No Way to Say Goodbye by Anna McPartlin Read Free Book Online Page A

hint of their perfume hung in the air. Her neighbours were having a party and the music wafted into her garden. She had the key in the door when Adam called to her. She braced herself before turning. “What are you doing here?” she asked.
    “I’m not here, I’m next door – Neil asked us.” He pointed towards her neighbour’s home.
    “Alina’s with you?” She almost cried.
    “No, she’s with her dad in Cork. He’s not well.” He approached her, his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t have come but I wanted to see you.”
    “We’re not getting back together,” she warned.
    “I know.” He made it to the steps. “We’re leaving.” He couldn’t look at her.
    “I don’t understand.” But her voice shook, suggesting she did.
    “Alina knows.”
    “What does she know?”
    “About us.”
    Penny’s legs felt as if they would fail her. “Five years we’ve been together. We finish and now she knows?” She couldn’t believe it.
    “She found out a week ago. It was why I had to end it.”
    That didn’t make any sense. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
    “She didn’t want me to.” His eyes rested on his feet.
    “She didn’t want you to?” Penny repeated, the combination of confusion and abandonment becoming a little too much for her.
    “She wants us to start afresh. There’s a business opportunity in Cork. Her dad’s there and she has some friends.”
    “She didn’t want you to!” Penny repeated.
    “Did you hear what I said? I’m moving to Cork!”
    “You hate Cork.” She heard herself sounding childish.
    “It’s not a choice. She’s going to take the kids. If we don’t make a go of it, she says she’ll go back to Holland. I can’t lose my kids. I’m so sorry.”
    “You’re weak,” Penny said, with a trace of anger.
    “Yes.”
    “You make me weak,” she said, softening.
    “I’m sorry.”
    “It’s really over.”
    “Yes, it is,” he said.
    Oh, God. She closed her eyes. Sinéad O’Connor’s version of Elton John’s “Sacrifice” played around them; she hadn’t been able to escape Sinéad lately.
    And suddenly they were dancing, holding each other tight under a half-moon, moving in circles that symbolized their relationship, both afraid to let go, both willing the song to continue while silently their insides tore.
    When the song ended Adam reluctantly returned to the party, leaving Penny to get into her bed with a bottle of vodka.
    It was after midnight when Mary found herself in the part of the forest she rarely visited. Just once a year, on 19 March, and that was enough. She’d brought a teddy she’d picked up two weeks previously before she’d allowed herself to lose track of time. She carried Ben’s favourite cloth, and a flashlight to navigate her way through the darkness. The tree stood tall and strong, aside from the broken limb, which had been amputated long ago. She took out the cloth and began to wipe the plaque bearing the name of her son, in the place he had died but, more importantly, the place where he had lived, laughing on the makeshift swing. A swing that every child in town had swung on at one time or another, until 19 March 1999 when the limb had given way, catapulting Mary’s baby high into the air before gravity pulled him back to earth in such a way that he’d landed on his neck, snapping it instantly. She laid the teddy by the flowers her father had put there earlier that day. At least he could rely on you, Dad.
    She touched the clean plaque tenderly, then looked around to make sure she was alone. It was cold enough for the mud beneath her to crystallize and she could see her breath forming a trail in the night air. She stood with a hand up each opposite sleeve, shivering despite her many layers of clothing. “I can’t believe it’s been six years,” she said.
    “It seems like only yesterday,” came a whispered reply from the darkness.
    Mary weed herself a little. “Hello?” she asked, in a voice that suggested mild