Apple of My Eye (35 page)

She turned towards him. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Because your stepfather’s hurting you.’

Silence. Except for the wind stirring the branches of the trees.

‘I’ve got eyes, Susie. I see how you are with him.’

‘And how is that?’

‘Afraid.’

She began to tremble. The need to unburden herself was like a physical pain. But it was too dangerous.

‘Tell me.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes you can.’

Another silence. She looked at the trees that surrounded them. The leaves were changing from green to brown. Soon they would be falling, covering the ground like a blanket.

‘He does hurt you, doesn’t he?’

‘Not any more.’

‘What did he do to you? You can trust me. You know that, don’t you?’

‘He told me that once.’

‘But I’m not him.’

She stared at him. This boy with his contained strength who defended her when others tried to put her down. Who made her feel happy. Who made her feel …

…
safe.

‘You have to swear on your life that you’ll never tell.’

‘Not on my life. On my mother’s, because that’s the most precious thing I have.’

‘Swear it, then. On her life.’

‘I swear.’

So she told him. The secret she had kept hidden inside herself for nearly eight years. The wind caught her words as soon as they were spoken, dashing them against the trees as if trying to help keep her secret too. He listened, saying nothing, just watching her with eyes that were warm and did not judge.

‘He gave me gonorrhoea when I was thirteen. The doctor who treated me was Mary’s husband. We told him a story about a boy at a party but he knew what
was really going on. When I realized who Mary was it brought it all back. Not that she’d know. Doctors can’t talk about their patients, not even to their wives.’ She gave a hollow laugh. ‘I should be a doctor. I’d be good at the secrecy part.’

He shook his head. ‘Oh, Susie …’

‘What frightens you? I mean more than anything else?’

‘Never finding anyone who really understands me. Of always feeling alone.’

‘For me it’s a dream I’ve had since it started. In it I’ve died and gone to heaven to be with my father. I’m so excited about seeing him again that I’m crying. But when we meet he tells me that he hates me. He says I’m wicked and that everything that’s happened is my fault. That I wanted it to happen. That he’s ashamed to even look at me, let alone call me his daughter.’

‘But dreams aren’t real, Susie. You know what happened wasn’t your fault. How could you stop it? You were only a little child. If your father were here now he’d say the same thing. And he’d tell you that he was proud to call you his daughter, not ashamed.’

A lump came into her throat. She tried to swallow it down. Determined to stay strong. ‘It doesn’t matter what he thinks, anyway. He wasn’t so special. Just some man who ran a photography shop, told lousy jokes and was hopeless with money. He left us in debt when he died. That’s how wonderful he was. Good riddance, I say.’

Then she burst into tears.

He tried to put his arm around her but she pushed him away, pounding her temple with her fist, giving physical expression to the anger she felt with herself. ‘Weak. Weak!’

‘You’re not weak, Susie. That’s the last thing you are.’

‘But Jennifer is.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He’s going to start on her. He’s been planning it for months. I’m being sent away and she’s being moved into my bedroom. She’s only six! Just a baby. He thinks I can’t stop him. He knows no one will believe me if I tell them. Not when it’s his word against mine.’

She took a deep breath. The air was damp. Rain was only moments away.

‘But I
can
still stop him. There’s one final thing I can do.’

‘Kill him.’

‘Yes.’

They stared at each other. She wiped her eyes, feeling suddenly weightless. The burden she had carried alone for so long had at last been lifted.

‘I’ll do it for you,’ he said.

For a moment she thought she’d misheard. ‘What?’

‘I’ll do it for you.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I love you.’

A drop of rain fell on to his cheek. She felt one land on hers too.

‘I love you, Susie, and I’ll do it for you. All you have to do is ask.’

‘We can’t stay here,’ she said.

They made their way back through the woods, leaving the ghost mother to cry unheard.

By the time they reached town the rain was heavy. They took shelter in Cobhams Milk Bar.

It was nearly empty. Most of their peers were eating their tea at home. They sat at a table in the corner, far away from wagging ears, drinking coffee and watching each other through the rising steam.

‘I meant what I said,’ he told her.

‘No you didn’t.’

