The Broken Ones Read Online Free PDF Page B

before her gaze is redirected to the work on her desk.
    I back out of the room feeling a little put out by such a curt dismissal. My neck warms with embarrassment. I went in expecting reassurance and was given none. It could be my imagination, but did she chastise me with her little smile and laconic words? That should be fine this once. I certainly have that hot sensation of being chastised. My palms are sweaty as I walk through the corridors feeling as though everyone is turning to stare at me. At least, it was certainly a reminder that this can’t happen again. This is the first time I’ve ever gone home early from work.
    As I hurry to the carpark, I try to put those thoughts behind me. Getting home is my concern right now. I’m running on adrenaline and caffeine as I drive home. I’m floating along on fumes, getting ready to self-destruct. At least I manage to get home without hurting myself or anyone else.
    My heels scrape along the path as I rush to the door. It’s locked, so I have to fumble with my keys and then push through into the hall. I turn and lock the door again. Erin must have locked it for a reason. Probably to stop my mother rushing out.
    “Erin? Mum?”
    The sound of raised voices comes from the living room. Something… something… you’re not welcome here. Something… out of my house . Then there’s a sob.
    When I enter, I find Erin cowering behind the sofa cushion with Mum holding the heavy candlestick we use for church candles above her head. I approach slowly, shocked at the scene before me.
    “Mum, put the candlestick down.”
    She turns to me, and her mouth falls open. “This woman is in my house, and she won’t let me drive. I want to go for a drive.”
    “If you give me the candlestick, we can go for a drive.”
    Her eyes flash with anger for a moment and I take a step back, anxious about what she’ll do. Then her arms lower and she blinks. “I’m not sure I want to go for a drive after all. I think I want to go to bed.”
    “That’s okay, Mum. Let’s put you to bed.”
    “I… I think I need to go—”
    “I’m so sorry, Erin. You get off. I can cope here.”
    “Are you sure?” She wipes her wet cheeks and grasps for her handbag on the coffee table.
    “Of course.”
    The front door slams before we’re even halfway up the stairs. It’s not like I’m not used to being alone with my mother—that’s how it’s been for pretty much all of my life—but now it feels very lonely.
    “Do you remember Dad?” The question pops out before I can retrieve it. I tense up as we shuffle through the bedroom door and Mum sits on the edge of the bed. Even before the Alzheimer’s, Mum hated talking about my father. I don’t remember much about him, only that he committed suicide when I was very young. Mum was furious about him leaving her with a child to take care of. She barely spoke about him ever again.
    “Soft,” she says. “Soft eyes. Soft will.” She shakes her head. “I never told you.”
    “Told me what?” I turn to face her so I can see the expression on her face. It’s such an odd thing to say. Ominous, even, suggesting there are secrets in our past.
    “What are you talking about?” she asks.
    I sigh. Whatever secrets my mother has will probably stay that way. I’m not sure she’ll ever be coherent enough to tell me. I peel off her cardigan and help her onto the bed.
    “Mum, what’s…” I examine her arms. There are purple marks all over her skin. Bad ones. Her arms are more purple than the usual sallow pink of her skin. “What happened to you?”
    “I already told you,” she says. “It was the shadow.”

Chapter Four
     
     
    In my late twenties and early thirties, I watched my friends have children. I don’t have many friends, at least not anymore, but there were people I’d kept in touch with after uni, as well as my colleagues at the school. I’d ask them how they did it, how they survived on no sleep when their little ones went through troubled