Putting Alice Back Together

by Carol Marinelli

  But I didn’t really hear it.

  And then I stared at the room I was in and felt her arm around me.

  ‘I’m going to take care of you.’

  ‘You’re going home.’ I shivered.

  ‘No.’ She took her jacket off and put her basket down.

  And I wished she were my mum, or Bonny, or Eleanor.

  I wished she could have been there sooner.

  My back was hurting and I wanted to run away again, but she held me tighter and I didn’t tell her to fuck off when she put her hand on my tummy.

  ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She rocked with me through it. ‘It was just once…’

  ‘You’ve only had sex once?’

  ‘Once.’

  ‘When, Alice—do you remember when?’

  I’d never forget.

  The pain was gone and she took me to the bed and I lay down without asking. She shook her head at the doctor who looked around the door and I let her put something up my nose.

  ‘I’m going to listen to the baby’s heart.’ She pushed a white thing over my stomach and I heard a swoosh, swoosh that told me it was alive, and then I watched her put on gloves and she didn’t have to ask, I guess I knew what to do.

  I lifted my knees and she was so gentle and kind and I cannot tell you.

  I mean, even I knew it was urgent.

  I knew.

  I had known.

  I knew the doctor was outside but I would rather have smashed myself through the window than have him do this to me at that moment—for him to confirm, to judge, to assess and not understand.

  Fi gave me a minute.

  I had listened to my baby’s heartbeat and then her hand was inside me and she touched you; she felt your head and confirmed that you existed.

  I’d only just learnt.

  And then she let him in.

  I held her eyes as she cuddled me and he confirmed her findings.

  I just lay there as he mumbled about dates and effaced and hypertension and waters broken and SFD—with his hand still up me.

  And then when he stopped and was putting in a drip Fi translated his words for me.

  It was too soon and too small and they couldn’t stop it.

  My baby would be born, Fi said, and if it survived birth then it would die.

  ‘Do everything.’

  I didn’t care then—I didn’t care about anyone. I begged and I pleaded and I knew I had been careless. I knew I had wished you away, but I had changed my mind now.

  But it was too late.

  ‘I don’t want Lex in.’

  ‘Is he the father?’

  ‘No!’ God, poor Lex, he was the good guy, pacing outside, and Gus was in oblivion.

  He was gone.

  I was here.

  And I had to—had to—do this right.

  Forty-Five

  I hadn’t eaten all day and I suppose I should have been starving, but I wasn’t.

  I pushed my trolley around the supermarket and tried not to think of that poor woman who had lost her kids. I loaded my trolley with ready-made chicken Kiev and mashed potato and baby peas for two—although Hugh would devour them in one.

  I had a trolley because I was going to get some wine and some Bourbon for Roz too.

  I got paid on Tuesday.

  The rent could wait.

  Christ—I suddenly remembered I had sworn not to drink tonight and that I was trying to prove a point to Hugh.

  I sauntered with not much enthusiasm to the chocolate aisle.

  The one night I really needed a drink and I’d sworn not to have one. I could sort of sense Hugh frowning when I poured a drink lately. I had a cask in the kitchen cupboard that I topped up my two glasses a night from, but to show him I didn’t have a problem I was determined not to have any tonight.

  But given the day I’d had, I could really use one.

  Chocolate would have to suffice.

  The short kid in a blazer had more manners than me—he stepped back when our hands both reached for the last bar of Lindt.

  ‘It’s Mum’s birthday,’ he said. ‘It’s her favourite.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ I grinned, because ten-year-olds did that—tripped the guilt switch. He didn’t realise that I didn’t have one. I just put it in my trolley.

  ‘Luke…’ Even before he continued, even before his father spoke again, I recognised the voice. He might just as well have been shouting ‘Celeste’ as he emerged from the fast-food aisle.

  His face froze when he saw me.

  In the years I’d been here, despite my frantic searching at first, despite a few phone calls where I’d hung up when he’d answered, despite driving past what I thought was his house (it turned out it wasn’t when I plucked up the courage to knock), I’d never seen Gus.

