Apple of My Eye (39 page)

I do know it. I love you, Dad.

And I can do this.

She opened the door. From the living room came the sound of voices. Her mother appeared, her eyes red from crying. ‘Oh, Susie …’

‘Mum, what is it?’

Her mother burst into tears. A policeman stood in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable at witnessing another’s grief.

‘Mum?’

‘Oh, Susie, he’s dead.’

Inside her head the camera whirred and the music swelled. She thought of her father. She thought of her audience. Surrendering to the scene, she began to cry too.

Wednesday evening. Charles listened to Mary Norris on the phone.

‘There was an empty bottle beside him. At least, that’s what I heard. He was partial to the bottle, by all accounts. Often in the Crown three sheets to the wind.’ A sigh. ‘Poor Susie. How must she be feeling?’

He didn’t know for sure. But he could guess.

Happy? Free? Safe?

Guilty?

The thought stuck in his brain like a tick. He didn’t want to believe it. Susan was someone he liked a great deal. A genuinely warm and likeable human being. He had learned to trust his instincts about others and those he had about her had always been good.

But he couldn’t say the same about Ronnie.

And good people could do bad things. If they felt trapped. If they were afraid.

Where there’s a will there’s a way.

Susan had the will. Had Ronnie shown the way?

As Mary prattled on he shook his head as if trying to dislodge the thought. But it clung on like the parasite it was, feeding and growing stronger.

The next morning he sat in his study, smoking his pipe and trying to work.

A subdued-looking Anna entered. ‘Would you like some lunch?’

‘No thank you. I’m not very hungry.’

‘Neither am I.’

He put down his pen. ‘It’s a terrible business.’

‘The funeral is on Saturday. We must go. Show support.’

‘Saturday is Ronnie’s birthday.’

‘So?’

‘Nothing. I was just pointing it out. I know how you’ve been looking forward to it.’

‘We can celebrate another day. The funeral is more important.’ As she spoke she began to fiddle with her left ear. The way she always did when she was nervous.

‘Of course it is,’ he said soothingly. ‘And of course we’ll go.’

‘All three of us will. You, me and Ronnie. He wants to go. He said so last night.’ The hand continued to fiddle with the ear. ‘And that’s how it should be. He
and Susie are such good friends. People would think it strange if he wasn’t there.’

He nodded, breathing out clouds of tobacco and watching her.

You suspect him too. You don’t believe it was an accident any more than I do.

He asked about the time of the service. She answered, her voice tight. Again he saw the hardness in her mouth. But this time it seemed even more pronounced. Another wrinkle in the picture Dorian Gray kept in his attic.

She continued to speak. Suddenly tears came into her eyes. Concerned, he rose to his feet. ‘Darling, what is it?’

‘Someone dying so unexpectedly. It brings it all back with my family. One minute they’re there and the next they’re gone.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s so stupid. You’d think I’d be over it by now.’

‘It’s not stupid. You never get over something like that. Not totally.’

‘I wish I could.’ She swallowed. ‘I wish I was brave.’

‘You are.’ He walked towards her. ‘I told you that the first time we ever really spoke. Here in this study. Do you remember that?’

‘Yes. You said I had courage because I’d kept Ronnie and I said it wasn’t courage that made me do it. It was knowing as soon as I held him that I could never give him away. That he was mine.’

She leant forward, resting her head against his chest. He put his arms around her, stroking her hair, feeling her tremble.

She’s frightened. Frightened of what he’s done. Frightened of him being caught.

But it had been an accident. That was what everyone else seemed to think. He hoped they kept thinking it. For her sake. And for Susan’s.

‘It’ll be all right,’ he whispered. ‘You’re not alone any more. You’ve got me and I’ll get you through this.’

Did she read the message in his words? Perhaps. Though she would never tell him so.

But her head remained pressed against his chest, allowing him to feel, for a brief but precious moment, that he was needed.

Saturday. Cold and clear. Susan stood next to her mother in Kendleton churchyard, watching Uncle Andrew’s coffin being placed into the grave.

