The Alice Stories

by Davina Bell

  Jilly knew May Vivienne from the knitting group, and Alice watched as they waved at each other, grinning. Jilly will like her better than me, Alice thought glumly as she sat down next to Nollie, who was a terrible fidget. She’ll forget me. And I bet May Vivienne will think Douglas is a hero.

  All through the morning, Alice felt sick and solemn. First up was a spelling bee, her favourite, but she couldn’t focus and got out on ‘rhododendron’, which should have been easy – it was Papa Sir’s favourite flower. As Alice sat down, she saw Jilly looking straight at her. She smiled back, feeling happiness bubble inside her. We’ll still be friends, just secret friends, Alice thought with relief. But then Jilly turned to May Vivienne and whispered something. And they looked at Alice and laughed.

  At lunchtime, Alice was the last to leave the classroom. She dreaded going out to the playground to nobody, and she wasn’t sure where to go anyway. The boys would be playing their silly war games on the big lawn, pretending to shoot at Germans, and Jilly would probably join May Vivienne with the Luncheon Knitters. Perhaps they’d even go off together to the big hedge to tell secrets. I could read, Alice thought. But somehow that seemed like telling the world that she’d given up on ever having another friend.

  As she passed Miss Annie’s desk, the teacher stopped her. ‘Alice,’ she said, ‘I’ve heard from Mrs McNair. And while I’m not happy with her decision to separate you and Jilly, I have to respect it. But I want you to know how truly sorry I am.’

  Alice’s throat felt tight and scratchy.

  ‘You know,’ Miss Annie continued, ‘when I was your age, my best friend moved away, and I remember how it felt.’

  Miss Annie’s eyes were so kind and concerned that Alice felt hers fill with tears.

  ‘Oh, my dear Alice,’ said Miss Annie, standing up and patting Alice on the shoulder. ‘Stay strong. It will get easier.’

  She’s right – it will, Alice promised herself as she picked up her sandwiches. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin a little to face the playground.

  ut it didn’t get easier. For the next few  weeks, Alice felt that each day was the hardest she’d ever lived through – harder, even, than when Teddy had left. She loved Teddy more than anyone, but it was Jilly who had been with her each day, as constant as the sky above the weather.

  Alice knew that Jilly’s mother was too strong and too scary to disobey – she wasn’t surprised that Jilly hadn’t tried to sneak through the fence or pass a note in class. But she doesn’t even seem a tiny bit sad, thought Alice, as she sat alone picking at the grass during lunch hour, looking across to where Jilly was skipping through May Vivienne’s rope. Doesn’t she think about me anymore?

  Once in flag drill they had marched past each other in opposite lines, but Jilly hadn’t even looked at Alice; she’d just blushed as red as her hair and circled her flags higher. Apart from that, it was as though Alice didn’t exist.

  There was something else that Alice noticed now that Jilly was gone from her life, as if Jilly had been holding a curtain in front of a giant hole. Before, when she had been dancing, Alice had always felt noticed. ‘That’s Alice,’ the girls had whispered to their mothers at Exhibition Day. ‘She’s a very good dancer.’ And in the week after a ballet concert, she could hardly walk ten steps without someone coming up to her. ‘I saw you dance the Fairy Snow Queen – I loved your costume,’ they’d say. ‘Are you going to become a real ballerina? My mama said you could.’

  It had made Alice blush. But now that Alice wasn’t the girl who was good at ballet and she wasn’t Jilly’s best friend, she realised she missed being something, missed having a special thing that set her apart.

  Am I really just a big show-off? she wondered. Is that why I haven’t made a single new friend?

  She was pondering this when Georgiana James came over to her.

  ‘Is it true what they say about your uncle?’ Georgiana said haughtily.

  Alice sighed. ‘Probably not. What are they saying?’

  ‘That he’s The Vandal.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  Georgiana snorted. ‘You do live in a bubble, Alice. Someone’s been wrecking things in the Village, sloshing red paint around and going wild with an axe, hacking into doors and things. And killing people’s animals, too. They’re calling him The Vandal. Didn’t you hear about the Evans’s kittens, all dead in a bag on the porch?’

  ‘Uncle Bear is the gentlest man in the world – he couldn’t smash anything,’ said Alice. ‘Besides, he loves animals.’

  ‘Well, Mrs Rowntree from the Post Office told my mother that people have seen him all around town at odd hours – sometimes with your sister, too.’

