The One I Love

by Anna McPartlin

  The fake stranger sitting opposite, who had been looking out of the window when the fake Alexandra had got on the train, grinned at her and told her that her own dad was as bad. The fake Alexandra mentioned that the doddery older man had been sweet and then they looked away from one another and out of the windows. Another shot of the DART on the tracks and Dalkey station appeared. Inside again, the fake Alexandra picked up her bag, stood up and fixed her clothes before disembarking. She made her way through the station and out into the sunshine. She continued straight onto the main street and took the left at the end. After that she took a right and another left, and after that the fake Alexandra faded from the screen and was gone.

  The presenter appeared in front of the screen, which was showing an empty street in Dalkey. He reminded the viewers of the date and time of the incident. He reminded them of the woman’s name and reiterated what she was wearing, her height and weight. He asked people to cast their minds back to that day. “The twenty-first of June 2007, a bright, warm day, a day when Alexandra Kavanagh, née Walsh, daughter, sister, friend and wife, turned a corner in Dalkey and vanished from plain sight. Someone knows something. If you’re that someone, please call.” He gave the hotline number, the email and postal address, then moved on to a robbery in Carlow.

  Jane, Elle, Kurt, Irene and even Rose sat quietly. Rose was the first to get up to leave, shaking her head and sighing. “She was a cheeky pup in her day but nobody deserves that,” she said, and made her way back to her basement apartment and a much-needed drink.

  Irene and Kurt made their excuses and returned to their studies. Elle and Jane sat together in the dark. “Wanna go to the pub?” Elle asked.

  “I’ll get my bag,” Jane said.

  Tom sat alone in his sitting room, ignoring the texts buzzing on his phone. He drank from his whiskey glass and prayed that the someone who knew something would phone the hotline because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.

  Alexandra’s father cupped his face in his hands and cried like a baby. This distracted Eamonn, Kate and their spouses from Breda, and while they soothed him Breda stood up quietly and, unseen, walked up to her bedroom, took off her cardigan and folded it. She pulled her duvet down and got into her bed and, except to go to the toilet, that was where she stayed.

  Chapter 10

  Lost In Limbo

  Here we are blind but trying to see

  and here we are speechless but trying to sing,

  and here we are paralysed but trying to tango,

  lost in limbo.

  Jack L, Broken Songs

  June 2008

  Jane was doing her accounts in the gallery. When she looked up from her computer screen she was just in time to see an extremely glamorous woman in her late forties enter the premises. It was a hot day but the woman wore gloves and took one off as she came in. “Jane Moore?” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Martha, Irene’s mother.”

  “Oh,” Jane said, standing. “Hello.”

  “Hello,” she said, and smiled a wide smile, revealing perfect porcelain teeth. “I thought it was about time we met.”

  “Okay,” Jane said.

  Martha pulled a chair that was resting against the wall to Jane’s table and sat down. Jane put her hand out to shake Martha’s but she didn’t seem to notice it so Jane sat.

  “Well,” Martha said, “Irene is so enchanted by you I honestly don’t know who she has a bigger crush on – you or your son.”

  Jane had no idea how to respond to the woman’s statement or her passive-aggressive tone so she remained silent. Martha took another moment to remove her second glove. “It seems she is determined to stay with you,” she said, “but how could I compete with a party house where anything goes?”

  She smiled another wide smile, and Jane could feel her temper rising and her face twisting, the way her mother’s did before she spewed bile.

  Martha’s smile remained fixed. “So I was hoping you’d give me some tips on how to get her to come home.”

  “I wasn’t aware you’d noticed she’d gone,” Jane said, in a tone that matched her mother’s at her very snottiest, “but then you were preoccupied with a boy young enough to be your son. I guess mine isn’t the only party house in town.”

  “Funny,” Martha said. “I suppose you think I’m a bad mother because I needed to take some time out to recover from a broken marriage. I suppose you think that you’re a better mother than me.”

  “I do and I am,” Jane said, channelling Rose.

  “Oh, really? I know that you’re allowing them to sleep together under your roof, allowing them to drive around on a motorbike together, and don’t think I don’t know about the drinking.”

  “In case you failed to notice, your daughter had a birthday in February, and as they’re both eighteen, everything I let them do they’re entitled to do. I also feed them, clean up after them, listen to them, encourage them and watch over them, so if you ever want to come into my gallery again it will be with the intention of thanking me for caring for Irene, and if not, you’d better be prepared to run. Understand?”

  “You know, I met your mother once at a bridge club – she was a nasty bitch and you’re exactly like her.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Jane said. “Now get out.”

  Martha stood up. “My daughter belongs with me.” Her bitchy I’m-better-than-you façade was slipping. “How the hell can I compete with you?”

  “I don’t know how to help you, Martha, and to be honest you haven’t inspired me to want to,” Jane said.

  Martha walked out, leaving Jane to stare after her.

  What an ungrateful tart.

