All That I Leave Behind by Alison Walsh Read Free Book Online

Rosie’s, or ginger or strawberry blonde, but proper red. Pius’s first thought was that she looked like a mermaid. A large mermaid, with rolls of milky flesh around her arms and waist, but a mermaid nonetheless.
    He stood bolt upright, heart thumping in his chest. ‘You gave me a fright. I was just—’
    ‘Talking to yourself.’ The words were spoken matter-of-factly and accompanied by a curious kind of a glare that should have been terrifying but which didn’t quite succeed.
    He laughed. ‘You got me there.’
    She didn’t reply, just walked over to him and extended a hand and shook his briefly. Her hand was warm and her grip so firm he winced slightly. Her eyes were such a vivid green that Pius was startled by them, before deciding that they couldn’t be real. She must wear those tinted contact lenses or something. For some reason, he felt a sudden sense of disappointment.
    ‘Daphne.’ Her voice was low and deep, with an almost masculine quality to it.
    ‘Pius. I’m Rosie’s brother—’
    ‘I know who you are.’
    ‘Oh. Right.’ But who the hell are you? She clearly wasn’t going to enlighten him, so Pius cleared his throat. ‘Did you need anything …?’
    She’d been looking down at her trainers, but now her head flicked up and there was a faint flush to her cheeks. ‘Rosie wanted me to get some sandpaper. For the gazebo thing in the garden.’
    ‘Oh, OK. I have some in the attic …’
    ‘Thanks.’
    ‘Right then.’ He was racking his brains now, trying to think of what to say to a woman who clearly didn’t do small talk, when Rosie appeared in the doorway. ‘Daph, did you get it? Oh, there you are, Pi. We were just looking for some sandpaper.’ Then she looked at Pius and then at Daphne, a slight frown on her face. ‘Pi. You remember Daphne, don’t you? We were at school together. She’s my bridesmaid.’
    Pius cleared his throat to say hello to the woman, but instead all he said was, ‘I’ll go and get the sandpaper now.’ Like an eejit who couldn’t manage a little bit of small talk. But then, he
was
an eejit who couldn’t manage a bit of small talk. When was the last time he’d had the chance to practise? There was a flurry of movement then as he bustled up the stairs and the others went out to the garden to busy themselves pulling the ivy off the gazebo and sanding the chipping white paint down.
    He found the pole propping the skylight open in the bathroom, gingerly pulling it towards him so that the ancient window wouldn’t slam shut and the glass shatter. He hoped the attic door would still open – he hadn’t been up there in a long time and he seemed to remember the door was one of Daddy’s attempts at DIY, because it never quite fitted into the hole in the ceiling, a draughty gap on one side. He put the hook into the loop in the door and gave a tug and then another and, with a creak, the door pulled open, a great cloud of dust filling the landing. Coughing, Pius pulled the steps down and climbed up.
    He rummaged around for the old Bakelite light switch, hoping that it wouldn’t electrocute him when he switched it on. To his surprise, it still worked, casting a dim yellow glow over the huddled shapes of a dressmaker’s dummy, a music stand and a pile of sheet music. Now, where had he kept that sandpaper, Pius wondered, kicking a deflated football out of his way as he ducked down a little. He was sure he’d stuffed a big pile of it into a box somewhere. And while he was about it, he might as well look for that paint that he’d put away after doing the front gate – he seemed to remember it was a nice pale grey colour. He opened a couple of boxes, to find dusty sheet music in them, and then he spied the black steamer trunk. He’d put a few tins in here, he thought as he tried to prise open the lid, cursing under his breath as he caught his thumb on the rusty catch.
    He looked around for something to push the thing open, before pulling a two-euro coin out of his