Free The One I Love by Anna McPartlin Page A

mile from the house, Jane pulled the car into the side of the road and parked. She turned to her sister and began the rant she had practised while sitting in the police station and attempting to avoid being head-butted. “You have done some unbelievable things in your time – stupid, stupid things that have left me wide-eyed and open-mouthed – but, my God, this one has really topped the lot. You burnt out Vincent’s car? No, hold on, you stole and then you burned out Vincent’s car? What is wrong with you? How insane does a person have to be?” She noticed tears streaming from Elle’s eyes, which silenced her.
    Elle took the card out of her pocket and passed it to Jane. Jane read it aloud: “‘Elle, like the song goes, I want you, I need you, but let’s face it, I’m never going to love you.’” She looked away from the card and faced her sister, who was still crying. “‘Like the song goes’?” She looked back at the card. “‘Let’s face it’?” She shook her head. “Oh, Elle!” Shepitied her sister because even though Vincent was a pig Elle loved him deeply. “Let’s face it,” Jane repeated, “he’s obviously back on drugs.”
    Elle didn’t respond.
    Jane handed the card back to Elle, whose nose was now running. She took some tissue from her pocket, wiped Elle’s nose and hugged her. “It’s all right, Elle, we’ll sort it all out.” But she knew there was nothing she could do.
    Elle shook her head. “He’s really gone this time, Janey.” Then she sobbed on her sister’s shoulder until her tears ran dry.

Chapter 5
    Authentic Fake
Pillows bursting at the seams ,
feathers floating like dreams ,
naked on the wooden floor ,
night porters banging at the door ,
and we just turn the music up .
Jack L, Broken Songs         
    January 2008
    Although it was cold the sky was blue and there wasn’t a cloud in sight. Jane favoured cold, dry days but they were so few and far between. She wasn’t a fan of central heating as it made her skin itchy. She liked a nip in the air and couldn’t understand when her son complained that he was cold – she had spent so much money on clothes for him yet he had the audacity to stand in front of her in a T-shirt and boxer shorts wondering what it would take for her to put on some heat. The kitchen was warm because she had spent the morning baking. Kurt came in, rubbing his hands together and blowing into them for effect.
    “Put on a jumper and jeans,” she said, with her back to him.
    “Who’s coming?” he asked, ignoring her and putting on the kettle.
    “Tom and Leslie.”
    “Oh, them.” He made a face.
    “‘Oh, them,’” she repeated, amused. “What’s wrong with them?”
    “He’s haunted and she’s a bit of a freak,” he said, spooning coffee into a cup. “Oh, and Gran thinks he’s a murderer.”
    “For God’s sake, stop listening to that twisted woman!”
    “Well, you can’t say it hasn’t crossed your mind.”
    “I can say it hasn’t crossed my mind,” she replied. “Alexandra disappeared when Tom was in work, and he has witnesses.”
    “So it has crossed your mind but you’re satisfied with his alibi,” Kurt said, pointing his spoon at his mother.
    “Fine.” She put her hands up. “I’m satisfied with his alibi.”
    “Lots of people have good alibis, and then that alibi turns out to be crap.”
    “Kurt,” Jane said, “please stop calling Mammy’s new friend a murderer.” Kurt laughed a little. He always enjoyed it when his mother attempted to talk down to him. “Okay, but be careful. You don’t have the best track record as a judge of character.” He poured boiling water into the cup and gripped it tightly. “God, Mum, it’s freezing in here.”
    He left to go to his room and sit at his computer with his duvet wrapped around his body and arms while his hands remained uncovered and unencumbered. Jane remained in the kitchen, cleaning the spilled coffee granules from the counter while keeping an eye