Putting Alice Back Together

by Carol Marinelli

  I hated it.

  And even if I could put up with it for tonight, for Bonny’s sake, I couldn’t stand the thought of Hugh seeing me like this tomorrow.

  He was going out, I remembered, going cycling or something—I’d ring Karan perhaps and tell her—ooh, I could tell her the goss about Roz. It was Bonny’s night, so I didn’t make a fuss that for the first time in ten years I would be out in public with curly hair. In fact, when we got back to our room and Bonny opened another bottle of champagne I cheered up immensely and gave her her present.

  ‘You shouldn’t have!’

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ I was nervous as she unwrapped the parcel. I’d put loads of thought into this present and it had cost way more than I’d intended but, hell, it was for Bonny. And the thought of her coming out on the town in those shagging black pants. Well, I’d read every how-to-look-good book and had come up with the perfect dress for her.

  Embarrassed, when I’d asked her her size a couple of weeks ago, she’d confessed to being a size sixteen, so naturally I’d bought a size eighteen, and when Bonny frowned at the label I hurriedly assured her that the assistant had told me that this designer’s sizes came in tiny.

  Well, as she unfurled the dress I saw her blink a couple of times.

  It was black, but it had a really low neckline and was sort of ruched, and belted in at the waist. The best I can describe it is like a German beer fraulein, and then it tapered in a bit at the skirt and then there were all these sort of ruffles.

  Like a gypsy German beer fraulein.

  And I have to congratulate Trinny and Susannah and Gok, because when Bonny slipped it on, with her hair done, and ringlets gleaming, she looked fantastic.

  I’d bought her some fishnets and she put them on too, and, yes, she was huge, but I felt drab beside her.

  And Lisa was right, I realised as I watched her swirl in the mirror.

  She should be doing this in front of Lex.

  Still, Lex or no Lex, we had a brilliant night—we actually got chatted up by two Qantas pilots. It was so much fun, too much fun actually, ‘cos for a moment there I seriously thought Bonny was going too far. She was flirting and just reckless. I know I can be reckless, but I don’t have Lex at home.

  And Lex was paying for this too, I thought angrily as I saw one of them pressing his leg against her. They were bloody sober, of course, but Bonny was roaring drunk and I felt a sort of panic for her, she had a desperate look in her eyes that unsettled me.

  The other one was buying me drinks and normally, well, I don’t know, ‘cos normally I’m not in such a lovely hotel with pilots buying me drinks, but a couple of weeks ago I’d have been in his room by now. Maybe not, given I was with Bonny—but there was Hugh and there was Lex and for the first time in my life I felt like the grown-up.

  It was a relief when he texted me.

  Hi.

  Hi.

  Are you having a good time?

  Yep. You?

  Call me.

  Can’t. Too noisy.

  I clicked off, but I wanted to call. I’d played it cool, too cool with him, and I made my excuses and dashed to the loos. They were very nice loos too, with fluffy towels and a place to sit, and I rang him. I could see my strawberry blonde curls and I didn’t like them, but I sort of did…

  ‘Sorry about that,’ I said.

  ‘No problems. I shouldn’t have called.’

  ‘I’m glad you did.’

  ‘So what are you doing?’

  ‘Getting chatted up by two pilots.’ I laughed then blinked, because I heard his silence, knew he was worried, and it felt sort of nice. It had only been a few days and yet it was way more than that. ‘Well, I’m trying to get my sister safely to bed before she does something she regrets.’

  ‘How about tomorrow we go for dinner?’ Hugh said. ‘Just us.’

  ‘Okay.’ I was sort of glowing inside.

  ‘You choose where.’

  ‘No, you choose,’ I said, and it was a date.

  I was sort of glowing as I walked back—but I couldn’t find Bonny. I did a bit of a frantic search, then dashed back to the loos and then back to our table. The pilots had gone and I caught sight of myself in a mirror again, my curls bobbing, my face worried, and that swarm of bees was chasing me again, only this time they caught me.

  As I searched for Bonny, they surrounded me.

  Each memory a sting.

