The Liberation of Alice Love

by Abby McDonald

  Alice dropped her head.

  “I thought you were my friend!”

  “I’m sorry,” Alice said again, meaning it. “I know how you feel!”

  Nadia shook her head. “I don’t believe this. What are you, some kind of con woman?”

  “No! I swear, I was never going to do anything. I really like you—”

  “Just get away from me!” Nadia recoiled, as if Alice was some sort of freak.

  “But Nadia—”

  “No, I mean it. I…I trusted you!” Nadia’s voice broke. She backed away, angry. “I don’t understand…”

  “Please, if you just listen—”

  “No!” She shook her head, recovering. “Don’t you get it? I never want to see you again.” Pulling open the door, Nadia disappeared back into the restaurant. Alice could see her through the window, hurrying back to her table, no doubt to tell her date what a psycho Alice was.

  She sighed, slumping back against the glass. Rain was still drizzling in a steady stream, but Alice found that she didn’t care one bit about the damp or cold. It was over now. She couldn’t just flee her lies like Ella had done, easy and quick. No, Alice’s consequences were tangled around her, the wreckage clear in Nadia’s hurt expression and Nathan’s angry tone.

  It was over, and she’d ruined everything.

  Chapter Thirty

  Alice spent the next week wallowing in regret, but the space and time she hoped would give Nathan some perspective had clearly only set him further against her. No matter how many pleading messages she left or explanatory emails Alice sent, he still wouldn’t so much as acknowledge her existence.

  “Just call me back, please. I know you’re angry, but I think if we just talked about this…” Alice trailed off, hearing herself uselessly parrot the same lines she’d been cluttering his voicemail with ever since their fight. “I really want to explain, so just…call.”

  She hung up. Alice hadn’t thought it possible to feel more wretched than when she stood outside that restaurant in the rain, but she was wrong.

  “Still no luck?” Cassie passed her a consolatory cocktail, but Alice pushed it away. She’d done enough tearful drinking: now it was time for amends. If she could even get him to pick up her calls.

  “No.” Alice gave a defeated sigh. “Another name for the list of people not talking to me. What is it up to now? Nadia, Julian, my supposed clients…” Even Flora had disappeared to her studio all week for an intense painting session, leaving Cassie the only sympathetic ear around. Well, somewhat sympathetic.

  “Aw, screw him,” Cassie argued. She stretched her legs out on the couch, taking a long gulp of her own drink. “It’s not like you broke any laws. I checked.”

  Alice shook her head. “I don’t care about the law; I care that I hurt them—him and Nadia. They trusted me, and I…I lied.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes, clearly not as concerned about the ethical nuance of human relationships, but she gave Alice a conciliatory pat nonetheless. “I’m sure they’ll calm down eventually.”

  “No, they won’t,” Alice answered grimly. “And they shouldn’t, either. I deserve it all.”

  ***

  Alice dragged herself through the next long, lonely days without any of the sparkle and romance she’d so briefly tasted. Without Nathan, or her classes, or the focus of the Ella investigation, Alice realized that her life had reset to that quiet, gray existence she’d lived before any of this even began. Only now, she spent her days not in boredom or quiet restlessness, but in a terrible guilt at having hurt people she cared about, longing to be able to put things right again. But there would be no easy fix. Because although Alice was desperately sorry for having misled Nadia and angered Nathan with her deception, the fact was, she still wasn’t sure how many of her crimes she actually regretted.

  “Nathan called yet?” Stefan was in the kitchen when she got back, munching on some of those Swedish crackers he loved so much. He pushed the plate toward her, but she demurred with a polite shake of her head. Then she paused. “Wait, what do you know about that?” Alice looked up with horror. The thought of Stefan knowing the details of her illicit activities brought a new shame.

  But Stefan just laughed. “Nothing much, don’t you worry. Flora just mentioned you’d had a quarrel.”

  “Oh” was Alice’s only reply, relieved. She crossed to the fridge and poured herself a tumbler of juice. “Where is she, anyway? I’ve barely seen her all week.”

