Apple of My Eye (34 page)

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 for 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.

Just as he loved Susan.

He knew it now. As clearly as he knew his own
name. This girl who was like no one he had ever met before. Whose beauty, strength and courage left all others in the shade. But who was still capable of being hurt.

And no one could hurt someone he loved. He would not allow it. Anyone who did so would be sorry. Vera had already discovered that.

Now Andrew Bishop would discover it too.

Sunday morning. Susan made her way downstairs to breakfast.

She tiptoed past Uncle Andrew’s bedroom. He had still not returned from the pub when she had gone to bed the previous evening. It had been the same story four nights earlier. His drinking, briefly curtailed, was now as bad as before. As was his temper. Their joint return bewildered her mother but not her. She understood what was happening. What was going on inside his head.

He’s getting impatient. He can’t wait until January. He wants Jenjen now.

On reaching the bottom of the stairs she heard his voice. So he was up already. Her heart sank.

But he sounded excited. Animated. Unheard of when he was battling a hangover.

What was going on?

She stood behind the dining-room door, holding her breath and listening.

‘So he’ll go, then?’ asked her mother.

‘I should think so. Why wait until January if they
want him to start in November? It’s all sorted this end except for a tenant for the house, and estate agents will take care of that.’

‘But do you really think it’s a good idea for Susie to move in the middle of a term?’

An impatient snort. ‘Why not, for heaven’s sake? It’s an excellent school and they don’t seem to mind her coming early.’ A laugh. ‘Mind you, they’ll be getting an extra term’s fees so they’re hardly going to complain.’

‘It just seems so rushed.’

‘Well, it’s not.’ Again the impatience. ‘They’re not expecting her until mid-October so you’ve got at least three weeks to get her ready. That’s plenty of time, even for you.’

Three weeks? I could be in Scotland in three weeks?

Her heart began to race. This couldn’t be happening. She needed more time to think and to plan. Much more.

A floorboard creaked beneath her foot. ‘Is that you, Susie?’ her mother called out.

She entered the room. Uncle Andrew frowned. ‘You’re late. We eat breakfast at nine o’clock on Sunday.’

‘Only by five minutes.’ She struggled to keep her voice steady.

‘But still late.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She kissed his cheek. His breath reeked of stale alcohol. He was still frowning but his eyes looked through her as if she were a spectre. The ghost of midnights past, now being rushed from the stage to make room for the ghost of midnights still to come.

After kissing her mother she sat down, pouring herself some tea and spreading butter on to toast. Keeping her breathing steady. Forcing herself to be calm. When they told her about the changed plans she would look upset but resigned. Keeping up the façade. Giving nothing away.

It’s just acting, Susie. You can do it. You know you can.

‘Did you sleep well?’ asked her mother.

‘Yes, thanks.’

Uncle Andrew gestured towards the window. ‘It looks like being a nice day. We should all go for a walk this afternoon. Down by the river, perhaps.’

‘That sounds like a lovely idea,’ said her mother.

‘Then it’s agreed.’ Uncle Andrew leant back in his chair and stretched. ‘Susie, you must bring Jenjen. She loves it by the water.’

Her mouth was full of toast. For a moment she needed to retch. She couldn’t bear him being close to Jennifer. Touching her. Holding her. Making her laugh. Teaching her to trust him. Just as he had done with another little girl not so many years ago.

Three weeks. That’s all I’ve got. Three weeks.

But I can do it. I can. For Jenjen I can.

Oh God, I hope I can.

She swallowed and smiled.

‘That would be nice,’ she said.

‘What’s the matter, Susie? What’s going on?’

‘Nothing.’

Monday afternoon after school. She walked deep into the woods with Ronnie.

She hadn’t wanted to see him. Had tried to avoid him in fact. Leaving for school far earlier than usual and sitting in the library at the end of the day. But when finally she had emerged through the gates he had been waiting.

And she had been glad. Even though she hadn’t wanted to be.

She sat on the trunk of a fallen tree. He sat beside her. ‘These woods are supposed to be haunted,’ she said. ‘There’s a story that hundreds of years ago a mother had a picnic here with her daughter. After they’d eaten it the mother went to sleep and the daughter wandered off and was never seen again. The mother went mad, so the story goes. She spent the rest of her life searching these woods. and now if you come far enough in and sit and listen you can still hear her calling for her daughter to come home.’

‘Have you ever heard her?’

‘I thought I did once but it was only my imagination. It’s just a story, like I said.’

‘I could tell you a story. One that nobody knows but me.’

She scratched at the earth with a stick. ‘Tell me, then.’

‘I hated my aunt. Of all my relatives she was the one I hated most. Not for the way she treated me but for the way she treated my mother. Ordering her around like a skivvy. Humiliating her in front of others. Always
reminding her that she could yank the roof from over our heads whenever she wanted.

‘One day she made my mother cry and I couldn’t stand it any more. I decided I was going to make her sorry. So I hid a roller skate by the cooker while she was making supper. She tripped on it and poured boiling chip fat down her arm. It left her scarred. Even now, when it’s really hot, she wears long sleeves to hide it.

‘No one ever guessed it was me. They thought it was an accident. I tried to tell my mother once but she wouldn’t listen. I’m her perfect son, you see, and perfect sons don’t hurt people. But I’m not ashamed of what I did. As I see it, if someone hurts a person you love then you hurt them back. I hurt my aunt because she hurt my mother, and if someone else were to hurt her then I’d hurt them too.’