The Broken Ones Read Online Free PDF Page A

help it; tears prick at the back of my eyes. I take a moment to breathe, composing myself, then I direct her back to bed.
     
    *
     
    At 6am, I press snooze. At 6:05, I hear the sound of my mother’s feet moving around the house and I’m up in an instant. I hurry downstairs to find her standing triumphantly in the middle of the kitchen, waving her keys in the air.
    “I found them!” she says. “They were dropped behind the kitchen bin.”
    “That’s great,” I reply, trying to force some cheer into my voice. There’s only so much cheer to be found after broken sleep. “Let’s get you dressed. Aren’t you tired? We were up half the night.”
    “No, we weren’t,” she says. “What are you talking about?”
    “You thought someone was in your room, remember?” In my exhausted state, I forget to pander to her. I snap at her instead, and she appears taken aback by my sharp tongue.
    “You think I’m stupid.” She slams the keys down on the counter and squares her shoulders. “Well, I’m not stupid. You’re the idiot. You always have been.”
    “Yes, yes, I know. Come on. We need to get ready before Erin arrives.”
    “Who’s Erin?”
    My shoulders sag. I’m not sure I can do this today. It’s hard enough when I’ve had a restful night. Luckily, Mum is distracted by moving up the stairs. She forgets all about Erin and the keys and whatever else has been on her mind. I manage to get her into her room.
    “I can do it,” Mum says, snatching her arm away from me.
    “Fine.” I pass her the clothes and walk out.
    Space. That’s what I need. A few moments to compose myself, to rid my mind of its crippling stresses. Two minutes alone. My bedroom is filled with comforting silence until my mobile phone begins to buzz. I retrieve it from underneath the pillow to find another missed call from Peter. That makes over half a dozen missed calls from him over the last few days, and a fair few unanswered text messages. I’m not a dating expert, but so many attempts to contact me are making me uncomfortable. I’m going to have to call him back and put a stop to this. You’d think he would have got the message already, but clearly not, and I don’t want to lead him on.
    My bedroom door opens and Mum stands in the doorway in a smart dress, a pair of heeled court shoes and a cashmere cardigan. There’s a neat slick of lipstick on her lips and some powder on her cheeks. “What are you doing in here? Where’s my breakfast?”
    It takes me a minute to know what to say. There are moments through watching this awful disease disassemble my mother that she is so like the woman I used to know that it knocks all the wind out of me and I’m at an absolute loss for words. All I can do is follow her down to the kitchen and pour cereal into bowls.
    “Yoo-hoo, anybody home?” Erin breezes into the house and relieves the tension in the air. “Oh, wow, Mrs. Howland, you’re looking fantastic today. I love that outfit. Can I borrow it?”
    “Not likely,” Mum says. “You’ll stretch it out.”
    Erin bites her lip to stop herself from laughing. I suppose mean old people are pretty hilarious. Unless they’re your parent, that is.
    “Time for a cuppa?” Erin asks.
    I glance at my phone. “I’d better shower and get ready for work.”
    “Are you all right this morning? You don’t seem yourself.”
    “Mum woke up in the night and thought someone was in her room.” Saying it out loud brings the fear back, making me almost spill milk as I pass Mum her cereal bowl. “There was no one there, of course. But it meant I didn’t get much sleep.”
    “I bet.” Erin chews on her bottom lip and tilts her head to one side sympathetically. “She’s getting to be a bit of a handful, isn’t she? How are you coping with it all?”
    “I have good days and bad days.” Mostly bad. And apparently I look awful, because everyone keeps telling me that. “I should probably get ready.” I flash her a smile and scurry out of the