Putting Alice Back Together

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Okay.’ I knew not to push it. ‘At least stay for a while, have a drink…’

  ‘Actually, no.’ He looked uncomfortable, six feet two and in his suit he looked bloody gorgeous but, actually, nervous. ‘You and I…’ he gave a tight smile ‘… well, it’s causing a few problems with Matthew.’

  ‘What?’ I was about to turn on the blender, but instead I laughed. ‘How, for God’s sake? We’ve established you don’t fancy me. Can never fancy me… Surely to God you’re allowed friends.’

  ‘Of course I am…’ He was working his way up to telling me something and suddenly I didn’t want to hear it, so I turned the blender on instead, but you can only blend a margarita for so long and after a moment or two I had no choice but to stop. I could feel his chocolate-brown eyes on me, but I didn’t turn and look at them, instead focusing a great deal of attention on salting two glasses as he spoke to my back.

  ‘Every time I come here I get smashed and end up staying.’

  I had the salt in lovely perfect lines, the glasses were icy cold from the fridge, and I slowly poured two drinks before I answered.

  ‘Don’t get smashed, then.’ Now I did turn and look at him, angry, because how the hell was it my fault? Since when did his boyfriend decide it was up to me to police him? ‘I’m hardly pouring drinks down your throat and tying you to the bed, Dan.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘If you don’t want to be here, don’t use Matthew as an excuse.’ He closed his eyes and I could hear him drag in a deep breath.

  ‘I do want to be here.’

  ‘Then tell Matthew that.’ I was near tears, I was so angry I felt like crying—bloody Matthew was so jealous he hated Dan out of his sight for anything more than five minutes. Every time we went out he texted about a gazillion times and if Dan did have the guts to stay over, his phone would start bleeping at the crack of dawn.

  ‘I have told him,’ Dan said. ‘I’m here, aren’t I? It’s just…’ His voice trailed off and then, because he knows me, because he knew that even if I wasn’t boohooing, even if there were no tears, I was actually crying. We had promised, promised that no relationship would ever come between our friendship, and now it seemed one was.

  Dan gives the nicest cuddles.

  I stood in the kitchen and I just leant on him, I smelt him and it was the nicest place in the world to be and I didn’t want to let him go, I didn’t want him going back to Matthew, but I knew if I stamped my foot too hard, then it would be a long time till I saw him again. That Matthew would up the bloody curfew, so I trod carefully.

  ‘Make me a coffee, then,’ I said to his chest.

  ‘Serious?’

  ‘Sure.’ I felt him smile, felt him relax as I made it easier for him. ‘Anyway, I’ve got to ring Mum tonight and sometimes she talks for hours.’ He kissed the top of my head and then he loosened his arms and smiled down at me and I smiled back.

  Dan, the only guy on this planet I can look straight in the eye.

  ‘I love you, Alice.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I am here for you.’

  ‘I know.’ Yeah, take that, Matthew, I thought, you can bitch and moan and whine, but you’ll never break up our friendship.

  ‘One won’t kill, I guess…’ He picked up the margarita and rolled his eyes in bliss as he took a sip.

  ‘You’ll get me in trouble with Matthew,’ I warned.

  ‘We just won’t tell him.’

  I felt a rush of relief as he came back to me, a whoosh of euphoria as whatever crisis had loomed was somehow averted.

  Dan was back and together we always had a ball.

  We just didn’t that night.

  He asked about my work, but I didn’t want to just talk about that. ‘I’m worried about Roz,’ I said, hoping that would get him going. He loved a gossip, but Dan rolled his eyes.

  ‘I really think she’s depressed.’

  ‘I’d be depressed if I looked like that,’ Dan said. ‘No wonder her husband left—you’d slash yourself if you had to wake up to that face every morning.’

  ‘But he didn’t leave her.’ I frowned as much as my Botoxed forehead would allow. ‘It was the other way around—Roz left him. Though God knows why, he was gorgeous. Gorgeous,’ I added for effect, and Dan shot me a look of disbelief. ‘She says they married way too young and that she felt stifled, that she needed to find herself.’

