Free Isle of the Dead by Alex Connor Page B

now. Three times I’ve had to wait for you to roll home. And always drunk.’
    â€˜
I’m not drunk!
’ she hissed, running her hands through her matted hair. ‘I just need to get out and have some fun. Christ, I’m entitled to that, aren’t I?’ Her voice turned into a wail, as she became increasingly maudlin. ‘It’s all the life I get. And some fucking life it is!’
    Miserable, she rested her head on the arm of the chair. Jean sat down on the sofa beside her. She cared for Sally, always had, knowing the pressure she was under. But lately she was getting worried. It wasn’t just the drinking – Sally wasn’t taking the same care of her appearance and her usual good nature was foundering. It wasn’t unusual – the strain of looking after a parent with Alzheimer’s was hard for anyone. Especially alone.
    But seeing her drunk again Jean’s sympathy was becoming exhausted, anxiety getting the upper hand.
    â€˜You should look after yourself more.’
    â€˜Hah!’
    â€˜Walking home in this state. Why didn’t you take a taxi?’
    â€˜They cost money!’ Sally snapped, attempting to pull offher jacket and giving up. Slumping back in the seat, she tried to focus on the woman in front of her. ‘You don’t know what it’s like, living like this. I love my dad, but … You don’t know what it’s like.’
    â€˜You’re drinking too much, love,’ Jean said gently. ‘That never helps anyone.’
    â€˜I only drink when I go out! God Almighty, maybe I should never go out again, sit in with my father day and night and accept the fact that I’ll die single. Some dried-out old cow without a family of her own.’ She leaned towards the other woman drunkenly. ‘Would you like that, Jean? Is that how you see me ending up?’
    â€˜I’m not arguing with you—’
    â€˜
You are!
’ Sally snapped back, staggering to her feet and fighting to keep her balance. ‘You’re like everyone else, trying to stop me having any fun. Well, I need a man, and I need sex, and I need it
however
I get it. Understand?’
    Embarrassed, Jean walked to the door.
    â€˜I’ll talk to you tomorrow, when you’ve sobered up,’ she said firmly. ‘Your father’s asleep, so you don’t have to worry about him—’
    â€˜
Worry about him!
’
    â€˜Get some coffee down you – you can’t do anything the state you’re in,’ Jean replied, her tone disgusted. ‘What if your dad wakes up and needs some help?’
    â€˜
What about me?
’ Sally roared. ‘Who worries about me?’ Drunkenly she pushed Jean towards the door, shoving her out of the house. ‘
Go on, get out!
Get out! This is my house! I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone!’
    â€˜Sally—’
    â€˜Get out!’ she repeated, slamming the door in Jean’s face.
    Furious, Jean walked to the end of the road and rang her husband on her mobile, waiting in the cold for him to pick her up. When he arrived three minutes later, Jean got into the car and told him – word for word – what had happened. And she said that she would never work for Sally Egan again.
    And while they drove past the green and away from the Egan house, while Sally fell on to her bed and slid into a stupor, while poor Mr Egan dozed in his sedated sleep … someone watched the house. The same someone who had been watching it for days. The someone who was now crossing the green and climbing over the fence, trying the back door.
    Sally Egan was right about one thing. She died single. She died childless. And she died that night.

BOOK TWO
    â€¦ Titian seemed to us a most reasonable person, pleasant and obliging … if you should acknowledge his talents and labours by the promotion of his son ….
    Gian Francesco Leoni, writing to Alessandro