  He hadn’t aged well—maybe later it would give me a surge of satisfaction to recall his receding hairline and the beginnings of a paunch over his jeans.

  He certainly didn’t dress well—he looked like nothing.

  Nondescript.

  Without the past, I wouldn’t have given this man a glance.

  Wouldn’t have stared into his trolley and seen the nappies and chaos and the one-litre home-brand ice cream.

  I saw fear on his face.

  Real fear.

  But it didn’t make me feel triumphant.

  I just stood there, staring, till he had no choice but to speak.

  ‘Alice.’

  ‘Gus.’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I live here,’ I said. ‘I have for years now.’

  He sort of nodded to the top of my head and then steered the trolley away, walking off at high speed, but I wasn’t watching him.

  I was watching Luke.

  Who looked just like his dad.

  Forty-Six

  I needn’t have worried about an alcohol-free night. The shock of seeing Gus didn’t propel me to Liquor Land. Instead I had enough trouble just getting my trolley to the checkout. I dragged my shopping home and up the steps. And as I got in the door, just as I was thinking, shit, I need a drink, and wondering if there was any in the cask, and if I could have a quick one before Hugh got home, I realised Hugh was home.

  What was more he was halfway down a bottle of wine himself.

  ‘Hi.’ His face was grim. I remembered this morning’s disaster and that he was probably still annoyed with me. He looked up, and he looked shocking, but he gave me a sort of smile.

  ‘Hi.’

  I went over and kissed him, which is quite touchy-feely for me, but I wanted to. He sort of gripped me back, and I smelt him.

  I wanted to burrow in his neck.

  I wanted to tell him just how shit today had been.

  ‘Here.’ He poured me a glass—see? The perfect guy.

  ‘You hungry?’ I asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  Which was good, because the thought of chicken Kiev, mashed potatoes and baby peas was making my stomach curdle. ‘I’m sorry about this morning.’

  I saw him frown, like he was trying to even recall this morning.

  ‘I wish I’d taken your advice actually and rung in sick.’ I gave him a sort of wobbly smile. ‘I had a shit day.’

  ‘They happen.’ He looked over to me. ‘I discharged a twenty-eight-year-old yesterday—he suicided last night…’

  I could never win.

  I realised that I could never win, with anybody.

  My shit day could never be as bad as theirs.

  I don’t know how love dies.

  But that night it finally did.

  I lay curled up.

  I had seen Gus.

  I had seen his son too.

  I had listened to that poor woman on the phone.

  I could feel Hugh beside me—and I knew I should roll over, should comfort him, but I wanted to be comforted too.

  And it was very grown up—I mean, to be in bed and just lie there—but I needed a cuddle and so
too did Hugh, but for some reason we were on stalemate.

  I heard the answering-machine click in the hall.

  I could almost hear the captain’s warning.

  Forty-Seven

  ‘I don’t know how to tell people.’ Roz was staring into her glass and I sat there wondering how the hell I didn’t see it—when it’s so obvious now.

  ‘How long have you known?’ I asked, because I’m curious. I mean, am I going to wake up one day and find I don’t like willies any more?

  ‘Always,’ Roz said, and then she shook her head. ‘I didn’t want to know—I can’t explain it. I didn’t want to be a lesbian.’ I did my very best not to look around and shush her but my cheeks were on fire. ‘Andrew was nice, I thought…’ I just didn’t understand and Roz couldn’t explain.

  ‘I thought you liked Hugh?’

  ‘I do,’ Roz said. ‘I wanted him for you.’

  And if you think that conversation was awkward, well, there was worse to come, because there was something that made me feel sick, something I had to know.

  ‘What about me?’

  Roz frowned.

  ‘I mean, do you…?’

  She shook her head. ‘God, Alice, no! No.’ She grabbed my hand. ‘No! Not at all. Never once.’

  And two seconds before I would have pulled my hand back, I don’t know why and I don’t know how, but it was Roz again and it was me. Not quite the same, but not all different.

  ‘Why not?’ I was actually a touch offended that she sounded so appalled at the very thought. ‘Why don’t you fancy me?’