  ‘Find a bigger McDonald’s outlet more like.’ Dan pursed his lips and then he glanced at his watch and I felt a flutter of panic, so I quickly changed the subject to Dan’s favourite.

  Me!

  That was a joke.

  My career, or lack of it.

  I hated my job. I knew, I knew, in these times it was good to have a job—but, frankly, I didn’t know if I would for much longer. I did the website as well sometimes, thanks to Dan pushing me to do a course, but mainly I sat with headphones on, typing up birth, marriage and death notices, announcements, stuff for sale, jobs, that sort of thing. We used to do more dating ads, that was fun, but everything was moving to the internet, not just dating—and what with eBay (love it, love it), I couldn’t see my job lasting much longer.

  So I told him all about my worries, that I was sure management was up to something, hoping he’d be so consumed by my problems, that he’d fill up his glass. ‘I’m probably just being pessimistic.’

  ‘You’re being realistic,’ Dan said, which made the knot in my stomach tighten. ‘Everyone’s cutting back. You need to get some real qualifications.’ I hadn’t really wanted a doom-and-gloom careers appraisal. I wanted him to say that I’d been there nine years, that of course my job was safe, but Dan had said all he was going to. He looked at his watch again and I knew, despite the win with the margarita, I was about to lose my audience. ‘I’ve got to go, Al,’ he said. ‘I’m exhausted.’

  It wasn’t even nine, but I followed him to the door, determined not to push him to stay again, and I accepted his hug and kiss goodnight.

  ‘Think about it,’ Dan said.

  ‘Think about what?’

  ‘What we spoke about the other week—you really need to think about going back to your studies.’

  ‘I could never afford it.’ I thought of my credit cards, the rent, the car payments, but Dan disagreed.

  ‘You can’t afford not to, Alice. You’ve got talent. Don’t waste it. Take a package if one’s offered and get yourself to university.’

  I knew he was right. I guess he’d said what I wanted deep down to hear, even if I didn’t really want to hear it now.

  I tried to ring Mum but the line was busy, so I tried Bonny, but her line was busy too.

  I tried Mum again and guessed she must be talking to Bonny.

  I even contemplated ringing Eleanor, but she was so much older, we just weren’t that close and it was always awkward when I called.

  So I tried Bonny again and I got Lex.

  ‘Oh, hi.’ I was surprised. Normally Bonny answered the landline.

  ‘Bonny’s in the bath,’ Lex said. ‘Do you want me to get her to call you?’

  ‘It’s nothing important. How are the kids?’

  ‘Feral! Look, while I’ve got you…’ And then there was a pause. ‘Let me just close the door.’ I felt my insides turn to liquid. ‘Sorry, I don’t want her to hear.’

  My hand was shaking so much I could barely get my drink to my mouth. ‘You haven’t forgotten about next Saturday.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘It’s just…’ And then I heard Bonny’s voice in the background and Lex lowered his. ‘Can you make a special effort?’ And then his voice was back to normal. ‘It’s your sister.’

  I chatted to Bonny, but my heart wouldn’t stop thumping and thankfully, given she was dripping wet, we didn’t talk for long.

  I was all unsettled. I took the blender over to the computer and filled up my glass. I searched universities and entrance criteria and it was just too confusing so I che
cked my horoscope, which said now was a good time to give up bad habits but there was nothing about my finances or love life improving.

  So I checked another and I checked another and then something caught my eye.

  Cosmic Love by Yasmin Boland.

  A step-by-step guide to cosmic-ordering the perfect guy.

  It was all about manifesting, apparently.

  Build it and they will come sort of thing.

  It was an eBook, which was just as well, because I’d have been too embarrassed to go into a shop and buy it. I typed in my details and waited for my credit card to be declined, but—well, the universe must have wanted me to have it because, despite my late payment, or rather no payment, there it was in my inbox.

  I loved it.

  It was so positive. All I had to do was write lists (well, there was a bit more to it than that, but I went straight to the good stuff) and tell the universe what I wanted in a partner.

