Apple of My Eye by Patrick Redmond Page B

lovely places, didn’t we, Susie? We gave them special names too. You’ll have to show them to your mum.’
    ‘Next summer,’ said Susan’s mother, ‘we can all have picnics together.’
    Susan nodded. ‘We can go to the pirates’ lair. That’s my favourite.’
    As she spoke she noticed her father’s expression become troubled. Uncle George’s too.
    But Auntie Emma was smiling. ‘Of course we can.’She offered another scone to Susan. ‘Eat up. I made these especially for you.’
    Susan looked again at her father and Uncle George. Both nodded encouragingly. ‘Go on, Susie,’ said Uncle George. ‘You’ll never grow up to be an architect if you don’t eat your scones. That’s all my parents ever gave me and look at me now.’
    They all laughed. She did as she was told.
    December. Susan stood in Market Court, holding her mother’s hand and listening to the Kendleton church choir, who were gathered around the Norman cross at its centre, singing carols.
    It was late afternoon and already dark. A light dusting of frost covered the ground. The choir sang ‘Once in Royal David’s City’, using old-fashioned lanterns for illumination; their breath condensing before them like ghosts dancing in the air. A crowd had gathered, many carrying shopping baskets full of presents. The bus from Oxford arrived and most of the passengers came to listen too.
    The choirmaster asked for one of the children to choose the next carol. ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing,’ cried Susan, knowing that it was her mother’s favourite. The choir began to sing. ‘Thank you, Susie,’ said her mother, giving her hand a squeeze.
    Her father came to join them, his cheeks red from the cold. ‘Not this dreadful dirge,’ he said, and began to hum out of tune, while her mother, laughing, told him to stop.
    The carols came to an end. The crowd began to disperse. The three of them stood together, looking up at the cold, dark sky. Her father told her that when he and her mother had first met they had stolen a rowing boat and sat together all night on the river watching the stars. Her mother told her that the owner of the boat had reported them to the police and that her parents had forbidden the two of them from ever meeting again.
    ‘You didn’t take any notice, though,’ said Susan’s father.
    Susan’s mother shook her head.
    ‘More fool you.’
    They kissed each other. Again her mother was laughing. She looked beautiful and happy. Not scared of anything.
    As they moved through the crowds Susan saw Alice Wetherby standing with an elderly couple she didn’t recognize. Visiting relatives probably. Alice was tugging at the woman’s coat and pointing at Susan’s mother. The woman began to stare. Susan stuck her tongue out. Quickly the woman looked away. Alice made a face back. Susan mouthed a single ‘moo’ and Alice, scowling, looked away too.
    Her mother, who was talking about the carols, didn’t notice. Her father, who was nodding in agreement, did. The two of them exchanged winks as they continued on their way.
    April 1953.
    It was a Saturday. Susan’s mother was spending theday in Lyndham, a nearby village, visiting an old aunt. Susan and her father were going to the cinema.
    There was no cinema in Kendleton so they had taken the bus to Oxford. The film they had chosen was
Singing in the Rain.
Susan’s parents had taken her to see it the previous weekend and she had loved it so much that she had begged to be taken again.
    They sat together in the auditorium, waiting for the lights to dim and the film to start. Most of the seats were full. One of the few empty ones was next to Susan. ‘Smudge could have sat there,’ she told her father.
    ‘You’re obsessed with that cat!’
    Smudge was a ginger tabby with a black patch around his nose. Auntie Emma had given him to Susan in January as a seventh birthday present. Her father had taken a photograph of her sitting on the sofa with Smudge on her knee and Auntie Emma and Uncle George