The vicar began to say a prayer. She lowered her head, staring down at her black shoes which had been bought especially for the ceremony, just as so much had been bought for her in previous weeks. The clothes for Scotland still lay on the floor of her bedroom waiting to be returned to the shop. This should have been the day of her departure but she would not be leaving now. Not when her mother needed her.

The prayer ended. Her mother threw a handful of earth on to the grave. She did the same, feeling the weight of eyes watching her performance of grief. In her stomach she felt the fluttering of butterflies. She was nervous, though not excessively so. The autopsy had revealed high levels of alcohol in his system and
though the inquest would not be until Tuesday the release of his body for burial suggested it would be a formality. That was what one of the policemen had told her mother, and there was no reason to doubt him.

Who, after all, would suspect her? To the world Uncle Andrew had been a good and decent man. A little too fond of a drink, perhaps, but that was hardly a crime. She had been lucky to have had a stepfather like him. That was what people would think, and her loss would inspire their pity, not suspicion.

Uncle George threw earth on to the coffin. Jennifer remained by her side, holding her hand, gazing up at her. ‘Are you OK, Jenjen?’ she whispered.

A nod. ‘Are you?’

‘Better because you’re here. Much better.’

Jennifer’s face broke into a smile. Bright and full of trust. A wave of love swept over her, together with a sense of calm. Jennifer was safe. She had done what needed to be done and she had no regrets.

Ronnie stood on the other side of the grave, flanked by his mother and stepfather. He looked sad, though not as sad as she did. He was performing too. Both of them giving their audience what was expected.

For a moment their eyes locked. Then both looked away.

Wednesday afternoon. Mary Norris, grocery-shopping in Market Court, saw Anna emerge from the post office. Quickly she made her way over. ‘How are you,
dear? I haven’t seen you since that lovely tea party in your garden.’

‘I’m fine,’ Anna told her.

But she didn’t look it. Her features were drawn and there were bags under her eyes. Mary felt concerned. ‘Are you sure? You seem a bit under the weather.’

‘I’m quite well, thank you.’ Anna smiled but there was an uncharacteristic brittleness to her voice. Perhaps she wasn’t sleeping well. Mary, who sometimes slept badly herself, knew that the resulting tiredness could make her brusquer than she meant to be.

‘Did you see yesterday’s paper?’ she continued. ‘I don’t think they needed to include so much detail about his drinking. It’s not very pleasant for Susie and her mother, is it?’

Anna shook her head.

‘Did you know he drank? I didn’t but my friend Moira Brent’s husband Bill said he was always in the Crown. Part of the furniture, were Bill’s words, though …’

‘Don’t you have anything better to do than gossip?’

The tone was glacial. Mary was taken aback. ‘I only meant …’

‘He’s dead. It was a tragic accident like the coroner said, and you’re not helping Susie and her mother by raking over it.’

‘But I’m not. I was just …’

‘I have things to do. Goodbye.’

Anna turned and walked away. Hurt and bewildered, Mary watched her go.

*

Thursday morning. While the rest of the English class debated the pros and cons of Dr Faustus selling his soul, Susan watched raindrops hit the window by her desk.

The classroom was full of noise, just as her house had been in recent days. An endless stream of people had come to offer support and wallow in the drama, just as they had when her father had died. A colleague of Uncle Andrew’s had brought details of the will. Everything had been left to her mother. ‘A very tidy sum,’ they had been told. ‘I know it doesn’t make the loss any easier but at least you won’t have to worry about money.’ For all she cared he could have left them destitute, but for the sake of her mother’s peace of mind she was glad.

Uncle George visited each evening, eager to help them bear their grief and, perhaps, share the pain of his own. His move to Australia had been cancelled. ‘Something like this makes you realize how important it is to be close to people you care about,’ he had told Susan. ‘And who Jennifer cares about.’

Raindrops continued to slide down the glass like racing pearls. She traced the path of one with her finger and noticed Miss Troughton watching her. Instead of a lecture on the perils of inattention she received a sympathetic smile. Everyone was being kind to her, although, as when her father had died, she would occasionally catch other girls looking at her warily, as if her loss were an infection that could spread as easily as flu.

The bell rang for mid-morning break. As the classroom emptied Charlotte came and sat beside her. ‘I didn’t think you’d come in this week.’