  We laughed—well, not belly-laughed, but we did have a little laugh and then, I’m not sure how, the conversation turned to other things. Roz often got teary, but she was more worried than teary tonight.

  ‘She hates me.’ Roz took a slug of Bourbon as we sat on our first girls’ night out in ages, but neither of us was in the mood to party. ‘My own daughter hates me. God, I’ve messed that kid up—maybe I should have waited to leave.’

  I really didn’t know what to say—because privately I was now on Lizzie’s side. I love Roz and everything (not that way), but imagine at fifteen that you discovered your mother was gay—I’d have died. I honestly would have died. And now at sixteen, nearly seventeen, Lizzie was dressing like a tart and sleeping with everyone, just to prove to the world that she wasn’t like her mother, and, frankly… I took a slug of my wine… I’d have done the very same.

  ‘She’ll come around,’ I said instead. ‘You just have to give it time.’

  ‘I guess…’ Roz gave a worried nod. ‘I mean, what’s the worst thing that can happen?’ Roz stared at me for answers. ‘She gets pregnant like I did—well, I coped. Or she gets herpes or… I just hope to God she’s using something.’

  ‘Talk to her.’

  ‘She won’t listen. Every time I try to, all she wants to do is to take the opportunity to tell me how much she hates me. I don’t know what to do with her. I think she’s cutting herself…’

  I pulled a face—that was so off.

  ‘Sorry.’ Roz blew out a breath. ‘You said you had a problem…’

  Had I?

  That’s right, I had. I kept forgetting things I’d told her—I was doing the same with Hugh.

  ‘It doesn’t matter…’ I vaguely remembered telling her, yesterday on our coffee break, but I could hardly land my tiny stuff on Roz, and anyway, if I voiced it, it would be real and, I asked myself, what advice could Roz possibly give about men?

  ‘Is it Hugh?’ My tongue was on the roof of my mouth as she continued, ‘He was a bit short with you the other night.’

  I hated that she’d noticed, because I’d been trying not to notice. ‘He’s fine…’ I shrugged. ‘He just gets in a knot if I have more than half a glass of wine.’ I waited for her to grin, but she didn’t. ‘He hates me smoking,’ I added, because Roz smoked more than me, but she didn’t shrug and she didn’t grin, she just kept looking at me. ‘Anyway, it’s not that…’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Gemma’s called a couple of times.’

  ‘His girlfriend?’

  ‘His ex-girlfriend,’ I corrected.

  ‘And what did she want?’ Roz asked. ‘What did Hugh say?’

  ‘He doesn’t know!’ I saw a frown on Roz’s face, and I didn’t like the disapproval I could feel winging its way over.

  ‘You can’t stop him talking to her.’

  ‘If I can I will.’

  ‘Alice, if he finds out that you haven’t told him…’ I’d come to her for help, yet I didn’t like what she was offering—and, again, what would she know?

  ‘Look…’ I stood up, swung up my bag ‘… you’ve got enough on your mind, with Lizzie and everything. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to Hugh.’

  No, I bloody well wouldn’t.

  What I did, though, when I got home and there wasn’t a red light flashing was take out a Post-it note and write ‘Gemma called’ and then I took out another one and wrote ‘Gemma again—please call her back’. I placed them on the floor just under the side table where the phone sat.

  And I was relieved later that I’d done it because, though Hugh was working that night and all weekend, he blasted through the door at six a.m. still wearing his lanyard and… er… not very happy.

  ‘Has Gemma been ringing here?’

  ‘I told you…’ I started, but seeing his expression I got out of bed. ‘I wrote you notes.’ I was scrabbling on the little side table. Really, my acting skills were marvellous, because I picked up the notes from the floor. ‘Here they are.’ I watched him read them.

  ‘You could have said.’

  ‘And what? Should I have checked if you’d called her back? We always write phone messages on notes.’

  I could see him swallowing, trying to believe me, to rationalise.

  ‘I bought you a mobile,’ I said. ‘Why didn’t she just call on that?’

