Free Alexandra, Gone by Anna McPartlin Page A

fine.” Irene waved her hands dismissively.
    “Well, if things get a bit rough at home you can always come and stay here—in the spare room, not Kurt’s.”
    “Ah Jane, that is so nice of you, thank you.” She burped. “Excuse you!” she said, pointing at Jane before she burst out laughing. Kurt laughed too.
    Jane raised her eyes to heaven and grabbed her bag, but before she left she stood in front of the two drunk teenagers wagging her finger. “No sex in here, no sex in your room, no sex in this entire house. And don’t think I won’t know, because I will know.” She left the room.
    Irene looked at Kurt and wagged her finger. “And yet she didn’t cop to the fact that we’ve just done it on this sofa.”
    Jane could hear Kurt and Irene laugh as she left the house. Of course they’re laughing. It’s four in the morning, they’re seventeen, drunk, and awake, and they’ve probably had more sex in the past five hours than I’ve had in two years.
    At the police station, Jane waited for more than two hours before she even got to speak to someone. It was then that she was informed that her sister faced possible charges of theft and arson. Jane closed her eyes and didn’t speak for what seemed to be the longest time. The policeman queried whether she was all right.
    “I hate my life,” she said.
    “I know the feeling.”
    She sat in the waiting area for another hour. She was freezing and tired and so pissed off that she actually wanted to weep. The man beside her smelled of feet and the woman opposite stared at her in a manner that suggested she might wish to hurt her. Jane would have loved to be bold enough to square up to the stranger and demand an explanation as to what she wanted, but she didn’t have the balls. The story of my life, she thought while keeping her head hung low to avoid her aggressive opposite’s gaze.
    Elle appeared a little after eight o’clock. She was yawning and stretching. She grinned when she saw Jane, who in turn stood up, grabbed her sister’s arm, and dragged her out of the station.
    “Do not grin, do not speak, do not even bollocking whimper!” she ordered Elle, who seemed to be veering between alarm and amusement. “I am cold and tired and I’ve just about had it up to here. So just shut up.”
    “Okay,” Elle agreed.
    They sat into the car. Jane started the engine.
    “Can I smoke?” Elle asked.
    “Shut up,” Jane said.
    “I’ll take that as a yes then,” Elle said, lighting up.
    Jane drove in silence. Elle smoked and stared out the window. When they were less than a mile from their house, Jane pulled the car to the side of the road and parked. She turned to her sister and began the rant she had practiced while sitting in the 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 openmouthed. But my God, this one has really topped the lot. You burned out Vincent’s car? No, hold on, you stole , 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, and they silenced her.
    Elle took the card out of her pocket and passed it to Jane. Jane read it aloud.
    “‘ Elle, like the song says, I want you, I need you, but let’s face it, I’m never going to love you. ’” She faced her sister, who was still crying. “Like the song says?” She looked back at the page. “Let’s face it?” She shook her head. “Oh, Elle!”
    She pitied 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 and wiped Elle’s nose and then 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