‘Mum insisted. She didn’t want me to miss any more school.’

‘How is she?’

‘All right. She’s still got me and I know how to look after her.’

‘And how are you?’

‘Tired of people asking me that.’

Charlotte looked apologetic. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s natural to ask. But since it happened it’s the only thing people talk to me about, and it would be nice, just for a bit, to talk about something else.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like you. What’s been happening in your life?’

‘Nothing,’ Charlotte told her. Then began to blush.

‘What’s going on?’

‘I’ve … er … made a new friend.’

‘Who?’

‘Colin Peters.’ The blush deepened. ‘He goes to Lizzie Flynn’s school but he’s leaving at the end of term to become a mechanic.’

Susan remembered the debacle with Alan Forrester and felt protective. ‘Do you like him as much as you liked Alan?’

‘Much more! He’s nothing like Alan. This is real.’ Charlotte’s tone became conspiratorial. ‘He’s a fantastic kisser.’

Susan burst out laughing. ‘Charlotte Harris!’

‘He keeps giving me love bites! I have to wear my collar up all the time so Mum and Dad can’t see them!’

By now they were both laughing. Laughing and sharing secrets, just as they had when they were Jennifer’s age. Before her mother’s illness and her father’s death had changed her world completely.

But she could change it back, and herself too. Back into the Susie Sparkle who knew that life was to be enjoyed, not endured. Now Uncle Andrew was gone she had everything she needed to be happy. Her mother. Jennifer. Charlotte.

And Ronnie. Ronnie most of all.

‘Are you sure you want to know this?’ Charlotte asked her. ‘I mean …’

‘Of course! I’m your best friend, aren’t I? I want to know everything …’

Twenty to four. Alice Wetherby climbed into her mother’s car. The school lane was full of them, all driven by parents who didn’t want their little angels to catch cold.

Her mother lit a cigarette and gazed up at the sky. ‘I hope Edward will be all right.’

‘Why wouldn’t he be? You know how much he loves his stupid rugby practice.’

‘It’s not stupid. He’s their top scorer.’

‘Only because the rest of the team are so useless they might as well be in wheelchairs.’ Alice brushed away
smoke with her hand. ‘And can you blow that somewhere else?’

‘There’s no need to be rude. I didn’t have to come out and fetch you.’

‘And I didn’t ask you to either.’

Her mother frowned. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

‘Nothing. Everything’s fine.’

Or it would be if she could only stop thinking about Ronnie.

She didn’t want to think about him. He was just a boy and boys were only fit to be laughed at. Not longed for, day after day, so badly that it hurt more than any pain she had ever known.

Her mother steered the car down the path, muttering at people who were slow to move out of her way. Alice brushed more smoke away from her face and saw Ronnie walking with Susan Ramsey, the two of them sheltering under a huge umbrella.

As the car passed them she turned to look back. Ronnie, who was carrying the umbrella, was listening to something Susan was telling him. His face was full of concern, and something else that made it shine and made him more beautiful than anyone she had ever seen.

Love.

Poor Susan had lost her stepfather. Their teacher had made a speech the previous day reminding them of how kind they must be to poor Susan. After all, it wasn’t the first time poor Susan had suffered a bereavement. Poor Susan was to be pitied. And people did pity her. Even
Kate Christie, who had always hated her, had said that it was sad.

But Alice didn’t feel pity. Not for someone she couldn’t outshine or outwit. Not for someone she couldn’t dominate or intimidate. Not for someone who had never hidden the fact that they utterly despised her.

Did Ronnie despise her too? Had Susan taught him to do that?

Or had he done so all along?

The pain became unbearable. She wanted to lash out. To wound and scar.

Her mother continued to talk. She sat in silence, breathing in cigarette smoke and choking down the dark emotions that churned inside her. They were going to be sorry. Both of them. How, she didn’t know. Not yet.

But she would find a way.

Saturday morning. Two weeks later. Susan stood in her bedroom with her mother, looking at the doll’s house Uncle Andrew had given her after her father died.

‘It’s not as if I ever play with it,’ she said.

‘Jennifer might, though.’

‘She’s got her own toys, Mum, including a doll’s house that’s even bigger than this.’