“Bother!” said Alice. She took the baby home. It never stopped crying, and Alice supposed that not only was her baby broken but it also was rather unhappy. She asked Dinah her opinion, but Dinah wouldn’t reply, either because she was offended by the noise the baby made, or because she was a cat. “What to do!” said Alice. She took the baby out into the garden, and she considered each and every rabbit hole there, she wanted to find one that was just right. The rabbit hole in the very centre of the lawn was cosy and snug, and the baby would fit into it perfectly. “What adventures you’ll have!” said Alice. “I really am most jealous!”—and she dropped it into the hole, plop, and down it fell, out of sight, deep, deep, until even the bawling could no longer be heard, and Alice wondered whether her baby would ever reach the bottom.
That really ought to have been the end of it, but the next morning Alice woke to find new squirming in her stomach and new nausea in her throat. “I’m having no more of this nonsense,” Alice addressed herself sternly. She phoned up Jackie, who worked on the switchboard, and told her she wouldn’t be coming into the office today, she’d come down with a bug, and Jackie didn’t care, because Jackie was a bitch. And then she set to work on her belly, and this time the baby was reluctant to come out and she had to prise it free with a spoon. She couldn’t tell whether this was the same baby from yesterday, and that it had climbed out of the rabbit hole and crawled back inside her, or whether this baby was brand new. All she could tell was that it was just as noisy and as broken as before. This time she had to throw it down the rabbit hole quite forcefully—not to be cruel, but so the baby might take the hint.
But it was no good. No matter how fast she’d rip them from her womb, by the time she’d dropped them down the hole there’d be another baby inside squawking and wriggling and waiting to pop out. There were large babies with small heads, there were small babies with large heads, babies with hair and babies with teeth and babies with claws. Alice began to bag them up in batches of a dozen before taking them out to the rabbit hole, otherwise she was rushed off her feet going outside and inside and outside, being a mother was exhausting!
By night-time Alice was tired and out of sorts. “Come on, little one,” she said to her latest child, and she said it as kindly as she could: it wasn’t its fault it was a parasite to be disposed of. As she carried it out into the garden it occurred to Alice this one wasn’t even crying, and her heart softened towards it a little. She stared down at the rabbit hole. It was full to the brim. Out of the top poked a mass of arms and legs, some of them were still writhing—not, Alice thought, in distress, but in a matter-of-fact fashion, the way Dinah did when she was asleep and dreamed of catching mice. Alice stomped hard to flatten the babies down, but that didn’t work—she tried to wedge the baby into any cracks, but the wall of compacted infant just wouldn’t budge.
“No room!” said Alice. “No room!” And she dared at last to look down at her daughter, and she saw its little hands, and its tiny feet, and a face shining up towards Alice with hope and wonder and love. It was smiling. It was smiling, and of all the children she had ever given birth to, it was the least pig-like yet. Alice sighed. The baby sighed too, as if in imitation of its mother. And Alice held her up to her face, and gave her a kiss, and took her inside away from harm.
3
Of course, that’s not how the story really goes.
The divorce is amicable—or, at least, as amicable as divorces can ever be. Dom had plenty of money, and the maintenance he offered was fair. He insisted that Alice found another job—he said it was irksome to have an ex-wife in the typing pool, and he wasn’t going to be the one who disappeared. Why should he disappear? He would contribute to childcare. He had no interest in child custody, and made that very clear.
And Alice was happy with that. She didn’t want to share her daughter with anyone. She loved her with all her heart, and had loved her from the first moment she’d been born and the nurse had held her up to show her. As a little girl trapped down a rabbit hole she’d spent an inordinate amount of time worrying about her identity—who was Alice, what sort of person was she like? And it turned out that Alice was a mother, and she had always been a mother just waiting to happen. She went from typing job to typing job, and she never stayed for long, and she never cared—she didn’t need to make friends, because she had a little daughter at home waiting for her.
She’d wanted to name her after her sister, but people told her that that was silly, she’d have to name her something— and she’d bought a big book of names, and some of the names were very beautiful, and in spite of that she eventually called her daughter Trish.