  Because it hadn’t been the hazelnut torte—Dad had told Bonny and me to sit quietly while he went downstairs for a drink. Margo, the landlady, had brought us in cake and cream, but I took a bite and I didn’t like it. I wanted ice cream like Dad had promised and I went to find him. Normally if I stood on the stairs one of the bar staff would see and get him for me.

  Only I never made it to the stairs. I could hear something down the hall, a low voice that sounded like Dad, and I walked down the corridor, saw Dad and Margo kissing against the wall, her skirt round her waist and Dad pushing at her. I knew I shouldn’t have seen it. I ran back to the room, and saw Bonny’s panicked face at my expression—and I knew I couldn’t tell her, knew I couldn’t talk about it, must never mention it. She was crying and calling for Daddy, for someone to please come, Alice couldn’t breathe…

  There was a whoosh of relief as I saw Bonny walking towards me, the bees dispersing and the panic fading. Lisa had just unsettled me. Of course things were okay.

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Looking for you,’ Bonny said. ‘Where the hell did you go?’

  ‘To the loo.’

  ‘I’ve just been to the loo and you weren’t there.’

  It was a mix-up, a stupid mix-up. I told myself that—then told myself again as we drained our drinks and headed to the lifts.

  I chose not to mention that her lipstick was smeared all over her face.

  Chose not to tell Bonny that she shouldn’t worry—she was nothing like Mum.

  Instead, she was her father’s daughter.

  Twenty-Six

  ‘So you’re not actually living together,’ Big Tits said as my stomach tightened. ‘He’s just staying at your flat…’

  It was my fifth visit.

  My fourth week with Hugh and my life was brilliant.

  Well, not brilliant.

  I was seriously broke and I couldn’t even ask Roz for a loan because, well, we were hardly talking, or rather I was hardly talking to her.

  Karan hadn’t reacted the way I thought she would when I told her the gossip about Roz—in fact, she’d made me feel a bit small. She told me that Roz was a good friend and that she needed me now. Then she’d added twenty dollars to the bill, saying it was because it was a Sunday, but I knew she thought I was being mean.

  I wasn’t, though.

  She should have told me.

  At work I couldn’t look at her without blushing and her eyes filled up with tears and she looked away.

  At home she kept texting me.

  Over and over.

  I should have told you.

  I didnt know how. (Roz can’t do apostrophes on her phone.)

  Im sorry.

  Im so sorry.

  Talk to me Alice.

  I just couldn’t.

  Dr Kelsey had reluctantly, extremely reluctantly, given me another script, which had already run out. But if there was one thing going swimmingly it was a certain Dr Hugh Watson. The universe had aligned for me there. Nicole had emailed (the house phone was permanently turned down by now) to say that she was staying in the UK for an extra two weeks and Hugh and I were delighted.

  We were in our little bubble of love and we wanted no one to pierce it.

  Bonny tried. She kept calling and she warned me to be careful, told me that I was getting my hopes up and it was way too soon to be serious. And Lisa clearly didn’t see it as a good thing either.

  ‘He’s your friend’s cousin?’ Big Tits checked her notes. ‘How long has he been in Australia?’

  ‘A month now.’

  �
��And you’re sleeping with him.’ I could hear the implication—knew she thought he was using me, but she had no idea, no idea at all.

  God, I didn’t need to justify myself to her.

  Except that was what I found myself doing.

  You see, I had told her a bit about my rather vast sexual history, or rather she wormed it out of me, but Hugh was nothing like any of them.

  Nothing.

  She just refused to separate him from them and there was no point being there, I realised as she droned on and on—Dr Kelsey wasn’t going to give me another script anyway. I didn’t actually need another—I was fine. The only problem I had now was her and, I glanced at the clock, in twenty minutes she would be out of my life.

  For ever.

  And maybe she sensed it, because she let me have it.

  ‘This is not a relationship, Alice.’

  ‘You have to set boundaries, Alice.’

  I was paying two dollars a minute to hear this!

  ‘Just because a man takes you for dinner, or asks you to dance,’ Big Tits persisted, ‘it doesn’t mean you have to sleep with him.’

  Christ, what planet did she live on? She was stuck in the 1950s—in a world where a guy walked up and asked you to dance.

