The One I Love by Anna McPartlin

way down the steps to his grandmother’s basement flat with her tray in one hand, fishing for the key with his other. He opened the door and went inside. The place smelt of air-freshener, cigars and wine, making his eyes water a little. In the small hall he nearly tripped over a stack of unsolicited post that she kept in a pile against the wall. It was stacked so tall that it kept falling over. He had once asked her why she kept it and she had told him that she was waiting for a member of the Green Party to call to her door so that she could throw the paper at him, douse him in alcohol and set him alight. She had been drunk at the time so Kurt hoped she was joking. He opened the door to the sitting room and his grandmother sat up straight in her chair.
    When she saw him, her face broke into a smile. Kurt’s relationship with his grandmother was far different from that he had with his mother. Rose idolized her grandson and saved all her grace for him. He laid the tray on the table she kept near the big chair that dominated the room. The chair was referred to as “the throne” by her daughters and she spent most of her time sitting in it. No one dared sit on Rose’s chair, not her daughters, not her friends, not visiting dignitaries and not even her grandson, who was one of the very few people that Rose actually liked. Poking at her eggs, she asked after Jane and he lied and told her she felt fluey.
    “Well, then, she may stay away – I prefer you anyway,” she said, winking. She sampled her eggs and made a face to suggest that she was less than impressed. She always made that face. Usually it was for Jane’s benefit but as it had become habit she did it whether Jane was there or not. She sniffed the plate.
    “Just eat the eggs,” Kurt said.
    Rose took a forkful and popped it into her mouth, rubbed her tummy and made a yum sound. Kurt laughed.
    “How’s Irene?” she asked.
    “She’s good,” he said, and sat down. “Better, she’ll be fine.”
    His grandmother nodded. “Of course she will. So her father’s an ass. She has you, doesn’t she? Is your mother still determined to go to the Walsh household tonight with Alexandra’s husband?”
    “She’s dreading it.”
    “Of course she’s dreading it. The Walshes have always been complete lunatics. Alexandra was the cheekiest pup I ever met. The mother is one of those holier-than-thou types,the father hasn’t done a real day’s work since the seventies, and as for her brother Eamonn, that little snot was trying to get into your mother’s pants when she was thirteen!” She stopped and took a breath. “And, anyway, she has no business there – the family are grieving the loss of their child.”
    “She’s missing, not dead,” Kurt reminded his grandmother.
    “Of course she’s dead,” Rose said. “She’s Valley-of-the-Dead dead.”
    “You don’t know that.”
    “I know this. If someone vanishes without a trace in this day and age they’re buried somewhere and it’s usually someone closest to them who’s done the burying. For all we know your mother’s next.”
    Kurt laughed. “Now I know where Elle gets her imagination from.”
    “Mark my words. Your mother is getting herself involved in something very bloody sinister there.” She pushed the remaining food on her plate to the side and put down her fork. “I’ve finished.”
    After that Kurt told his grandmother about his run-in with his mother, expressing how annoyed he was that she was punishing him for something he’d done eight months previously. For once his grandmother was on his mother’s side as she felt that anyone who jumped out of a perfectly good plane deserved to be crippled for life. Having said that, she felt that Jane’s withdrawal of funds was an overreaction, bearing in mind which night it was. “How much do you need?” she asked.
    “Seventy?” Kurt said, testing his grandmother.
    “Fifty it is,” she responded, knowing full well he waschancing his arm. She took