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

hysteria.
    “Is that you, Mary?”
    The voice was muffled but more distinct and coming from behind her. She turned quickly and pointed her flashlight in a take-charge-while-shitting-it manner that reminded her of Dana Scully in The X-Files circa 1993 before Dana’d lost the weight and was still a sceptic.
    “Hello?” she said again, scanning the foliage with her flashlight, which was of little use because her eyes were closed.
    “Mary, girl, if you don’t help me up I might freeze to death.” The voice was suddenly familiar.
    “Tom?”
    “I can’t get up,” he said, from the ditch that hid itself behind a large rhododendron.
    Mary parted the bush to reveal Tom on his back, much like an upturned turtle, too drunk to negotiate his way onto his feet. She sat him up. “Jesus, Tom, you nearly killed me with the fright!”
    “Sorry, pet,” he said sheepishly. “I just thought I’d call upon our boy on the way home and mistook that bush for a chair and the rest, as they say, is history.” His skin was frozen.
    “How long have you been out here?” she asked, worried that her son’s paternal grandfather would fall victim to pneumonia.
    “Not long,” he said, patting her shoulder.
    “I’ll take you home,” she said.
    “In a minute,” he said.
    “OK.”
    She’d always been fond of Robert’s father, and he and his wife had been good to her and Ben. For a while they had even felt like family, but when Ben had died, Tom’s wife, Monica, couldn’t bear to stay in the town that had robbed her of so much. They had moved to Spain where they spent most of their time, only visiting Kenmare once or twice a year. It had been five years now since they’d gone and in that time Mary and her child’s grandparents had drifted apart.
    Tom wasn’t a drinker. In fact, he had been a Pioneer of Total Abstinence up until Robert had died. After that he took a drink each year in his memory and when Ben joined Robert he did the same. So, twice a year Tom drank and even then he could only manage three pints before he was helpless.
    He stood in front of the plaque, with his hands knotted in prayer. Mary stood back and allowed him his moment.
    “Mary,” he said, swaying.
    “Tom,” she responded.
    “Do you think he ever looks down?” he asked, eyes brimming.
    “I know he does,” she said kindly.
    “You do?” he said, perking up.
    “They all do,” she said, taking his arm and guiding him down the path that would lead him home.
    “Do you really believe that?”
    “I do.”
    “Do you see them?” he asked conspiratorially – he knew about her cryptic dreams.
    “No,” she admitted, “but sometimes I feel them around me.”
    He nearly stumbled on a root but she caught him in time and steadied him.
    “I don’t,” he confessed, and a tear escaped. “I’d love to,” his voice shook, “one last time – just to see them both one last time.” He tried to collect himself.
    “You’ll see them again.” She smiled sadly. “I know they’re waiting.”
    He wiped a tear from her cheek. She hadn’t even noticed she was crying. “Some say you’re a bit of a weird one,” he said, smiling at her, “but I’ve always thought you were lovely, just lovely.”
    She laughed at his honesty.
    He squeezed her arm and they walked on together.
    It hadn’t been the visit she’d expected: it had been nicer.
    Sam enjoyed a late meal courtesy of his reluctant neighbour and then, by the light of a log fire and a small reading lamp, he opened the book that led him to a place called Deptford. There, he basked in magic, murder and intrigue, and he didn’t have to think about the mess he’d made of his life. He didn’t worry about the people he’d trodden on or the lives he’d had a hand in ruining. Most importantly, sitting in the half-light, lost in another man’s world, he didn’t have to address what he’d done and why he’d done it. He could pretend that his life to date had been one long accident and that he was