  It turned out Martha had split with her toyboy and in his absence she missed her daughter. A few days earlier she had approached Irene about coming home and Irene had told her she was happy where she was and didn’t want to move, so close to her exams. Martha had tried everything in her emotional arsenal to encourage her daughter to return home but Irene was adamant that she was happy, safe and secure, and it was nice to be in a house where she was cared for. Martha had shouted that she was ungrateful and cruel to use the past few months against her, but Irene insisted that Martha had always been the kind of mother who had been absent whether she was there or not. “It’s not your fault, Mum. You are what you are.”

  Martha was selfish and the whole world revolved around her, but despite these failings she was also kind and charming and fun to be around and Irene wasn’t angry with her. She wasn’t venomous; she didn’t want to cause her pain. All she wanted to do was stay with her boyfriend and Jane until her exams.

  “And then?” Martha had said.

  “And then I don’t know.”

  “Please come home to me then.”

  “No, Mum, I’m going to Greece with Kurt.”

  “For how long?”

  “A couple of weeks,” she had said.

  “And then?”

  “And then you’ll probably be back together with whatever his name is or someone else.”

  “Irene,” Martha had said, “that’s not true.”

  “Of course it’s true,” Irene said. “You can’t be alone and that’s the only reason you want me home.”

  “Not fair.”

  “Totally fair. But it’s okay – I understand. I’m terrified of heights, you’re terrified of being alone. We all have our issues.” She had kissed her mother’s cheek. “I love you, Mum,” she said.

  Shortly after, Martha watched her peel off down the street on the back of Kurt’s motorbike, and instead of thinking about what her daughter had said, instead of realizing that the girl had a point and that she needed to change if she wanted their relationship to change, she thought about Jane Moore and what a stupid bitch she was for turning her daughter against her.

  Leslie had three weeks to go before her operation and the gravity of her situation was starting to take its toll on her. Sleep deprivation made her cranky and she cou
ldn’t help but focus on the mutilation her poor body would soon endure. She got out of the shower, wiped the steam from the mirror and looked at herself, resting the palm of her hand on her stomach. With her other hand she cupped her left breast. She squeezed her breasts together, tried to flatten them down, and then she held onto the washbasin and screamed and screamed and screamed.

  When Elle knocked at her door she was lying in the foetal position on the floor, crying for all that she was about to lose. When Leslie eventually opened the door, wearing nothing but her robe, she pretended she was fine but Elle wasn’t fooled for a second. “Get dressed,” she said.

  “No.”

  “Get dressed.”

  “No.”

  “Leslie.”

  “Elle.”

  “Get fucking dressed.”

  “No fucking way.”

  Elle grinned and Leslie couldn’t help but smile a little too.

  When she was dressed, Leslie wanted to know what Elle had planned, but all she would say was that they were going for a drive. Leslie really didn’t feel like driving but Elle was adamant that she needed to run away from herself.

  “You can’t run away from yourself,” Leslie said.

  “Of course you can,” Elle said. “You’ll see.”

  It was such a hot day and Elle had no idea where they were heading so she pointed the car in a direction and just kept going. She put the top down and music on and ordered Leslie to lie back and allow the breeze fill her lungs and play with her hair. Spending time with Leslie had reminded Elle how short and precious life was, and she felt a great need to make the absolute most of every second before she moved on.

  After they had been driving for more than an hour Leslie voiced concern as to when they’d reach their destination.

  “We’ll know when we know,” Elle said.

  Leslie sighed deeply and shook her head to signal to her friend that she wasn’t happy but, contrary to her actions, she then lay back and when the wind caught her hair she smiled.

  The sunshine made every town and village they passed seem prettier, the grass greener, the flowers more colourful, the people friendlier, and the world a little kinder and better. Elle and Leslie were warm, content and looking forward to reaching their destination wherever it might be. When two hours had passed and they were still driving, Leslie wondered whether they would make it back home and Elle assured her that they wouldn’t. Leslie argued that she hadn’t got a change of clothes or a toothbrush and, most importantly, that she hadn’t left food out for her cat.

  “We can buy what we need and ring Deborah – she’ll care for the cat,” said Elle.

  “You are joking?”

  “No. I know she makes you a little crazy but face facts. Deborah was right about you. You were a weirdo cat-loving loner who could potentially drop dead and rot.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re excused,” Elle said, “because that’s not who you are any more, so forgive and forget and ask her to feed your cat.”

  “What about a key, smartarse?”

  “You have one hidden somewhere in the building.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “Because you’re paranoid like Jane, which means you’re one of those ‘in case of’ people and you’re such an unfriendly cow there’s no way you gave it to a neighbour.”

  “It’s under the carpet to the left of my door.”

  Elle raised her hand. “There you go, then.”

  Leslie rang Directory Enquiries and asked for Deborah James’s phone number. They connected her and Deborah answered immediately, “Ashley?”

  “No, it’s Leslie.”

  “Leslie who?”

  “Leslie, the weirdo cat-loving loner with the potential to drop dead and rot.”

  “Oh,” Deborah said, “you.”

