Apple of My Eye (37 page)

‘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.’

‘You think I want to cage him?’

Silence. She looked up again. His eyes were sympathetic.

‘Do you?’

‘Perhaps. Just a little.’

She felt hurt. ‘So I’m smothering, am I?’

‘I didn’t mean it like that, darling. You know I didn’t.’

She did. And she knew he was right too.

But she didn’t want to admit it. Not even to herself. It made her feel weak. Powerless.

Pathetic.

She shook her head. ‘It’s more than that. It’s her.’

‘Who? Susan?’

‘He’s been different since he met her. More secretive.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Well, you don’t know him the way I do.’

A strange look came into his eyes. There for a second and then gone. It looked like pity, but she was upset and not in the best mood to judge.

‘And I know that girl is bad for him. She’ll hurt him. I’m sure of it.’

‘You’re being too hard on her.’

‘Am I? She wants to make trouble between us. I’m sure of it.’

‘That’s not true. Do you know where she was this afternoon? In Oxford, trying to find him a birthday present. We had coffee together and she asked me what you were giving him so she could make sure her gift didn’t overlap.’

She felt betrayed. ‘How nice for you,’ she said archly.

‘It was. She’s a genuinely likeable girl. There’s no malice in her.’

‘I know her type. Spoilt and spiteful.’

‘That’s not true.’ His tone was firm. ‘She’s a good person. One who’s had a harder life than you think but not let it spoil her.’

‘And your instincts are infallible, are they?’

‘Of course.’ His tone softened. ‘That’s exactly what they told me about you.’

Silence. His hand squeezed hers. Again she knew he was right. It was Alice who was spoilt and spiteful. Susan was different. Susan was good.

And beautiful and clever and strong. Someone who could cast a shadow over all the other people in Ronnie’s life. Even his own mother.

‘Why do you think she’s had a hard life?’

‘I don’t know. Just a feeling. All families have skeletons, don’t they?’

‘I don’t. Not with Ronnie.’

And it was true.

Except for the ones he kept in his drawer.

‘You can’t stop him caring about her but you can stop letting it upset you. People grow up and fall in
love. That’s a fact of life. But they don’t stop loving their parents because of it. Especially not when the bond with that parent is as close as the one Ronnie has with you.’

‘It
is
close. I know him better than anyone.’ A pause. ‘And I always will.’

He was gazing at her, his expression tender and protective. As if she were a child herself. Someone weak, who needed to be protected.

Someone pathetic.

‘I’m tired,’ she told him. ‘I want to sleep.’

He leant forward to kiss her cheek. She moved her head away. Only an inch but sufficient to indicate distaste. Briefly he looked hurt. It made her feel strong. Even though she despised herself for it.

‘Sleep well, darling,’ he said.

‘Thank you.’

He left the room. She tried to read but the buzz of her thoughts was like a drill inside her head, causing the page to vibrate and turning the words into blurs.

Tuesday evening. Anna stood in Ronnie’s room.

It was empty. He was in Oxford on a school trip to the theatre.

The key to the drawer was in her hand, growing sticky as her palm began to sweat. She didn’t want to look yet couldn’t stop herself. She had to know. Knowledge was power, after all, and power meant an end to feeling weak.

She walked up to the desk and put the key in the
lock, trying to ignore the voice that screamed inside her brain.

Don’t do this. Throw the key away. Bury it. Hurl it in the river.

For what is seen can never be unseen.

But there would be nothing to see. Nothing that mattered. Nothing that could hurt. She knew it because she knew Ronnie. Better than anyone. A million times better.

So she turned the key, opened the drawer, looked inside.

And found what she found.

One hour later. Charles, who had been asleep in his study, walked out to find the house in darkness.

He stood in the hallway, feeling confused. Had Anna gone to bed? Would she not have come to say goodnight first? Or had she done so and decided not to wake him?

Assuming this was the case, he went to the living room to watch the news.

The room was in darkness too. He switched on the light. Then jumped.

Anna sat on the sofa, staring into space, blinking at the sudden illumination.

