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

he could see her, could hear her voice. ‘See here, Pi, wouldn’t a climbing rose look just fantastic over the trellis in front of the gazebo, or maybe a vine, what do you think?’ Her hands were on her hips, her blonde hair frizzy around her head, tied back with a piece of gardening twine because she didn’t care one jot about how she looked. She was smiling at him, the wrinkles fanning out from her grey eyes. ‘Well, Pi, what do you think? Will you do it?’
    He opened his eyes, blinking in the dim light. He was talking to a ghost. She was gone, had been for nearly thirty years. He’d counted the years like that: the first year after Mammy left, the second, the fifth and so on, until now, more than a quarter of a century, and the pain inside of him was as raw as it had been the day she left. All this time, her message had been lying here, hidden away from him, a message that he’d thought she’d never left him. Never left any of them. Seeing it made her alive for him in a way she hadn’t been since she’d walked out the door that summer day.
    ‘Yes, Mammy,’ he said into the silence. ‘Of course I’ll do it.’
    He read the other labels, the one with Mary-Pat’s name on it stuck on the shell that looked as if it had come from Africa, with its beautiful mother-of-pearl inside, the roar of the sea when he held it up to his ear, the tight wad of Sellotape that held Rosie’s name in place around the chunky silver ring. Daddy wore that ring, he thought, but this wasn’t his. It was too small. And then he felt bad, because the objects weren’t his to see. He’d have to give them to the girls and let them do with them as they saw fit. But then, the thought of what might happen if he did made him panic. He shoved the things back in the box and slammed the lid down, as if by closing them inside they’d just cease to exist. As if he could just erase the last few moments from his mind, could pretend they’d never happened. He put the box back in the steamer trunk and sat down on it, staring into space.
    ‘Pi, you up there?’ Rosie’s voice floated up to him through the open hatch. ‘I thought I’d give you a hand to find the paint.’
    He had to clear his throat with a loud coughing noise. ‘No need. It’s not here.’
    ‘Oh.’ There was a long silence and then Rosie’s head appeared through the hatch, her tiny face with its scattering of freckles.A deep line split her forehead as she frowned. ‘Is everything all right?’
    And even as he said everything was grand, just grand, and that he needed to have a look in the shed, turning off the attic light and practically shoving her down the steps onto the landing, he was thinking, of course it’s not fucking all right. Everything’s changed, can’t you see that? Nothing will ever be the same again. And then the thought came to him: and it’s all your fault. Mary-Pat was right. If you hadn’t come back, none of this would have happened. And then, he gave out to himself for even having thought such a thing – how was it Rosie’s fault exactly?
    When she came into the kitchen later and offered to make lunch, he felt so guilty for his disloyal thoughts that he made an extra effort to be nice. Yes, he’d love some carrot and coriander soup, thanks – yes, he knew that it was fantastic to have your own veg and, yes, he really should use them more, instead of that awful packet tomato stuff. And all the time his head was spinning, mind filling with thoughts, one jumbling on top of the other.
    He was so preoccupied, he didn’t notice the noise of the knife slamming through the onion onto the board, making a loud rapping sound on the wood, but then it grew louder and louder, until she yelled, ‘Ow, crap,’ and held up her finger, which instantly began to pour blood, a long trail of it dripping onto the board.
    Pi was beside her. ‘Here, let me,’ he said, holding her hand in his and leading her over to the sink, running the cold tap and holding her