

  Kate doesn’t know Martin. She doesn’t really know the me I’ve become, if I’m honest, so she’s able to look at the situation objectively. Our chat gave me hope that no matter what the outcome, I’ll cope.

  ‘You know, Mum, I think it’d be nice just to get out for a bit. Clear my head – besides, you must be getting sick of looking at me by now. You’ve your own life to lead. Why don’t you go and see one of your friends and sure, we can share all the mutual gossip when we get back. I can even message Kate and see if she can save some of her pastries, so we can indulge ourselves at supper.’

  I see my mother try her best to hide her upset at my plans not including her, but she’s failing miserably. It seems in trying to reduce her stress, I’m only causing her more.

  ‘No,’ she says, stone-faced. ‘You do your thing and don’t worry about me. I’ve cancelled everything to be here for you, but I’m sure I can find something to do with my time.’

  I tell her I love her, try to file her passive-aggressive response in a ‘she’s stressed and doesn’t really mean it’ folder in my brain, and offer to go for a walk with her before lunch. It’s a half-hearted attempt at appeasement but she seems happier.

  First, I just have to call the bakery to see if Kate will be free later. I hate that I can’t just text her, which reminds me how much I value having a mobile phone, even if my mother isn’t keen on them.

  Standing in my mother’s hall while she cleans in the kitchen, I think of all the times I called Martin from this spot. All those conversations that went on for hours even though we’d only just left each other a short time before. Things were so much simpler then. We were less complicated. Life was less complicated. We were so in love. I’d have still said we were in love until last week – yes, things were tougher, but we were still in love. Weren’t we?

  Suddenly, I find myself missing him. Regretting the things I’d done and said yesterday. Maybe I could ring him. Perhaps he’ll have found my phone. I could ask him to post it to me. It’s a legitimate reason to call him – one not caught up in this mess we’ve found ourselves in.

  I hear my mother call my name and I leave the phone sitting untouched. She’d never understand. She’s never had what we have. What we had.

  At times, it crosses my mind that she may even be jealous of Martin and of the relationship I had with him.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  Louise

  The day came when I’d finally reached the point of no return. I’d had to make that final leap. So I’d called Peter and told him that I was finally leaving and that if he wanted to call round and pick up my keys, he should do so before lunch. Otherwise, I’d just leave them on the kitchen table for him.

  He’d arrived just a little after eleven. Told his boss he needed to nip out for a bit. As if saying goodbye to his ex-wife was a piece of admin that needed to be done. Not the end of everything we had shared.

  He’d stood nervously in the hall of the house we’d once shared – the house we’d been so happy to buy. I couldn’t help but think it was all just so very sad.

  What had happened to those two young peopl
e who’d been convinced they’d be together, no matter what?

  I know in our marriage vows we’d promised to stay together for better or for worse. But worse didn’t really include the horror of what we went through. No couple could survive that. God would understand.

  ‘You’re really going?’ Peter had said and I’d nodded.

  ‘I need to move on,’ I told him. ‘I might as well be in the ground with him if I stay here.’

  I felt my voice break. Looked at my husband – saw that same pain echoed in his eyes.

  ‘You’ll make a good father, Peter,’ I told him.

  I wished, God, I wished I could tell him not to feel sorry for me. I was going to be a mother. I was going to be okay. I was going to be better than okay. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t share this part of my journey with anyone, not even him. So I just reached out my hand to him, felt the warmth and strength of his heart beating in his chest.

  ‘A part of me will always love you, Lou,’ he said, and I’d nodded.

  I couldn’t speak because I was afraid of what I might say, or maybe more what I might feel.

  Before I knew it, he was bending his head towards mine. Kissing me. Those lips I’d kissed so many times, brushing against mine. I’d gasped in response. Allowed him to kiss me deeper. Even though I’d sworn to Our Lady that I wouldn’t commit the sin of adultery again. We may still have been married, not least in the eyes of the Church, but I’d known all along it was wrong. He was in love with someone else. She was carrying his baby. He had to be there for now. I couldn’t allow myself to fall back into his arms another time. We should never have given into temptation over these last few weeks. It just made this harder.

  I gently pushed him away.

  ‘We can’t do this again, Peter. You’re too much of a good man for me to allow you to betray her again.’

  He looked sad but resigned. ‘I understand,’ he said.

  ‘And a part of me will always love you, too,’ I said.

  I owed him that much. I owed the family that we should have had running round our feet in that moment that much.

  ‘Will you give me a forwarding address?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not sure there’s any point,’ I told him.

  ‘Maybe not,’ he said, ‘it’s just the thought of never being able to contact you again.’

  ‘That’s probably for the best,’ I told him. ‘But look, I’m only going as far as Galway. It’s not the end of the world. And I’ll be home to visit my family. We may bump into each other again, you never know.’

  ‘You never know,’ he repeated, taking the keys from me.

  He paused for a moment, looked me up and down and nodded. I knew it was our goodbye.

  Just as I knew I’d lied to him.

  But this was one sin I had to commit. I simply had no choice.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

  Eli

  When I arrive at Kate’s house, just over two miles away from my mother’s home and her overbearing presence, I can’t help but feel some sort of relief.

  Kate lives in an unassuming semi in the Belfast suburbs. There’s a small garden to the front and I can see a trampoline dominating most of the back garden.

  Her house looks safe, secure. The kind of family home we’d all dreamed of when we were smaller. It won’t win the design awards ours did, but there’s an air of homeliness about it that I realise mine, for all its beauty, is lacking.