He said her name but she didn’t seem to hear. Her face was as pale as marble.

‘Darling, what is it?’

Still no reaction. Alarm surged through him. ‘Has something happened to Ronnie?’

A shake of the head.

‘Then what?’ Crossing the room, he sat down beside her, putting his hand on her shoulder.

‘Don’t touch me!’

Again he jumped. She pulled away from him. ‘You’re always touching me. Always trying to handle me.’

‘But it’s just affection. It’s not … what you think.’

‘I don’t love you. Not like that. I married you for companionship and so Ronnie could have all this.’ She gestured at their surroundings. ‘This house. This life. All the things you take for granted that he’s never had before but always deserved. And he does deserve them. He does!’

She began to cry. Plaintive, heart-wrenching sobs like those of a child who returns home to find her house and family destroyed, leaving her to face a cold, uncaring world alone. The child she had once been and still was inside.

He pushed his own hurt to one side. ‘What is it, darling? Please tell me. I can help.’

‘No you can’t.’

‘How do you know if you don’t tell me? I accept that you don’t love me but you must accept that I love you more than anyone else in this world and if something’s hurt you I want to help you bear the pain. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. To protect you from pain.’

She turned towards him, her eyes wide and frightened. Again he put his hand on her shoulder. This time she allowed it to stay.

‘Tell me,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to make the pain go away.’

They stared at each other. He waited.

Then suddenly the sobs stopped. Her back straightened. She wiped tears from her eyes, her manner brisk and businesslike. And when she spoke her voice was businesslike too.

‘I was asleep when you came in and having a terrible dream. When you woke me I thought the dream was still going on. I was confused and frightened, that’s all. I didn’t mean what I said earlier. I was just upset. We all say things we don’t mean when we’re upset.’

He swallowed down his frustration. ‘Anna …’

‘It was just a dream, Charles. Now it’s nothing.’

Then she rose to her feet and walked out of the room.

Eight o’clock the next morning. He sat reading the paper and drinking coffee while Anna tried to persuade a reluctant Ronnie to eat more food. The three of them performing the same ritual of breakfast they acted out every morning.

Ronnie worked his way through a plate of bacon, sausage and egg, protesting that his stomach was about to explode. Anna stood behind his chair, offering encouragement. Her voice was as warm as ever but there was a new hardness around her mouth. It aged her face as delicately but irreversibly as a wrinkle.

He could see it. Could Ronnie?

The phone rang in the hallway. A call from college
that he had been expecting about rescheduling a tutorial that took only a moment to answer.

He returned to the dining room, stopping just outside the door, wanting to observe.

Ronnie had nearly cleared his plate. Anna was still behind his chair.

‘I really am full, Mum.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes. But it was lovely. You spoil me.’

‘Of course.’ A kiss on the cheek. ‘You’re my sunshine, aren’t you?’

‘I know.’

She stroked his hair, as gently as if it were the fur of an injured kitten. ‘No one else could ever come close. It’ll always be you and there’s nothing you can do to change it. Not even something truly bad. No matter what you’ve done I’ll always love you and you’ll always be my Ronnie Sunshine. You know that, don’t you?’

Silence.

‘Don’t you?’

‘Yes, Mum. But I’ll never do anything bad. You know that too, don’t you?’

Her fingers continued to slide through his hair. ‘Yes, Ronnie. I do.’

What has he done? You’ve found out something, haven’t you? Something bad.

Something truly bad.

He re-entered the room. Anna took Ronnie’s plate through to the kitchen. Ronnie remained in his chair,
sipping a glass of milk, looking just as he always did. There was no change in his face. Like Dorian Gray, he would stay the same while his mother grew twisted and withered like the picture in the attic.

What clouds have you cast, Ronnie Sunshine? What storms have you summoned?

And what can I do to banish them?

‘Looking forward to today, Ronnie?’

‘Yes. We start with double hieroglyphics. What could be better than that?’

He forced out a laugh, managing to make it sound natural. Ronnie laughed too, watching him with those eyes that gave nothing away.

