Apple of My Eye by Patrick Redmond Page A

of the boats passed through the lock. Her father made up stories about them, pretending they were pirate ships off to seek treasure on the Spanish Main. One came to moor beside them. An old man sat in the stern, smoking a pipe and smiling at the stories while his wife cooked a meal in the galley and their small black dog ran up and down the bank.
    ‘You tell the best stories in the world,’ she said when he had finished.
    ‘Not me. Your grandfather. He used to bring me here when I was your age. Your grandmother would make us sandwiches and as we ate them he’d tell me the stories I’m telling you. Only he told them much better. Your grandmother said he should get them published but he never did. He said that they were just for me. Now they’re for you.’
    The dog came to sit beside them. The old man told them that his name was Bosun. ‘You’ve got a friend there,’ he said, winking at Susan. His wife appeared, carrying mugs of tea and biscuits for Bosun.
    It was growing late. The light started to drip out of the sky. A swan landed on the water, sending circles to stretch across its surface. The old couple went down to the galley to eat, leaving Bosun on the river bank with his head in Susan’s lap. She made a chain of flowers to hang around his neck while the cold water lapped at her toes.
    ‘I wish you’d known my father, Susie. He would have been so proud of you.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because you’re strong.’
    ‘I’m stronger than Alice.’
    He touched her chest. ‘I mean strong in here. Strong inside. Stronger than either your mother or me. Your grandfather was the same. He was a quiet man. Shy. Private. Not a noisy little baggage like you. But he had this strength inside him. Something very few peoplehave. You felt safe around him because you knew that no matter what you asked of him he’d never let you down.’
    The wind blew hair across her face. He brushed it back. ‘You don’t understand what I mean, do you?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘You will one day.’ He turned, looking at the field behind them. The cows were lying down now, bedding in for the night. ‘Is that where you pushed Alice over?’
    ‘Yes.’
    He pretended to look cross, then the smile that was so much a part of him spread across his face. ‘I love you, Susie Sparkle. Don’t ever change. Always stay the way you are.’
    Suddenly he raised his foot, spraying her with water. She did the same. Soon both were drenched while Bosun ran around barking, frightening the unfortunate cows almost as much as Alice had done.
    Noon, the next day. Susan’s class sat in rows of double desks, copying the names of capital cities on to maps of Europe.
    ‘I’m going out for a minute,’ Mrs Young told them. ‘Work in silence until I return.’
    At first her order was obeyed. Then Alice Wetherby said, ‘I’m glad my mother’s not a loony.’
    ‘I’m glad I’m not ugly,’ said one of her gang.
    Susan pointed to the window and let out a gasp. ‘Run, Alice! The cows are coming!’
    Everybody laughed. A few boys made mooingsounds. Charlotte gave Susan their special best-friend smile. Smiling back, Susan carried on with her work.
    In November her mother came home.
    She returned on a Friday. All week Susan had been unable to concentrate, her head too full of everything she wanted to tell her mother when they were finally reunited. But as she entered the house and saw her mother standing there all words went out of her head. She started crying and couldn’t stop; the fear and dread of the previous four months discharging themselves in a tidal wave of pure joy.
    On Sunday they went to Auntie Emma’s for tea. Auntie Emma had made scones, and as Susan ate she told her mother about the cities she had drawn with Uncle George and the picnics she and Auntie Emma had shared. Her mother tried to thank them but neither was having any of it. ‘It was our pleasure,’ said Uncle George. ‘It was just as much fun for me,’ said Auntie Emma. ‘We found lots of