  “Didn’t she say? She’s visiting your parents for a couple of days.” Stefan took another satisfied bite. “Which means I get to be fishy breathed and slovenly until then.”

  “Lucky you.” Alice gave a weak smile. “I’ll remember to keep my distance.”

  Stefan gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sure he’ll come around…I know, it’s none of my business,” he added. “But…You’ll work it out. Nathan’s a good guy. You suit well.”

  Feigning another smile, Alice just sipped her juice. Yes, Nathan was a good man, and she’d lost him. “Thanks. I’ll, um, leave you to all your stinking glory.”

  Stefan grinned. “I’m going to meet some friends now for curry and cigars—make a real night of it.”

  “Enjoy.” Alice left the room, a touch wistful. That was true devotion, surely—relegating his unsavory habits to when Flora was gone. She was halfway up the stairs when it struck her.

  Their parents were still in France.

  Alice paused. Flora had to know that. She had been the one to remind Alice in the first place and show her a postcard from them, just the other day. And now that she thought about it, since when did Flora ever travel anywhere alone? If there was ever a visit or vacation, Stefan was right there with her, to handle transport arrangements and luggage and any other need that might flit across her mind. Feeling a sudden, ominous shiver, Alice hurried back downstairs and through to Flora’s studio.

  It was chaos.

  She’d seen the mess before, but this was something different. Alice crept inside, as if disturbing a crime scene. Papers fluttered on the floor, paints were scattered on the table, spilling dark, ominous colors over her pretty pastels, and canvases lay abandoned, etched deep with charcoal. But more than the mess, there was the sense of desperation that lingered in the air. Alice wasn’t imagining it, she was sure—there was something fierce and terrible in the spill of paint and careless scatter of all Flora’s precious pictures.

  Something was terribly wrong.

  Alice backed out of the room, trying to think what could possibly have driven Flora to such a fit. She’d been so wrapped up in her own misery, she hadn’t noticed anything awry.

  “I’m just heading out.” Stefan was in the hallway, pulling on a coat. Alice stepped back, instinctively closing the studio door behind her to hide the scene.

  “Oh, OK.” She swallowed. “I don’t suppose…Have you heard from Flora at all? Since she left, I mean.”

  “Sure.” Stefan smiled. “She texted just a moment ago. Your parents send their love.”

  Alice nodded slowly while he flipped up his trench-coat collar and reached for an umbrella. “Have fun tonight!”

  She let him go. Whatever the reason for Flora’s flight, she hadn’t confided in Stefan. And so, for now, Alice wouldn’t either. But that didn’t mean she was just going to leave Flora to her secret despair. The moment for respecting privacy and dancing around the subject was clearly past. It was time for answers.

  ***

  It was nine p.m. before Alice arrived at the cottage, anxiously wondering if Flora had really fled to Sussex at all. It was only instinct that led her home, and as she paid the driver and dashed to the dark house through torrents of cold rain, it occurred to Alice again that Flora could have been lying about everything, not just the welcoming bosom of their parents.

  She could be anywhere.

  Struggling to keep her raincoat over her head, Alice banged a few times on the door with the heavy antique knocker, but there was no reply. The windows were glo
omy, but the spare key was gone from beneath the window box, and when she peered through the smudged windows, Alice thought she could make out a handbag on the hall table, next to a pile of newspapers and post.

  Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking.

  “Pick up, pick up…” Alice tried calling again as she circled the house, searching for signs of life. But, like the other ten times she’d dialed that evening, Flora didn’t respond. Alice felt her foot sink down into the cold of a puddle and sighed. She just hoped that her stepsister was so deep in the bliss of a massage at a luxury spa hotel that she didn’t notice the calls.

  She was almost ready to admit defeat and call for another taxi when she reached the far side of the cottage, a dilapidated extension that housed Jasmine’s studio. The side door was slightly ajar.

  “Flora?” Alice pushed inside, blinking at the gloom. The long room seemed empty, cluttered with Jasmine’s various collections and sculpture work, but then Alice caught a glimpse of pale hair in the corner, illuminated by the dim light from the large, rain-splattered windows. “Flora, what are you doing down there?”