  And not some vague wants either, a specific order.

  So I did.

  I did everything Yasmin told me.

  Well, except the clearing-out stuff part, but Nicole had had a big tidy before she left. And I didn’t bother with the cleansing shower to get rid of past loves, and visualising and snipping the threads that bound and letting them go and all that mumbo-jumbo crap.

  Be sure that you are ready, Yasmin warned, and that you’ve done your preparation.

  Oh, I was ready.

  I loved this book—I toddled off to the kitchen and made another jug and got some scissors so I could cut out the pyramid that came with it.

  If I had ink in the printer.

  I did.

  It was all aligning that night.

  I had to write what I wanted—I could be as specific as I liked and for a second there my mind did flick to Dan, though Yasmin had warned me not to manipulate—and really, even if I could turn Dan straight, would I want to? I mean, you’d never relax, would you? Anyway, Yasmin said it was better to trust the universe, that the right guy would always come back if he was the one.

  I had to print out the pyramid again because when I was cutting it out I chopped off the end.

  God, I was pissed.

  And, yes, I trusted the universe and everything, but not completely.

  I wanted blond or raven, not someone with my affliction. I mean, I had to think of our children and, anyway, people might think we were brother and sister when we went out. So I knew it couldn’t be Hugh. Nicole’s cousin held no charm for me, but perhaps he was a means to an end. One look at me, and Hugh’s eyes would widen. ‘There’s the type of girl to take to the neurosurgeons’ Christmas party. That’s the type of girl who would look marvellous at the Kids with Cancer Christmas fundraising ball.’

  Well, maybe not Kids with Cancer, just underprivileged or burn victims or something and I’d be there, radiant and smiling all ready to meet the love of my life.

  I added a few little extra requests, and then I wrote MR.

  It stood for Mr and Massive Ring.

  Clever, huh? No one, if they found my list, would work that out.

  I followed the instructions as best as I could, but I didn’t have a compass, so I guessed as to the south-west corner of the flat. And then, given I was sorting out my love life, I decided I might as well go the whole hog so I went back to the computer and read again the application procedures and the qualifications required to be a music teacher. I even filled in some forms to ask for them to send me some forms. It was all so daunting—the more I looked, the more overwhelming it seemed. Impossible, actually.

  I had barely scraped through my exams at school. Even if by some miracle I was accepted, how could I give up my job? I was in debt to the eyeballs as it was.

  I thought of the pile of unopened envelopes stuffed in my drawers and under my mattress, the credit-card statements that were too scary to open—let alone think about—so I didn’t.

  While my credit card was behaving I bought an online tarot reading and then poured another margarita instead.

  Ten

  I woke at two.

  Just shot awake, wondering what had woken me, my heart racing and trying to catch my breath, sure that I must have had a nightmare—except I still couldn’t breathe.

  I was soaked in sweat, and I dragged myself into the bathroom, gulped icy water from the tap—it didn’t help. I had to concentrate on breathing. It wasn’t happening. Every breath was an effort and I couldn’t seem to get enough in.

  I rang Roz—I knew she was on a date, but surely she’d be home by now. I didn’t even care at that point.

  ‘Roz…’ I could barely get the word out as her voice came on the phone. ‘I can’t…’

  ‘It’s okay…’ I could hear she was groggy and asleep but just the sound of her voice calmed me. At least someone knew, I mean, if I collapsed this second Roz would send for help. ‘I’m on my way.’

  She didn’t even dress—mind you, Roz’s sleepwear is pretty much the same as her day wear: tracksuit bottoms and a vast T-shirt, except, horror of horrors, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

  All this I noticed as she bundled me into her little car. My breathing was a bit better. Since I had known help was on the way, it had improved a fraction. And as we drove to the hospital I managed to get my breathing into some sort of a rhythm right till we got to the doors. Security was waving her on.

  ‘You can’t park here, love.’

  ‘She can’t breathe!’ Roz said.

  ‘Then she’s in the right place, but patient drop-off is down there.’