Trish was a good girl who worked hard at school. The teachers liked her, and she never got into trouble, and she always kept away from the bad girls who hung around the bike sheds and dated older boys and smoked. Trish told her mum she wanted to go to university one day and study Psychology and Social Sciences, and Alice thought that sounded very impressive, and wondered what it was. She looked through Trish’s school textbooks, and she couldn’t make head nor tail of them. There were no pictures or conversations, and what was the use of a book without pictures or conversations?
Alice watched as her daughter grew up, and how every step took her further away. She was pleased that Trish was clever, but did she have to be so clever, and so much cleverer than Alice? The way she talked, using long words she knew Alice wouldn’t understand—the way she gave that sad sideways tilt of the head when Alice asked her to say everything again more simply and slowly. Trish was patient, but Alice didn’t want her daughter being patient. Trish was kind, but who wants the person you love to be kind to you, always having to be kind? Alice wanted to grab hold of Trish and dig her nails in, right deep into her skin, and keep her pinned down like that forever, so she would stop fast, she’d stop right there and she’d never age and the gap that was widening between them would at least never get any wider. And she wanted to burn all her Psychology and Social Sciences textbooks.
And yet, it was all right. It was all right, because whenever Alice felt small, or scared, or lonely, she would stare into Trish’s face. And Trish would smile, and the smile showed all her teeth, and it stretched wide so that it lit up her skin and flared her nostrils and made her eyes sparkle—and it was the same smile Trish gave when she was a baby. And Alice knew that the Trish she’d fallen in love with was still inside there somewhere, and she would never lose her, not really.
One day Trish said, “It’s my birthday soon. And there’s something special I would like.” And Alice said yes, yes, anything, of course she’d give her anything. And Trish smiled, and the smile was a little shyer than usual, so Alice knew this had to be something she really wanted. Trish said, “May I have a rabbit hole, all of my own?” Because it turned out that all the other girls had rabbit holes, rabbit holes were all the rage—Wendy had got a rabbit hole, and so had Brenda, and so had Cath. Alice felt her heart sink, because weren’t rabbit holes terribly expensive? And maybe Wendy’s parents and Brenda’s parents and Cath’s parents had lots of money and it didn’t matter to them, and Trish said it needn’t be a very big rabbit hole, it didn’t even have to be the latest model. She just wanted what the other girls had. Couldn’t she feel normal, just for once? Alice had often wondered too what it must be like to feel normal. She said she’d try. She said she’d find the money somehow. Even if she had to work longer hours at the office, even if she had to take out a loan. And Trish suggested they could ask Dad for help, and Alice said they needn’t go that far.
Alice asked the accounts department whether she could have next month’s pay packet early, and the woman behind the big desk took pity on her, she had a teenage daughter too. And Alice trawled through all the small ad magazines looking for rabbit hole bargains, and at last found a second-hand rabbit hole on eBay. She pulled a sickie from work the day it was delivered, whilst Trish was still at school, and they set it down where she told them, right in the centre of the garden lawn. And it was a litt
le smaller than the ad had suggested, and the sides were chipped, but Alice knew Trish would love it anyway. And she decided she’d do it up nicely, she’d go down it and take banners, and glitter, and a big birthday cake. No, even better, she’d buy lots of party food, she could throw a birthday party for Trish in her new rabbit hole, just the two of them! Not so much mother and daughter but best friends—sandwiches and sausage rolls and Kettle Chips and cheese-and-ham quiche. And as Alice fell down the hole she began to wonder whether she’d made a mistake with the food, was Trish still going through her vegetarian phase? She said to herself, “Does Trish eat quiche? Does Trish eat quiche?” And sometimes, “Does quiche eat Trish?” For, you see, as she couldn’t answer either question, it didn’t much matter which way round she put it.
