The Middle Child Read Online Free PDF Page B

overgrown weeds.  "Come on, let’s go and give Beth a hand."
    ***
         By 5.30 Alex was viewing the last  few straggling grievers through an alcohol-induced haze.  The whisky had built the foundations of the wall of detachment around her and the countless glasses of sherry were adding to it; brick by brick.
         Fucking parasites, she thought, lighting a cigarette.  Any pretence at respect had disappeared at the same speed as the mini quiches.  Who the fuck was going to slap her or kick her for smoking in the house now.  She had the urge to run outside and scream at the top of her voice, come on you fucking heartless bitch.  Come get me now.  Not that the neighbours would notice.  They were too busy stuffing pork pie into their faces in the next room.
         Alex made her way to the sideboard and peered into each of the bottles, shaking them vigorously to detect movement.  "Whoopee," she muttered as the dregs of a port bottle yielded a result.
         "Don’t you think you’ve had enough?" Catherine said, taking the miniature glass from her hand.
         "Fuck off," Alex slurred, grabbing for the glass.  She’d seen three and aimed for the middle one but still sent the dregs sloshing over Catherine’s hand.
         Catherine placed the empty glass on the sideboard beside the empty bottles.
         "Oh well, that’s that then," Alex said, as Catherine wiped her hand.  "Might as well fuck off home now the booze has gone."
         "For heaven’s sake, Alex, get a hold of yourself.  It’s a funeral."
         "Not for somebody I knew so excuse me if I amuse myself by getting quietly pissed."
         Alex headed off in the direction of the kitchen.  There had to be some cooking sherry somewhere or a secret stash of something.  Everyone had a secret stash.
         "There’s nothing left.  You’ve drunk it all," Catherine said, following her.
         "Don’t take that fucking santicim, sanctinome, fucking superior tone with me.  Those bludgers drank it as well."
         "They would have if there’d been any left."
         Alex thought she heard a note of amusement in Catherine’s voice but when she turned Catherine’s face was a mask of control.  She’d been mistaken, she realised.  Of course she had.
         "That’s the last of them gone," Beth said, entering the kitchen behind them.
         Despite her inebriated state, Alex could hear the fatigue in Beth’s voice.
         "Sit down and I’ll make us a cuppa," Catherine offered.
         Beth did as she was told and smiled thankfully at Catherine.  Catherine squeezed her shoulder.
         Alex looked away, sickened and wishing she’d been on the train hours ago or better still that she hadn’t come at all.
         "Thanks for everything," Beth said, squeezing Alex’s hand.  Alex wanted to rip her hand away and scream at this elusive stranger but one look into Beth’s eyes and she couldn’t.  She was full of genuine warmth and gratitude.  She wanted to slap the woman and scream that they weren’t sisters.  Just three women brought together by an accident at birth.  She wanted to remind them both that they hadn’t seen each other or spoken in years.  They barely knew anything about each other.  Alex knew that Catherine had two girls.  How old were they?  What were their names?  What did they like and dislike?
         Alex wanted to scream all these thoughts at them but one look into Beth’s eyes completely deflated her.  She remembered how gentle Beth was.  Poor Beth who had been born without any aggression or self-preservation.  Beth who had had the foresight to hide packets of biscuits for the times when their bellies burned with hunger. 
         Alex felt the emotion rising in her throat; but that was back then and this was now and nothing was the same.
         Family was an accident of blood only.  Relationships needed to be fed and nurtured, looked after, built with