  Her house feels like a proper home. There are pictures of her, her husband and Liam, along with extended family, all over the walls. A large and definitely very shaggy golden retriever, who I’ve been informed is called Molly, lies snoring under the kitchen table while Kate fusses about making tea. Everything about this home screams ‘happy family’, from the finger-paintings on the fridge to the holiday snaps Blu-Tacked to the cupboards, to the wedding portraits on the wall in the hall, hanging above three perfectly aligned pairs of wellies. Mummy Bear. Daddy Bear. And, of course, Baby Bear.

  I find myself moving my hand to my wriggling tummy. Will my child know the security Liam does? Will she sit kicking her legs while drinking milk at a kitchen table and talking nineteen to the dozen to my friends?

  ‘I’m so glad you called over,’ Kate says, pulling me from my thoughts. ‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot.’

  She sits down, placing a mug with ‘World’s Best Daddy’ on it in front of me, along with a pint of milk and a sugar bowl.

  ‘Sorry it’s not fancy china, but you take us as you find us here,’ she says.

  ‘Thanks for having me over. It’s great just to get out for a bit. As lovely as Mum is, it can feel a bit claustrophobic at times.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Kate says, sitting down opposite me. ‘If I had to live with my mother again, I’m pretty sure one of us would be dead within the first twenty-four hours. She’s the best in the world, but wee doses work best for me.’

  I laugh. A genuine laugh, and it feels good. I remember Kate’s mother well. Lovely but strict. Kate would cringe at her mother’s rules when we were younger, but there was always a genuine affection between the two of them.

  ‘Well, I know my mother’s heart’s in the right place, but she can be a bit overbearing. And well, she seems to be feeling the impact of everything that’s been going wrong with me. I thought she might need some space to herself, too.’

  ‘It must be a bit overwhelming for you both,’ Kate says.

  ‘Yeah. That’s an understatement – it’s a wonder the stress hasn’t given her a heart attack or put me into early labour. Although Mum would be in her element if I had this baby early. Delighted she gets to be born in Belfast and not in Derry.’

  ‘She does seem really excited about the baby,’ Kate says.

  ‘You’ve got no idea,’ I smile. ‘She’s taking her role as grandmother-to-be very seriously. Did I tell you, she’s made her spare room into a fully equipped nursery? Wipes warmer and all. We’ve not even started back at home. I’m surprised she didn’t offer you the guided tour when you came round.’

  I laugh again, as does Kate, but there’s something hollow about it.

  ‘It’s a bit OTT, isn’t it?’ I ask, and if I’m honest, I hope Kate will tell me that no, it’s not over the top at all and it’s a lovely gesture.

  She gives a half-smile. An awkward shrug. She looks down at her cup of tea.

  ‘You think it is, don’t you?’ I ask, but I’m not laughing any more. Nor is Kate smiling.

  ‘Biscuits!’ she says, jumping to her feet. ‘I forgot to get them out.’

  She has her back to me and is rifling her cupboards even though her biscuits are in clear view.

  ‘Kate, it might be quite a while since we spent all our time together, but I still know when there’s something you’re not telling me,’ I say.

  ‘I don’t want to interfere,’ she says, turning back towards me, waving a packet of custard creams in my direction.

  ‘But if there’s something I should know …’

  She looks at me, and then to Liam, who’s drawing a car with purple wheels and a bright orange roof.

  ‘Pet,’ she says to him, ‘why don’t you take your biscuits into the living room to eat? In case Molly wakes up and fancies a bite.’ She tickles his tummy and he laughs uproariously.

  ‘Can I watch Toy Story, Mammy?’ he asks.

  ‘Of course you can, my love,’ she says, following him into the living room, leaving me feeling uneasy.

  I know Kate sees my mother regularly at the bakery. Has something been said? Does she know something I don’t?

  When she returns, she walks to the fridge and unpins one of Liam’s pictures, handing it to me. It’s a Santa with an overproportioned tummy and a wide smile.

  ‘What’s this?’ I ask. ‘I mean, I guess it’s Santa and Liam drew it, but …’

  ‘Turn it over,’ she says.

  I do, and see another drawing. A lady with short, curly brown hair, hands and feet like potatoes, with stick fingers and toes. A small
figure, a baby, on her tummy.

  I still don’t get it. Is it Mary and the baby Jesus? I raise an eyebrow and look at Kate.

  ‘Liam’s a very talented artist,’ I tell her, ‘but I don’t think I’m following you.’

  ‘Liam drew that picture when we visited you at your mum’s. I asked him about it. He told me that ‘Langela’ told him Santa was bringing her a baby to live in her house forever.’

  The baby, my baby, kicks and my stomach tightens, then sinks.

  ‘Maybe … you know, kids get things mixed up.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Kate says. ‘I told him that it was you who was getting a baby, but he said your mum had said that it was a secret but the baby was definitely going to live with his or her granny.’

  I start to feel uneasy.

  ‘Look, I don’t know if it’s anything more than a feeling. But when she came to the bakery and asked me to visit you, she said you might be staying with her for a ‘very long time’. And just, well, from the conversation we had when I was over, I sensed you didn’t really know what was happening and, well, it felt to me like you still hope to go back to Derry.’

  ‘Well, my job’s there … or was there,’ I blurt. ‘And Martin …’

  She shifts uncomfortably in her seat. ‘Eli, I’m only telling you this because you’ve been a very good friend to me in the past. I don’t want to upset you, but you know, people talk around here. One of my customers was asking after you the other day, asked if you’d got sorted with a solicitor yet.’

  My skin prickles. ‘What? I don’t need a solicitor. What did they mean?’

  She takes a deep breath. ‘Eli, your mother was looking for recommendations for a good divorce lawyer.’

  I shake my head. My mother? My mother has done this?