  ‘So he should,’ was her response when I told her the same. ‘You deserve more,’ she insisted to my rigid face. Next she’d have him pinning orchids on my chest.

  ‘Why should they expect to have sex with you?’ Big Tits demanded. ‘Why would you let them?’

  I hated this consultation—hated it the most, sitting there with her telling me I should bestow my favours on men who were worthy, on men who would respect me. ‘You deserve better, Alice!’

  ‘I know that now.’ I was having great trouble keeping my voice even. ‘Hugh’s not like that. We’re serious about each other.’

  ‘Is he serious about Gemma too?’

  I could have slapped her.

  ‘You’ve only been seeing him for four weeks. You slept with him the first week you met!’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Sorry.’ She flicked through her notes as my face burnt with shame, as she reduced the one good thing in my life to a meaningless shag. ‘The second.’

  Fuck you.

  I didn’t have the guts to say it, though. I just stared at her sixty-year-old creped chest and how I hated her for not understanding. Then I picked up my bag and walked out as the bubbly receptionist called me back to pay.

  ‘I’ll send a cheque,’ I called over my shoulder, and then I got into the car park and I tried to breathe. I tried to get the keys in the ignition, and then I jerked out of the car park and nearly hit a kid on his bike.

  And how I hated her for not understanding.

  Twenty-Seven

  They were wrong. All of them.

  And when I got home to Hugh, he proved them wrong.

  ‘Come.’ Hugh was shoving clothes in his case. ‘It will be fun.’

  ‘I could have done with a bit of notice.’ I gave a nervous laugh.

  ‘I didn’t know I’d be crazy about you then.’

  He was going to some psychiatric convention that was being held in Coogee—a beachside place about ten kilometres out of Sydney. Three nights away with Hugh. God, I was tempted, but I hadn’t prepared. Okay, I was waxed and ready, but the thought of stripping off on Bondi bloody beach—where Hugh wanted to go—and displaying my body to the beautiful locals had me breaking out in a sweat. And what about my hair? I had a blow-dry booked for nine a.m. tomorrow. Three days of surf and sand and Hugh might just work out that my straight hair actually wasn’t straight at all.

  ‘Won’t they mind?’

  Just go, Alice, my head was screaming, just grab a few clothes and go. He’d offered to pay for my flight, there was no reason not to go, yet the thought of being alone with him for three days had me in a tailspin.

  ‘Why would they mind?’ Hugh shrugged. He was tapping on his laptop, had pulled up the Qantas page and there was a flight available. ‘Loads of people will be bringing their partners.’

  I stilled inside. I just stood there and froze, the word ‘partner’ sideswiping me. Oh, I knew he didn’t actually mean I was his partner—but that single word had me slightly in his fold, that elusive word that had never once been used to describe me. A good friend, a shag buddy, a date, a casual date, a mistress once. I had been many things, worn many hats, but I had never been the one who a guy asked to come away with him. In fact, I had never been away with a guy before, unless you counted Dan. My head was buzzing with the implication, with the excitement and also fear, this fear that once he saw me, the real me, then he wouldn’t want me any more, and three days was a long time to keep up the dazzling façade.

  But that word had turned the key. I was nodding, he was clicking on the computer, and suddenly we were confirmed.

  I was off on holiday, with my partner.

  A bit more notice would have been nice. Still, Nicole’s stuff had been moved into a cupboard to make way for Hugh’s and was in little cases and drawers all neatly washed and folded.

  Can you believe she had a holiday drawer? I kid you not. She had a drawer of little bikinis and sarongs and sunblock lotion and lip balm. How ironic was it that Nicole, the least spontaneous person in the world, was one of the few women who could spin off at two minutes’ notice—and best of all Hugh had no idea what her wardrobe consisted of.

  I didn’t take everything. I packed my own underwear, hair serum and heavy-duty sunblock and of course my straighteners, but just as I was shoving my hairdryer with a motor that could power a Harley into my travel case, Hugh pulled it out. ‘There will be a hairdryer at the hotel.’

  ‘My hair’s so thick and curly, though…’ I could feel my cheeks go pink, I sort of felt I had to warn him in advance. ‘It takes for ever to dry.’