‘You think I’m afraid to do it?’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘I told you what frightens me.’

‘And murder isn’t on the list?’ She shook her head. ‘You’re mad.’

‘That’s why I should do it. You’re frightened. I’m not.’

‘Of course I’m frightened! Imagine if it went wrong. Imagine getting caught.’

‘That won’t happen.’

‘But what if it did?’

‘Then I’d take the blame. I’d say it was all my idea. That you knew nothing about it. And they’d believe me because I know how to act. I’m good at it. I’ve been acting for people all my life. Even my mother.’

‘And you’d do that for me?’

‘I would.’

She gazed into his eyes. Two beautiful grey-green orbs with centres of steel. The eyes of someone who would not allow themselves to be crippled by fear. Who had real strength.

But she had strength too.

‘I don’t want you to do it, Ronnie.’

‘But …’

‘Not alone. We do it together. I’m not afraid any more. You don’t have to help me if you don’t want to. If you change your mind I’ll understand. But if we do it together then we sink or swim together and that means that if we get caught we take the blame together.’

‘We won’t get caught. We can do this. We’re both clever and we both know how to act. Nothing can stop us. Not if we’re together.’

‘And we are.’

‘I love you, Susie.’

A lump came into her throat. Just as it had in the wood.

‘I love you too.’

She did.

‘You should have told me you were going to be late.’

‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

Eight o’clock that evening. Anna watched Ronnie eat a supper of roast beef. Charles was away, attending a university dinner in Oxford.

‘I thought something might have happened to you.’

‘You worry too much.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’m a big boy now.’

‘Of course I worry. I’m your mother. That’s my job.’

‘Well, you don’t need to. I can take care of myself.’ He cut into his beef, his knife slipping and splashing gravy on to the tablecloth.

It was her turn to smile. ‘So I see.’

He looked sheepish. ‘Sorry.’

‘Never mind. It can be washed. Are you enjoying it?’

‘It’s delicious. Thanks, Mum.’ He took another mouthful, a contented look on his face. It put her in mind of an old saying: the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.

But Ronnie’s not a man. Not yet.

And I already have his heart.

‘It’s nice being just the two of us, isn’t it?’

He nodded.

‘I keep expecting Vera to barge in and start giving orders. I’m surprised she hasn’t been in contact since you left Hepton.’

‘She won’t be in contact. Not ever.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Just a feeling,’ he said, though his tone was certain. She nodded and found herself thinking of the locked drawer where he kept his secrets. Except that he had no secrets. Not from her. At least none that meant anything.

‘How’s Susan?’

‘Fine. She really enjoyed Saturday. She was saying how much she liked you.’

‘Did Jennifer like me?’

‘Yes, but not as much as she liked your cakes.’

‘And how much do you like her?’

‘She’d be perfect if it wasn’t for the singing.’

‘I meant Susan.’

A nod.

‘Well?’

‘I like her a lot.’

‘How much is a lot?’

‘She’s a good friend.’

‘And a beautiful one.’

Another nod.

‘I liked her, too.’

He continued eating. She watched him, wishing he would open up. Not wanting to appear inquisitive. Not wanting him to know she was jealous.

‘Have you met her parents?’

‘Only her stepfather. He seemed very nice.’

‘Ben Logan says he drinks. Ben often sees him walking past the lock looking the worse for wear.’

‘Perhaps he drinks to forget.’

‘Forget what?’

‘Jennifer’s singing.’ He began to hum ‘The Good Ship Lollipop’, while sticking roast potatoes on the end of his knife and fork and making them skip like Charlie Chaplin’s dance of the bread rolls in
The Gold Rush.
The sight rendered her helpless with laughter. He watched her, grinning. She knew he liked being able to make her laugh more than anyone else.

Can you make Susan laugh this hard too? And are you as happy when you do?

Or even happier?

He continued the performance. She focused on her amusement, trying to push the questions from her mind.

Tuesday afternoon. Alice Wetherby walked home with Kate Christie, who kept talking about a boy she had met at a family party the previous weekend. ‘Can’t you talk about something else?’ Alice snapped. ‘He sounds incredibly boring.’