She worked all afternoon making the rabbit hole the very best it could be. When Trish came home she greeted her at the door with a big hug, and told her she had a surprise for her, and as she led her out to the garden she was skipping from foot to foot, it was hard to tell who was the most excited! They went down the rabbit hole. They reached the bottom. Trish looked around. And right away Alice could see she’d made a mistake—the banners were too much, “Happy Birthday Baby Girl!” No one wanted to be called a baby when they were fifteen. The colours were too bright, it was all loud pinks and wild oranges. And the cake was decorated with cartoon animals, a Dormouse and a Mock Turtle and a Snark. Alice asked whether she liked it, and Trish tilted her head to one side and did the kind and patient thing. “You’ve tried so hard!” And Alice had tried hard, so it was nice that Trish had noticed, but it somehow wasn’t quite the answer she’d been hoping for.
Trish had a single slice of quiche. She ate it slowly. Alice had some quiche too. “The hole’s bigger than it looks,” enthused Alice. “The banners are getting in the way.”
“Yes.”
“We just need to take down the banners. And, look, see there in the corner, there’s a tiny door! Too tiny to fit through, or so you might think!”
“Yes, I see the door.”
“But there’s probably a solution somewhere. And, what’s this on the table? A bottle marked ‘Drink Me’!”
Trish confirmed that she’d seen the door, and she’d seen the bottle, and she’d got the general idea.
“The adventures that are in store for you! For us, because I could come too, if you like! I don’t mind. Shall we drink together, shall we see what’s behind the door?”
“Maybe later,” said Trish. “I think I’d like to try it out by myself first. Would that be all right?”
“Of course,” said Alice, and tried not to sound disappointed. “Do you want me to wait here, or, or shall I go back to the house, or, or…?”
“Go back to the house.”
“Of course,” said Alice.
In the sitting room Alice waited all alone for her daughter to return. She tried to wait with Dinah, but Dinah was old now, and didn’t like people, and when Alice put her on her lap she struggled off and spat.
She wondered what Trish would make of the Mad Hatter’s Tea Party! Or whether she would solve the riddle of the raven and the writing-desk. Or whether she would survive her encounter with the Red Queen—but Alice supposed she would, because after all Alice had survived it, and Trish was far better and far cleverer than Alice was.
And she wondered what sort of Trish there’d be at the end of it all—because sometimes it seemed to Alice that her own little adventure down the rabbit hole had been the most formative part of her entire life, and that everything that had ever happened before had been leading up to it, and that everything that had happened since had been leading away, and that maybe it was the only thing that had ever defined her and made her important and made her real. She couldn’t guess how long Trish’s adventure would take, but she determined to wait for her, even if Trish were gone years and years, she’d wait the rest of her life if necessary. Trish came back a little over half an hour later. “Oh, that was quick,” said Alice. “Did you have fun?”
“Mum,” said Trish, “we need to talk.” And Trish looked so sad and so grown-up, and told Alice that she wanted to move out and live with her father instead. “Just for a while,” added Trish. “Not forever, probably.”
“Oh, my poor dear,” said Alice, and she tried to put her arms around Trish, but Trish pulled away. “But your father doesn’t want you. Don’t you see? I’m the only one who wants you. I’m all you’ve got.”
“I’ve been meeting up with Dad for a while,” said Trish. “After school, when you think I’m at hockey practice. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything. We didn’t think you’d understand.” And Trish said she had to find out who she was, she couldn’t be just a little girl forever.
“I love you,” said Alice.
“I know you do,” said Trish. And again, it wasn’t quite the answer Alice was hoping for. But then Trish smiled, and the smile was spectacular—all the teeth, flared nostrils, sparkling eyes, the full works—really, it was one of Trish’s all-time bests. So Alice couldn’t be unhappy.
And Trish went to bed, and the only thing she left behind was the smile. “I’ve often seen Trish without a smile,” thought Alice, “but never before a smile without a Trish! How absurd!” And she stayed up all night to watch the smile of the daughter she loved so much, until at last it faded and was gone.
4
Of course, that’s not really how the story goes either.