  She was curled in a huddle on the floor, her back against an old cabinet, so deep in whatever troubles had brought her there that she didn’t even notice Alice until she was standing over her. Even then, for a moment she didn’t muster surprise or embarrassment, just a blank, dazed stare that was so full of misery that it pulled, deep in Alice’s chest.

  “Hey.” Alice sank to the ground beside Flora, careful to keep her voice soft. She felt as though she was approaching a skittish animal and that any sudden movements would only prompt fear and a bolting escape. “There you are.”

  Flora quickly wiped her eyes. “I was just…” She swallowed. “The storm…”

  “It’s pretty vicious out there,” Alice agreed, shrugging off her coat and draping it over Flora’s bare shoulders. She was dressed only in an embroidered vest top and peasant skirt. “Your husband had the nerve to make off with my umbrella,” Alice tried to joke, but she felt Flora flinch slightly beside her. “Don’t worry,” she added quickly. “I didn’t say anything to him. He thinks you’re snuggled up with Dad and Jasmine.”

  Flora exhaled. “I’m sorry—if you worried.” She turned her pale face to Alice. “I just…needed to get away.”

  “I know the feeling.” Alice cautiously sat back against a cabinet and looked around. “You picked a good hideaway. I almost missed you behind all these things.”

  Flora managed a tiny nod. “She never throws anything away.” She wiped her eyes again. “Every time we moved, there would be more art materials than actual stuff in the van.”

  There was a long pause, filled only by the downpour outside. Alice felt her tension finally ease. Flora may not be fine, but she was there, safe within arm’s reach beside her. Alice could manage anything as long as she had that much; even her own troubles seemed insignificant beside her sister’s huddled form.

  After a while, Alice realized Flora was staring at the far wall. She followed her gaze, to a painting of a country scene, rich with red and orange hues.

  “I’ve never noticed that before.” She stared at it, propped on a far shelf against a mismatch of crockery. “Is it one of Jasmine’s?”

  Flora shook her head. “Carlos did it,” she said quietly. “One of Jasmine’s old boyfriends. We lived in Spain with him, for a year, when I was twelve.”

  “Really?” Alice asked, surprised. “Can you speak any Spanish?”

  She shook her head again. “Mum didn’t think I should go to school. She said I’d learn more from living in the world with them. It was nice there. I had a red bicycle.” Flora sounded vaguely wistful, as if she was dreaming of whooshing down those Catalan hills. Then she sighed. “He fell in love with the au pair next door in the end, and Mum met Terry.”

  “Terry?”

  “He was trying to plant a vineyard,” Flora explained. “In Cornwall. So, we moved again. He was the last one before she met Dad. Your dad, I mean.”

  Alice was silent for a moment. It had never really occurred to her to think of Flora’s life before arriving at her door, the years of trailing after Jasmine as she flit across the European landscape—just as Alice had wandered after her own mother, from cocktail party to expensive hotel suite, until she left for good.

  They all did their damage, just in different ways.

  Alice reached over and took Flora’s hand. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” She gave an encouraging smile. “How about we go inside and see if there’s something left to eat?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything,” Flora replied, but she didn’t resist when Alice tugged her gently to her feet. “The heating’s off, and I can’t figure out the electricity. I didn’t…I didn’t really think it through, coming here.” She looked forlorn.

  “Never mind. We’ll just have to rough it,” Alice proclaimed. “I can build us a fire and figure out the fuse box. It’ll be an adventure!”

  ***

  As expected, the dusty pantry held nothing but tins of cat food and baked beans, but a rummage in the dark utility room yielded more: salt-and-vinegar crisps, a box of trifle sponges, some long-life milk, and—the real prize—a half-full bottle of gin.

  “Ta da!” Alice displayed her goods. “What have you got?”

  “Some rice crackers and Marmite? And ginger beer,” Flora added, dangling the cans from their plastic casing. “They’ve got another month until the use-by date.”