  Roz was muttering and swearing and then I saw my hands do this strange thing: they were tingling but it was like my hands were spastic, my fingers all curling up, and I couldn’t straighten them.

  ‘She’s going unconscious…’ I could hear Roz panicking, but the security didn’t panic, he rolled his eyes and got a nurse, who helped me out of the car. She didn’t seem to be particularly worried either.

  They took me straight into the triage room; the nurse put a little probe on my finger and told me to calm down.

  ‘I can’t breathe…’

  ‘Your oxygen saturation is ninety-nine per cent’ There was a bored note to her voice which infuriated me as she wrapped a blood-pressure cuff around my arm. Did she have any idea how hard it was to get it to that? Breathing should be natural, you shouldn’t have to think about it, but I did. I had to pull in air and hold it in, and it still didn’t go deep enough. My hands were doing strange things, and she was giving me a bloody paper bag and telling me to breathe in and out slowly.

  ‘You’re having a panic attack.’

  ‘No!’ I pushed the bag away.

  ‘How much have you had to drink tonight, Alice?’

  What did that have to do with anything? ‘I’m allergic…’

  ‘To what?’

  ‘Hazelnuts.’

  ‘Okay…’ the nurse said, ‘you can wait in the waiting room. Just keep breathing into your paper bag.’

  ‘I can’t.’ I couldn’t. I could not face going out there, but the fucking nurse wouldn’t budge. ‘Your girlfriend can let us know if you get worse.’

  Now, a quick explanation here. In Australia, and it took me a while to get used to this, but a friend who’s a girl is called your girlfriend. I’ve been back to London and it’s used more that way there too now, but there was something about the way she said girlfriend that had me frown. I looked over at Roz, who was blushing bright red and then she led me out.

  ‘She thinks we’re…’

  ‘I know,’ Roz mumbled, blushing to her roots. ‘Just breathe into the bag.’

  It wasn’t helping. My lips were tingling, there was just so much noise, so much going on, I couldn’t stand it. I stood up and paced. I honestly didn’t feel safer in the hospital. I actually thought I might die here, and then they’d be bloody sorry. Panic attack indeed!

  I was up at the big plastic shield that separated the staff from the waiting room now, and the nurse was refusing to look
over. I could see stars and spots and I was like a cartoon character then, pressed to the glass. I thought I was dying and Roz was calling for help. Finally they realised that I wasn’t putting it on, that their stupid paper bag wasn’t going to work, because a buzzer went and a nurse came with a wheelchair and I was sped through.

  Okay, not sped, and I didn’t end up in Resus with George Clooney saying, ‘On my count…’

  Instead I was given a gown and told to get undressed and put it on, and Roz helped. I couldn’t have done it on my own. My lips were completely numb now. Then this twelve-year-old that was dressed up as a male nurse asked me to explain what had happened.

  I wheezed away as he put an IV into the back of my hand, which hurt, I might add, as Roz did the talking for me.

  ‘We were in with the same last week. She’s got a nut allergy…’ And finally I got a response, because the twelve-year-old looked worried. He checked my blood pressure then dashed off to get a doctor as Roz wrapped her arms around me and told me I was going to be fine.

  ‘Just keep breathing into the bag, Alice.’

  ‘It’s not helping.’

  Well, my ten seconds of concern lasted till the arrival of the emergency registrar, which coincided with the arrival of my old notes. He listened to my chest and confirmed the triage nurse’s diagnosis.

  ‘She’s having an anxiety attack.’

  ‘No…’ I shook my head. I was crying, and not able to breathe. ‘I woke up and my lips were swollen and tingling…’ Well, they hadn’t been then but that was what they had asked me last time. The emergency doctor sort of hummed and haaed for a minute before he wrote me up for 10 mg of diazepam and some oral steroids. ‘In case a mild allergic reaction triggered the anxiety attack.’

  Bastard.

  Still, I didn’t argue, I didn’t have the breath. And in a moment the twelve-year-old had returned with a little plastic cup with six pills. The white ones, he explained, were prednisolone and I would have to take a reducing dose for the next few days. The blue one was Valium.