Read Online The One I Love by Anna McPartlin - Free Book Online

caretaker had hastily fitted a new door, Leslie poured a glass of wine, picked up her phoneand dialled a number she hadn’t dialled in more than ten years.
    “Hello?”
    “Jim?”
    “This is Jim.”
    “Hi, it’s Leslie Sheehan.”
    “Leslie – Jesus! I can’t believe it’s you!”
    “I know. It’s odd. I hope I’m not intruding.”
    “No, I’m just sitting in.”
    “Me too.”
    “Happy New Year, by the way!”
    “Happy New Year.”
    “So, what made you call after all this time?” he asked.
    “I don’t know – well, it sounds stupid.”
    “You’re sick?”
    “No, no, not sick,” she said. “I’m thinking about having preventive surgery actually.”
    “I think you should,” he said, without missing a beat.
    “Wow.”
    “If Imelda’d had that choice I know she would have done it.”
    “That’s what I thought.”
    “Are you scared?”
    “No.”
    “Have you got anyone in your life?”
    “No.”
    “Do you want me to be there for you?”
    Leslie couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t spoken to Jim in so many years and before that she’d usually been rude or standoffish. “That is really kind of you,” she said, “but no.”
    “So why have you called?”
    “I just wanted to hear your voice,” she said, and laughed a little. “People are mad, aren’t they?”
    Jim laughed too. “Yes, Leslie, people are mad.”
    After that she asked him how he was and what he was doing and if he’d ever remarried. He was fine, doing well and, no, he hadn’t. He’d seen a Russian woman for a year but she’d returned to Russia when her father had died six months earlier.
    They spoke for about fifteen minutes and before she hung up she promised to call him to arrange to go out for a drink.
    “You see, Deborah! I’m going out for a drink, with a man, very soon!” she shouted at the wall once more. “I am not Crazy Dead Cat Lady, not today and not tomorrow!”
    The cat stared at her from its freshly washed and pine-scented bed. Leslie looked at her watch and as it was only nine she opened her computer and watched three episodes of Desperate Housewives Season One, before hitting the hay around eleven thirty.
    “Yeah, Happy New Year, Deborah, and up yours!”
    Tom beeped the horn and, within seconds, Jane appeared. She waved, closed the door and ignored her mother’s face, pressed to the basement window, when she turned to shut the gate. Tom had got out and opened her car door. She buckled up while he made his way around to his side. He got in and thanked her for agreeing to come to the Walshes’ with him, explaining how awkward it had been since Alexandra had disappeared. She wondered why he put himself through it and he admitted he had a soft spot for Alexandra’s mother, Breda.
    They got to the house just after nine and Alexandra’s younger sister, Kate, opened the door. She hugged Tom and said a polite hello to Jane. The last time Jane had seen Kate she had probably been no more than ten so she wasn’t surprised when she didn’t recognize her. They entered the hallway and Jane felt as though she had stepped back through time. The carpet was still brown with red diamonds, the telephone table still had two yellow telephone books under it, the walls were still dotted with holiday photos from the seventies and eighties and at least three included her. She was ushered quickly into the sitting room.
    There, sitting on the green velvet chair by the window, was Breda. The chair was the same but Breda had aged well beyond her years. Having begun her family young, Breda couldn’t have been older than sixty-five but she looked ninety. Her face was wizened and her tall frame shrivelled. Her hair was white and cropped. Her hands, clasped and holding rosary beads, were so thin they were transparent, revealing blue and purple veins and knuckles that appeared knotted.
    She saw Jane, smiled and held out her hand. Jane took it and felt a little weak.
    “Jane Moore,” said Breda, “you’ve grown into such a