  ‘Curly?’ Hugh picked up a strand of my mirror-smooth hair. ‘You?’

  ‘Yep.’ Somehow I managed a nonchalant shrug and there was no major debate, no Hugh suddenly trying to get a refund on his ticket, but he hadn’t seen it in all its ringleted glory.

  I could feel a little bubble of panic inside, growing and fizzing and multiplying. I wanted to take something, but I had nothing.

  There were two for emergencies that I kept in the bathroom, but I had taken them this morning (well, so would you if you had an appointment with Big Tits). I couldn’t face him seeing my hair with nothing. It sounds stupid, but it was a massive deal for me and I didn’t want to spoil the weekend by stressing about my hair.

  It had to be perfect.

  I had to be perfect.

  ‘I’ve just got to pop out.’

  ‘We can get whatever you need there…’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘I was supposed to be catching up with Dan for lunch tomorrow. He’ll be put out if I cancel—I’ll just go over for coffee.’

  ‘Well, be back by two.’

  I didn’t even need the note from the hospital. The doctor just listened. I’d actually learnt a thing or three from Big Tits about what to say, and from Dr Kelsey I’d learned what not to say. This doctor was usually my sore throat doctor when I needed a sick note for work. Well, he briefly checked my boring medial history and nodded approvingly when I said I was thinking of going to a psychologist, and he gave me a script. I paid for my consultation and read it as I headed to a (different) chemist. ‘Diazepam 10 mg x 50 x 3 repeats.’

  Which was one hundred and fifty tablets and, given they were double the strength of the others, well, it was like having three hundred. Finally I could relax.

  I smiled as paid for the script.

  I was going to Coogee.

  Everything was beautiful.

  Within a couple of hours I was sitting at Melbourne International Airport. My heart was fluttering with nerves, but happy nerves—especially when he came back with two large gin and tonics which, combined with the Valium I’d just dashed down in the loo and a glass of champagne on the one-hour flight, had
me floating all the way to Sydney.

  Hugh was entranced with Sydney. There is huge rivalry between Melbourne and Sydney—you can only like one, but not the other, but I didn’t buy it.

  Melbourne is a brilliant place to live.

  Sydney too if you’re loaded.

  Melbourne has sport and art and history.

  Sydney, though, well, there is no harbour more beautiful in the world.

  None.

  And that’s from a (not born and bred) Melburnian.

  And if you like beaches, well, Sydney’s your gal.

  Hugh was like a child in a sweet shop. As the plane descended he was nose to the window, staring at the Pacific Ocean and the glittering harbour with the Opera House standing proud.

  ‘We have to go there!’

  ‘We will.’ His enthusiasm was infectious. We swept through Baggage, it was already waiting, as was a taxi. It was so easy, and so hard to believe that just a few hours ago I’d been gearing myself to a weekend alone.

  And now we were here, a short drive to heaven.

  Coogee Beach was stunning, a golden expanse with sandstone rocks either side and crashing waves and our hotel room had glorious views.

  Apart from a couple of dinners, I had never been out with Hugh—does that make sense? I guess we were too busy in our love bubble to socialise just yet. I knew he was gorgeous, red hair and all. I knew the impact that he had on me, but I just hadn’t anticipated the effect he had on others.

  As soon as we got there we had to go down to a champagne cocktail reception. I pulled on a slinky black dress and did my make-up in record time as he put on a suit. I was still floating from the Valium and gin and champagne—and, call it self-preservation, instead of champagne I took a glass of orange juice. I was nervous, of course, meeting his colleagues and their partners, but it was relatively painless. Hugh chatted easily to everyone and so did I. I was drunk on lust and atmosphere and the effect of Hugh, because everyone seemed to like him. I went outside for a cigarette and was delighted to find that most psychiatrists and their partners smoked like trains.

  I did remember to say thank you, just as Yasmin had said I should. I stared up at the glittering stars and beyond to the universe that had brought me my dearest wish and I thanked them, or whoever it was who dealt with these things, for delivering him to me. My good manners were rewarded because, as the waiter came by and I was toying with having just one glass of champagne, a hand snaked around my waist.