Trish never finished her Psychology and Social Sciences degree. She met a boy called Paul who was studying Geology, and they fell in love, and then both dropped out of university to get married. She didn’t even complete the first term. Alice was furious. She’d tried to argue it out over the phone, but Trish kept hanging up on her. In the end, she’d had to leave a message on the answering machine. “You’re cleverer than me. You’re better than me in every way. And I just want you to do better than I did, when the best part of my life was when I was seven years old and fell down a rabbit hole. Everything I have done since, everything, was for you. Don’t you dare fuck it all up now!”
She wrote to Dom, “Could you please behave like a responsible parent, and talk some sense into your daughter, you’re the one she listens to.” He didn’t reply.
Trish told Alice she needn’t come to the wedding unless Alice apologised. Alice told Trish she wouldn’t come unless Trish apologised first. Nohow and contrariwise! So, mother and daughter were in perfect accord, making sure neither got what they wanted. On the morning of the wedding day Alice woke early with a start, and she realised with cold horror that she was making a terrible mistake. She took a blue dress from her wardrobe, it wasn’t new but it was the best she had; she flung it into a suitcase, flung the suitcase into a car, and then flung herself one hundred and fifty miles up the M4 breaking the speed limit all along the way. She made it to the church in time to collapse into a pew and watch as Dom led her daughter up the aisle. The bride and groom exchanged rings and vows, and when it was all over and she was properly grown-up Trish turned around and saw her mother gazing at her with pride and love, and she burst into grateful tears. Alice did the same.
Alice drank a lot of wine at the reception, and that may have been the reason she started to find Dom so suddenly attractive. She almost resented him for it, he was still slim where now she was podgy, his hair rich brown and thick without a trace of her grey. He asked her to dance, and she agreed to do just the one, and they spent the next hour and a half on the dance floor, swaying slowly from side to side. And he was whispering jokes in her ear, and being charming, and Alice thought, is he flirting with me?
Dom asked if he could talk to her somewhere private. She met him outside on the patio. “I don’t think we should do this,” she said. “I think this is a big mistake.” Her heart was pounding, and she was ashamed how good that made her feel.
“I need to tell you,” said Dom. “Face to face. I’m afraid I’ve got the big C.”
It took Alice a few moments to realise what
he meant. He was smiling ruefully, the way he used to do, caught out doing something wrong and knowing his charm would see him through. She’d always found it annoying until now.
“But there are things you can do…?” said Alice. Dom was shaking his head.
“Already done them,” he said. “Look. Look. It’s all right.”
And Alice found that her sympathy and her embarrassment gave way to her famous childlike curiosity. “What does it feel like?” she asked. “Knowing you’re going to die?”
Dom blinked at her, surprised. But he told her.
There was a hole in front of him, he said. It wasn’t a very large hole, but it was always there. And all he had to do was walk towards it, and he’d drop in, and it’d be over. It didn’t frighten him. The hole seemed cosy and snug. It was all right. He wasn’t going to walk into the hole just yet, but it was getting harder to sidestep. It was all right, it was all right.
Alice said, “But you look so good.” Because he did, his body lean and firm. And his wig, she could now see it was a wig, the wig suited him.
“I know,” he said, and grinned. “It’s a bugger, isn’t it?”
They could have made love that night, and maybe they should have, but neither of them quite asked the other whether they’d like to. And six months later, when Trish phoned her up, and she wasn’t crying, she was being surprisingly adult about it all, Alice wondered whether she regretted it, and couldn’t quite decide.
It was only three weeks later that Alice saw the very first hole of her own. It wasn’t where she’d expected to find one. She was in the supermarket, buying ready meals for one, and there it was right by the queue to the checkout. No, it wasn’t frightening. It wasn’t large enough to be frightening—she couldn’t have fallen down it, she’d have had a job squeezing her head through it, and all the other customers stepped over it and wheeled their shopping trolleys through it with no difficulty at all. Still, she decided to stop using Sainsbury’s for a while, and thereafter got her groceries from Tesco instead.
Wonderland Page 2