Kate frowned. ‘Don’t take it out on me because Ronnie doesn’t like you.’

‘I don’t care about that. I didn’t like him anyway.’

‘Not much you didn’t. Serves you right, too. You’re always acting like you can have any boy you want. Looks like you were wrong.’

‘That’s the point. I
didn’t
want him. Who’d want some pathetic mother’s boy. He’s probably queer anyway. Boys who like art usually are.’

‘Maybe you should ask Susan if he’s queer. She should know.’

‘I don’t care,’ said Alice forcefully. ‘It doesn’t matter to me.’

Except, of course, that it mattered a great deal. Ronnie was the first boy she had ever had feelings for and to discover that he preferred someone else had hurt more than she could have imagined. Especially when that someone was Susan Ramsey.

She needed to take her pain out on someone but Kate was not proving a satisfactory target.

Then they entered Market Court and she saw a better one.

Ronnie’s mother was entering Fisher’s Bookshop. Pretty, timid, common Anna Sidney, who adored her precious son and had married a deformed freak in a pathetic attempt to buy them both respectability.

‘Do you want to have some fun?’ she asked Kate.

Anna stood in the art section of the shop, looking for birthday presents for Ronnie, relishing the fact that expense was no longer a consideration.

She found a book about Millais and began to skim through its pages, checking that his favourite painting of Ophelia was included among the illustrations.

And heard someone say his name.

Two people were talking about him, both female, on the other side of the shelves.

‘I like him. He’s really nice.’

‘That’s why Susie’s chasing him. Nice people are more fun to hurt.’

The first voice was unfamiliar. The second belonged to Alice Wetherby.

‘Paul Benson was nice too.’

‘And look what she did to him. He’d just lost his mother and she comes along and is all nice and concerned and I really care about you and isn’t it a shame your father doesn’t. She really damaged that relationship. Edward says that before she got involved
Paul and his father were close but now they don’t get on at all.’

‘Ronnie’s really close to his mother, isn’t he?’

‘Not for much longer. She’ll find a chink and start scratching at it. Your mother doesn’t care about you, Ronnie. Not now she’s got her rich husband. Ronnie’s mother’s nice but she’s a bit pathetic. Susie will eat her alive.’ A sigh. ‘Oh well. It’s not my problem. I can’t see that book. It must be out of stock. Let’s go.’

Footsteps moved away. A bell rang as the door of the shop opened and shut.

Anna remained where she was, the book on Millais still clutched in her hand.

She told herself that it was nonsense. Alice had been attracted to Ronnie but he was attracted to someone else. Her words were prompted by jealousy and spite.

She paid for the book. The assistant complimented her on her choice. ‘It’s a birthday present for my son,’ she explained. ‘Millais is his favourite painter.’

The assistant smiled. ‘He’s lucky to have a mother who knows what he likes.’

And it was true. She did know what Ronnie liked. She knew him better than anyone. Their bond was as strong as steel and no third person could ever break it.

Not that any such person existed. It was all spite.

It was. She was sure of it.

She walked out of the shop. Two elderly women stood on the pavement talking about the weather. One tapped the other on the arm and pointed. ‘What a beautiful couple.’

Ronnie and Susan were walking through the Court. They moved slowly, arm in arm, deep in conversation and with their heads almost touching. Others were watching them too, but they didn’t seem to notice. Too wrapped up in each other to care.

And they
were
beautiful. Radiant and magnetic. Like a pair of young film stars carefully paired so their colouring would enhance that of the other while completely extinguishing all those who came into their orbit.

‘The girl is Susan Ramsey,’ one of the women said, ‘but I don’t know who the boy is.’ Anna wanted to tell them he was her son but held back, suddenly fearful that she would not be believed.

Ronnie’s mother’s nice but she’s a bit pathetic.

Too pathetic to hold on to Ronnie if someone else chose to steal him away?

But Susan didn’t want to steal him. She was a nice girl. She was. She really was.

He’d just lost his mother and she comes along and is all nice and concerned …

She’ll find a chink and start scratching at it.

But that would never happen. Ronnie needed her as much as she needed him. She knew him better than Susan ever could. There were no secrets. Nothing she did not know.