The Missing One Read Online Free PDF Page A

turned to the wall, her hair massed on the pillow like dead leaves and I would try to make things better. I’d take toddler Alice to the swings or tidy up the kitchen, or pick flowers and put them in a jam jar by her bed. Then, at some point, these episodes didn’t happen any more and I was older, almost a teenager. But my resentment had stacked up by then. I knew I couldn’t trust her, and that’s when the big fights started. Alice and I really did have very different mothers.
    *
    Several people come up to me after the service to give condolences, and coo over Finn, who bombs around grabbing handfuls of flowers, pinging off people’s legs, dodging pats on the head, grabbing and tugging at things. No one mentions the poem, but several people say, ‘You really do look like your mum.’ A woman about my mother’s age, with hennaed hair and Peruvian earrings, tells me that my mother’s art should be exhibited. ‘She was a wonderful artist and a wonderful friend.’ She touches my arm and our eyes meet. Hers are kind, the colour of soft leather. ‘I know you two had issues, but she always talked very proudly of you and her beautiful grandson.’
    I feel my throat constrict, and for a second it strikes me that this woman must be the magic link to my mother – she will find my mother for me, and bring her back. She hands me a tissue and says, ‘I’m so sorry, Kal.’
    *
    The morning light is pale and the kitchen windows are fogged. I can see the outline of the apple tree; its bare claws sway in the wind. Alice is by the sink with her back to me. Her hair is swept up off her neck and she is on her mobile. Finn has both arms wrapped around me and is still sleepy and snugly. The tiles are cold underfoot and I wish I had thick socks. The heating hasn’t kicked in yet but I am in a warm old jumper of Doug’s with the sleeves rolled up. I took it without thinking. It smells of Doug.
    It is not even 6.30 but Alice has obviously been going through our mother’s papers: documents and files are strewn over the kitchen table. I wonder if she slept at all. She is so diligent and so desperate to do the right thing all the time – she always has been.
    I know she has to go back to the office today, but as far as I know no one will be there when she gets home tonight to make her dinner and hold onto her while she cries for our mother. She stands pluckily at the sink in leggings and an oversized sweater, nodding into her phone. Her neck looks fragile beneath the weight of her head.
    I will have to leave too. Only I can’t go home. It’s impossible to imagine even standing in the same room as Doug right now. I have to find somewhere else to go. Alice would have us to stay. I try to imagine myself and Finn in her clean white flat.
    â€˜That’s just not realistic,’ Alice snaps.
    â€˜Down.’ Finn squirms and I press my hand against his thigh, feeling its doughy give. ‘Down!’
    â€˜How about you sit in here, in your chair, and we’ll havesome breakfast first, eh?’ I slot him swiftly into his portable high chair.
    â€˜We can’t do that,’ Alice says, curtly. She turns, looks at me over her shoulder, and raises her eyes to the ceiling. Who is she talking to at this time in the morning? Nobody seems to sleep any more.
    â€˜Down!’ Finn slaps both hands on to the high-chair table then looks down at them – two chubby starfish. He slaps again, rather pleased by the noise.
    â€˜You just sit there for a minute, love, and I’ll get you some milk.’ I hurry to the fridge, scraping my hair into a ponytail with the hair tie that was round my wrist. Finn watches me, edgily, as I fill his sippy cup, then he seizes it with two hands, and sucks on the spout, looking up at me from under his fringe. I kiss the top of his head and start to cut bread.
    â€˜Is Dad asleep?’ I mouth when Alice turns around