  ‘That was just for work. I’m on a crap plan—she doesn’t even have the number. For Christ’s sake, Alice, did you not think?’

  ‘I think,’ I shrilled, ‘you’re rather overly upset to have missed Gemma’s call.’

  ‘She called me last night at work from Singapore!’

  ‘Singapore?’

  ‘She doesn’t want it to be over, she doesn’t understand why I won’t talk to her, so she’s on her way here to talk to me.’

  Oh, God. What had I done?

  ‘My first weekend on call and I’ve had to ask someone to cover for me.’

  Oh, God. Oh, God.

  ‘I’m going to the airport…’

  ‘When will you be back?’

  He didn’t answer. He was furious, I could tell, and I knew I deserved it, but I still denied it. I watched him check his wallet, and call for a taxi, and then I heard the slam of the door—and I did the only thing I could think of.

  I took a Kalma.

  Then another, and a few hours later, when he still hadn’t called, I took a couple more.

  It was the longest day.

  Just unbearable.

  Roz was out, so too was Dan.

  I spun around the apartment, pacing. I checked my phone constantly. I checked the flight times from Singapore and she’d been in the country for hours. What the hell did they have to talk about? In the end Dan answered and I begged him to come over and hold vigil, and he was a good friend because he came, and by midnight, when there was still no Hugh, I gave up being brave. If I closed my eyes I could see Gemma’s head thrashing on the pillow at their tender reunion.

  I wanted to text him, to ring him, but Dan said to have another margarita instead.

  ‘Don’t look needy.’

  ‘I feel needy…’ Oh, God, it was three a.m. and he hadn’t called. Dan was holding my mobile hostage.

  ‘You will not call him!’ He frogmarched me to bed and poured me another margarita. We had the jug with us, and he lay on the bed with me and ordered me to sleep—but I couldn’t. I just lay in the darkness, itching for m
y phone, hating Hugh for not calling. I surely deserved that at least?

  And then the front door slammed.

  And he was home.

  As the light flicked on in my room I climbed out of bed and I was beaming, but I saw the look of disgust on his face as he saw there was a guy in my bed.

  ‘It’s Dan!’ I grinned, because for Christ’s sake he was only on top of the bed—and he was gay. ‘It’s Dan!’ I said again, as Dan got up and gave me a grim smile and left us to it.

  I was doing my YMCA dance, but Hugh wasn’t smiling.

  I was—he’d come home to me. Late—very late, perhaps—but he had come home.

  He’d come back to me.

  ‘You’re pissed.’

  ‘A bit,’ I admitted.

  ‘In bed with Dan.’

  ‘I didn’t sleep with him.’ I was still grinning, ‘You know we’re just friends—as if I’d sleep with him…’

  ‘Oh, but you would have…’ There was disgust in his eyes as he scanned the room, the ashtray, the margarita jug, me half-dressed. ‘If Dan had tried, do you know what, Alice? I reckon that you would have.’

  ‘Hold on a minute.’ I lurched towards him, because the margaritas had gone straight to my legs. ‘You’re the one who just spent the night with your ex.’

  ‘She’s flown ten thousand miles,’ Hugh roared, ‘and had you passed on the messages she wouldn’t have had to—she’s been ringing all week!’

  ‘So it’s my fault?’ I demanded, grabbing his arm, but he shook me off. ‘My fault your loopy ex can’t stop ringing you? My fault your psycho ex hops on a plane to the other side of the world?’

  ‘I can’t do this…’ Hugh shook his head. He was in his room and shoving stuff into his backpack. ‘I can’t do this any more, Alice. The one time I needed to come home and talk, the one time I needed to have a sensible conversation, what do I get?’

  ‘You spent the night with your ex!’

  It had surely been my right to call friends, my right to get pissed and feel sorry for myself, but Hugh refused to see it, and all I could see was that he was packing his bag, that he was leaving and I didn’t want it to end.

  ‘Don’t walk out.’

  ‘If I stay,’ Hugh hissed through very taut lips, ‘then I’ll say something that we’re both going to regret.’