Sunday.

It was still dark when Susan woke, fleeing the old, hated dream about her father, escaping into the day when she hoped to leave it behind for ever.

She lay in her bed, looking at the shapes in her room. The desk with her books piled neatly on top. The wardrobe and chest of drawers. The doll’s house. And a pile of clothes bought in Oxford the previous day for her new school in Scotland.

Birds began to sing outside her window, hailing the dawn. Light crept under the curtains and across the room, dispelling the shadows that crawled into the corners to die. From this day on there would be no more shadows. Not for her mother, Jennifer or herself.

Rising, she walked to the window, preparing to pull
the curtains back, bracing herself for the rain clouds that could threaten everything they had planned.

But the sky was clear. A dull orange sun promised a mild, dry day. A typical Sunday in early October, except for it being the one on which Uncle Andrew would die.

Time passed. She remained by the window. On the ledge was the conch shell her father had bought her in Cornwall. The one that had soothed her with its song as she had lain awake night after night, frightened and alone in the dark. The fear was still with her but the darkness was gone and she was no longer alone.

And it would be all right.

Pressing the shell to her ear, she stared out at the day.

A quarter to eight. Anna brought Ronnie an early-morning cup of tea.

He was sitting on top of his desk, cross-legged, staring out at the river.

‘Ronnie?’

He turned, still cross-legged, and gave her a grin. His red dressing gown and sleep-ruffled hair making him look like a little boy. She walked towards him, ignoring the locked drawer. Once, in a dream, she had looked inside it and been frightened by what she had found. But dreams weren’t real. When the light came you buried them in the farthest corners of your mind, leaving them to wither and die so you never had to look at them again.

‘It’s a lovely day,’ she remarked. ‘We should go for a walk later.’

‘I can’t. I said I’d meet Susie.’ His eyes were apologetic. ‘You don’t mind, do you? She leaves for Scotland in a week.’

She didn’t mind. With Susan gone he would be hers again, which was as it should be. After all, she knew him better than anyone, in spite of dreams that tried to tell her that she didn’t know him at all.

‘You’ll miss her, won’t you?’ she said.

‘A bit. But I’ll make other friends.’

‘Of course you will. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with you?’

‘Mum!’

‘It’s true.’ She sat down on a chair while he remained perched on the desk like an elf, telling her a funny story about one of his teachers. She laughed while daylight streamed through the window, banishing shadows and protecting them both from dreams.

Half past one. Susan sat at the dinner table, eating roast chicken and watching Uncle Andrew drink wine.

Her mother asked him about a colleague at work. She listened to his voice with ears programmed to register its every cadence, searching for the tightness that denoted excited anticipation and finding it present and correct.

They finished the main course. As her mother fetched the pudding he poured the remains of the wine bottle into his glass. Only a few millimetres. Irritation
flashed across his face. She gestured to a jug of water in the middle of the table. ‘Would you like some?’

‘Yes. I’ll get it. You should go and help your mother.’ His speech was excessively slow and clear. The way it always became in the early stages of inebriation.

She stood just outside the door, listening for the clink of bottles. He hated water, but not when flavoured with whisky. Within seconds the telltale sound came.

Ten minutes later he stretched in his chair. ‘It’s stuffy in here. I’m going for a walk.’

‘Don’t you want coffee?’ asked her mother.

An irritated snort. ‘If I wanted it I’d ask. I’ll get my coat.’

He left the room. Susan remained at the table. Her mother looked at her anxiously. ‘The food was all right, wasn’t it?’

‘It was lovely, Mum. He said so when you were in the kitchen.’ In the distance she heard the front door open then shut. He was gone.

Her heart began to race. This was it.

She sat in silence, counting the seconds, not wanting to appear too eager, while her mother talked about the proposed menu for the evening. One minute. Two. Three.

‘Mum?’

‘Yes.’

‘I said I’d see Ronnie this afternoon. I’m supposed to meet him in a bit. You don’t mind, do you?’ A sigh laced with just the right amount of reproach. ‘I won’t be able to see him after next week.’