Free Apple of My Eye by Patrick Redmond Page A

Susie Sparkle.
    July 1952.
    Until it happened, Susan had no idea that her mother was ill.
    There were no obvious signs. Though her mother had complained of tiredness she often had trouble sleeping. And if she was quieter than usual, it was Susan’s father who had always been the exuberant one.
    It happened on a Wednesday afternoon. A hot, sticky afternoon two days before the start of the school holidays. Susan and Charlotte walked home with Charlotte’s mother, whose turn it was to collect them, their satchels bouncing against their thighs as they made plans for the summer. Charlotte’s cousins fromNorfolk were coming to stay and Susan said that they should build a den in the woods to the west of the town. Her father had built dens there when he was a boy and had promised to show them a good place.
    They reached number 22: Charlotte’s house. Charlotte’s mother asked Susan whether she wanted to come in and play but Susan said that she had promised to be home promptly. After saying goodbye she ran on to number 37 and knocked on the door.
    She waited but the door remained closed. After counting to twenty she knocked again. Still nothing. She opened the letterbox. ‘Mum, it’s me. Let me in.’ The wireless was playing in the background. Her mother must be there. Why wasn’t she opening the door?
    She stood on the doorstep, unsure what to do. Mrs Bruce from number 45 passed by, carrying her shopping basket and battling with her dog, Warner, who was pulling in the other direction. She gave Susan a wave. Susan waved back while wondering whether to call Charlotte’s mother.
    Then the door did open. But only an inch. From behind it she heard footsteps moving away. Slow and heavy. Like those of an old person. Not like her mother at all.
    For a moment she hesitated. The first pricklings of fear starting within her.
    Then, pushing the door open, she walked in. From the living room came the sound of movement, so she entered it.
    Her mother was sitting on the sofa, wearing a dressing gown. Both her feet were bare. A hand kept tugging at a lock of hair. On the coffee table was a teapot and two cups, a huge plate of sandwiches and an apple with a candle burning in its centre.
    ‘Mum?’
    No answer. The wireless was broadcasting a play about sailors.
    Susan began to approach. Her mother turned. For a moment her eyes were so blank it was as if she didn’t know her daughter at all. Then the light of recognition. But faint. Like a flickering bulb that could blow at any moment.
    ‘Sit down. Eat your tea.’ The voice was flat. Empty. Not like her mother’s voice at all. The hand continued to pull at the lock of hair.
    Susan looked at the table. The sandwiches, neatly cut and trimmed, were empty. Just pieces of bread curling in the heat of the room. Wax from the candle slid over the apple and down to the table beneath.
    The fear kept growing inside her. She didn’t understand. What was happening? Why was her mother acting like this?
    Her mother pointed to the apple. ‘Make a wish.’
    ‘Mum?’
    ‘Make a wish. Wish for something nice. Wish …’
    The voice faded away. The hair was so frayed it was starting to break. The wireless played on regardless while outside boys rode past on their bicycles, ringing their bells and laughing.
    ‘Mum, I don’t understand …’
    Her mother began to cry. A soft, whimpering sound like a wounded animal. Susan put her arms around her, hugging her as tight as she could and starting to cry too.
    The phone rang in the hallway. She ran to pick up the receiver and heard her father’s voice. ‘Dad, something’s wrong with Mum. Come home, Dad. Come home, please …’
    The rest of the day was a blur. Her father sent her to play in her room. Auntie Emma arrived to take her to Queen Anne Square. ‘It’s just for tonight,’ she was told. ‘Don’t worry about Mum. Everything will be fine.’
    In the end she stayed with Auntie Emma for most of the summer. Her father visited every evening. Her