  “Perfect.” Alice ushered Flora back to the sitting room, which they’d set up as a makeshift camp with blankets and pillows in front of the flickering hearth. The flames cast a warm glow around the room, and with the night-lights Alice had carefully set out, it was almost homey. “Just be glad there was lighter fluid,” she said, nudging the fire with the heavy old poker. “I don’t think I could have managed from scratch.”

  “I could.” Flora munched on a rice cake with surprising enthusiasm. The change of scene seemed to have fortified her; the helpless dejection in her eyes had softened to something calmer. “I learned in Brownies. I got a badge for it and everything.”

  They fell silent again, picking at the strange assortment of food while the fire settled into low, golden flames. It felt cozy and companionable in the small room, despite the circumstances hovering over the both of them, and Alice felt the warmth of an affection that so often seemed to elude her in that house. This was her family.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t around much,” she said at last, looking over at Flora. “When you were younger, I mean.”

  Flora paused nibbling on a sponge, a cautious expression on her face. “That’s OK. You were…busy.”

  “I know, but…” Alice exhaled guiltily. “I’d spent so long looking after Dad. Keeping everything in place here, after Mum left. I just wanted to get away completely.”

  Flora gave a small nod, her pale hair tangled in wisps around her face. “I know.” She looked down, toying with the ring pull on her ginger beer. “It’s not like we were…sisters, or anything.”

  Alice felt a pang at the wistful note in her voice. All those years she’d been so relieved to escape her father’s vague chaos, she hadn’t even noticed that Flora was living through it all alone—with the added trials of her own mother’s various eccentricities as well.

  “No,” she agreed quietly. “But we are now. Which is why you need to tell me what’s wrong. And don’t pretend that nothing is, because I know you better than that.” Flora bit her lip, but she didn’t reply. “Flora,” Alice implored her. “Come on. Here, drink this, and then tell me everything.” She reached for the dusty gin bottle and poured a liberal dash in Flora’s drink.

  “I…can’t.” Flora gazed miserably at the can.

  “Yes, you can.” Alice took her hand and squeezed it. “You can tell me anything. I promise I’m on your side, no matter what. Is it your art? Or Stefan—is something happening with him?”

  The candles flickered around them as she
waited, watching Flora’s face for any hint of the truth.

  Flora’s lip began to tremble. “No, I mean…I can’t drink it.” She finally looked up at Alice with that expression of utter hopelessness.

  “You’re…?” Alice drew in a sharp breath as the implications became clear. “You’re pregnant?”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  There was silence for a moment, filled only by the distant sound of the rain. Then Flora gave a forlorn shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  Alice could hardly comprehend the idea; Flora always struck her as such a child herself that the possibility of her having her own. “Have you taken a test yet?” she asked eventually. Flora shook her head. Alice reached out and gently brushed hair out of her eyes. “You should. You need to know for sure.”

  Flora nodded. It was clear from the tears filling her blue eyes that whatever the outcome, this was not an event to be celebrated.

  “And you haven’t talked to Stefan?” Alice tried to draw out more.

  “No.” Flora’s voice was small. She lifted her head. “He…he’s always wanted them. Children, I mean.” She let out a sniffle. “His parents split up when he was younger too, so we were going to have one of our own. A family. Without anyone leaving, or giving up, or changing their minds.” Her voice twisted on the last part, and Alice could picture it perfectly: Flora, at twenty-one, wanting so badly to have the security she’d never known, and Stefan, sturdy and solid and adoring, wanting nothing more than to give it to her.

  Alice shifted closer, until she could put her arm around Flora’s shoulders and rub in slow, soothing strokes. “Even if you are pregnant, you don’t have to go through with it.”

  Flora curled against her. “I…I couldn’t.”

  “I did.”

  Flora drew back, staring up at her with obvious surprise. “An abortion?” She paused for a long moment before venturing, “Was it…with James?”

  Alice shook her head. “No, before him. I was about your age,” she realized, remembering the panic of those little blue lines and the relief—oh, the relief she’d felt when it was over. “It was all very straightforward, once I’d made my mind up.” She spoke quietly, staring over Flora’s head at the dark center of the fire. “I didn’t even tell anyone. I don’t know why not.”