  “Look, I know this is out of the blue but I need a favour.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’m not going to make it home and I haven’t left out any food for my cat. I’d so appreciate it if you’d feed her for me.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes,” Leslie said, “really.”

  “Key?” Deborah said.

  “Under the carpet to the left-hand side of my door.”

  “Hmmm.”

  “Well?”

  “Okay,” Deborah said. “I’ll feed your cat.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Um-hum.”

  “And, Deborah?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If you poke around I’ll know.”

  “Don’t push it, cat lady.”

  “Okay,” Leslie said, and hung up. “Sorted,” she said to Elle, lay back in her seat, breathed in deeply and stretched her arms in the air.

  Elle saw the castle in the distance and told Leslie it was calling to her. It turned out to be a hotel. She drove up the winding road that led to the large wooden door. Leslie jumped out and looked around at the manicured gardens, shielding her eyes from the sun while she examined the turrets. “Perfect,” she said, and followed Elle into the lobby.

  Elle booked them in and they headed up to their room, which was a deep yellow and dotted with small paintings that were rubbish, according to Elle. The twin beds were covered with blankets, the top ones flowery, and in contrast the headboards were covered with gingham. Two pink chairs stood at the end of the beds and both women agreed the décor was vomit-inducing yet suited the place. A white wooden-framed window revealed the most beautiful view of gardens that seemed to roll into the sea. Although it was summer the hotel seemed to be all but empty. Leslie and Elle lunched alone in the grand dining room, and when Leslie’s mind drifted away, Elle brought her back with talk of a swim. Leslie wasn’t too sure as she’d had two glasses of wine, but Elle assured her that the wine would only heighten the experience.

  “We’ve no swimsuits.”

  “We don’t need swimsuits.”

  “I’m not getting into the sea in my knickers.”

  “Me neither,” Elle said, and grinned.

  And before Leslie knew it, she was following Elle through the lawns and trees towards the sea. Elle stripped off as soon as she hit the water’s edge, threw her clothes behind her and ran in full steam ahead. Leslie called after her but she was gone and swimming, powering through the waves like a shark chasing its prey. The sun glistened on the water making it sparkle and she was so tempted to feel its softness on her skin. She looked around and there was no one to be seen. To hell with it. She stripped off and ran as fast as she’d ever run into the freezing sea and disappeared under the surface only to come up spluttering with her hair all over her face and in her eyes and mouth. “Holy shit! The cold!” she roared.

  Elle laughed and told her to swim and she did and, although she wasn’t the powerhouse that her friend was, she swam and swam until the cold turned to warmth and she could stop and enjoy the water swirling around her body.

  Elle swam up to her. “Nothing quite like the freedom,” she said, “is there?”

  “No. There isn’t.”

  They were bobbing along and planning the evening ahead when Leslie spotted a boat in the distance. Mortified, she alerted Elle and was about to make a dash for the shore when Elle grabbed her arm and told her to relax. The boat was coming closer and Leslie could see that there were two men on board. “Relax? I’m naked!”

  “So?” Elle said, and winked. “Time to get your tits out for the boys.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Elle laughed, then kicked and pushed herself out of the water revealing her breasts. The men whistled and she waved, looking at Leslie who was cringing. “It’s now or never,” she said.

  Leslie thought about it for a split second and before she knew it she was displaying her naked breasts to an appreciative audience of two. They wolf-whistled and clapped and she was laughing and lapping it up, and when she turned to Elle and caught her eye, they both registered that they were sharing a perfect high. They turned away from the men, swam to the shore, ran
out and shook off. They covered themselves, the boys waved, and they responded.

  When they had dressed, Leslie lay on the sand in a wet T-shirt and leggings. “Thanks,” she said to her friend.

  “My pleasure,” Elle said, and they both grew silent and stared into the blue sky.

  When it got dark they ventured to the local pub. It was a spit-on-the-floor tiny little place, with wooden pews for seats and rickety tables levelled by beer mats. They enjoyed a drink or two before the two men in the boat appeared. Of course, Elle was delighted to see them and immediately invited them to join them. Leslie was mortified, the high-on-adventure feeling she’d experienced earlier turning to embarrassment and awkwardness, but Elle was having none of it.

  The men were in their early thirties. They were fishing for a few days and roaming from port to port. They introduced themselves as Adrian and Keith. Adrian was tall and broad; he had mousy brown tousled hair, and stubble on his face. He reminded Leslie of Grizzly Adams. Keith was slightly taller and leaner than his friend. He had long hair tied up at the nape of his neck and big brown eyes just like Vincent’s, except they were not framed by Vincent’s thick lashes. The two men sat with their drinks in hand and Elle chatted to them as though she’d known them all her life.

  “What about you?” Adrian asked Leslie.

  “She’s too embarrassed to talk,” Elle explained, when Leslie left him hanging.

  “Why?”

  “She’s not used to exposing herself to strangers,” Elle said.

  “And you are?” Keith asked, and Elle laughed but failed to respond to his question.