  ‘Mabel?’

  ‘No, the youngest one. Apparently she can fit up chimneys, and she goes into houses and steals for him. No wonder you Alexanders always have such nice clothes.’

  ‘What?’ Alice jumped to her feet. ‘You take that back, Georgiana James. None of that’s true – Pudding’s not a thief! And Uncle Bear’s not The Vandal. I bet there’s no such thing.’

  ‘You’d be betting wrong – you’ll see.’

  Were people always so mean and suspicious, even before the war? As Alice watched Georgiana flounce off, she tried to remember. But it was hard to think back to what had come before. The war’s like those big waves at the beach when it’s windy, thought Alice, the ones that push you right under. And even though you’re still gasping when you pop back up, you have to get ready for the next one because it’s coming so close behind.

  ‘Mama,’ Alice whispered, as she stood in the hallway outside her parents’ bedroom a couple of weeks later. A slip of light still showed under the door, and Alice pushed it open timidly, her hands shaking a little.

  ‘Alice,’ Mama said in quiet surprise, looking up from her book. ‘Qu’est-ce que tu veux, ma petite? What do you want, my little one?’

  ‘Mama . . . may I come into your bed?’

  ‘Of course.’

  In her nightgown trimmed with ribbon, Mama looked so calm and neat and pretty. As Alice climbed up beside her, she felt instantly comforted. She rarely came into Mama’s bedroom, and yet it was so familiar: the flowery curtains, the photograph of Papa Sir next to the bed, the dressing table with the tiny drawers and the crystal-backed hairbrush on top.

  ‘A nightmare, my sweet?’ Mama asked, smoothing Alice’s hair.

  Alice didn’t say anything, just smelled Mama’s delicious lilac smell, and lay quietly. Eventually she dozed off, but woke as Mama leaned over to dim her bedside lamp.

  ‘Mama? I need to tell you something,’ Alice whispered, wondering how to say it.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Mama . . . sometimes, when I’m out, I see Jilly’s face . . . on other people’s faces. Sometimes I see her when she isn’t there, like – like a ghost.’ Alice turned onto her side and looked straight into Mama’s eyes. ‘Am I going mad?’ she whispered.

  Mama drew Alice in to her and held her tightly. ‘Mon petit chou, my leetle cabbage, you are not mad. Your mind plays tricks because your heart is pining.’ She let Alice go, but took her hand and stroked it, just as she had when Alice was a little girl and couldn’t sleep. ‘The same thing ’appened to me when your father went away to war.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Mais oui! Even though I knew it was not possible, ’e was everywhere. These poor men in the city – I would start to run up to them with my arms out, my face in a big smile. They must ’ave thought I was – ’ow you say? Koo koo.’

  ‘And how did you stop it?’

  ‘Over time, it ’appened less often. And then when it did, I came to enjoy it. Thinking that I saw ’is face – even for a second – reminded me of all the things I loved about your father.’ She hesitated. ‘And I knew that if ’e was still alive in my mind, peut-être – perhaps – he might come back to us.’ She shook her head a little. ‘I know it is just a fantasy. But a pleasant one, non?’

  ‘That’s why you don’t like it when we
talk about him being gone,’ Alice said, realising.

  Mama nodded. ‘But you and Jilly – c’est different. When the war is over, Madame McNair will ’ave her family home and her world will seem less frightening. She will relax, and you and Jilly will be together again.’

  ‘But Jilly doesn’t need me anymore. She’s friends with May Vivienne now. She doesn’t even look at me.’

  ‘Of course she can’t look at you! You remind her too much of what she has lost.’ Mama was silent for a while. ‘Did you know, ma cherie, there was even a time when I could not look at you?’

  Alice remembered something that Teddy had told her not long before he left. ‘Was it because I reminded you of the baby girl you lost – Juliette?’

  Alice felt her mother stiffen.

  ‘It’s okay – Teddy told me. He said you never wanted to talk about it.’ Alice took a deep breath. ‘But Mama? Sometimes it helps to talk about sad things. Sometimes it makes things better.’

  Mama nodded slowly. ‘I know,’ she said, and sighed. ‘For some people, this is très facile – very easy.’

  ‘Like Mabel?’ said Alice.

  Mama smiled. ‘Oui, like Mabel. For others, it is ’ard to admit we are sad. We think, ’ow can I be unhappy when my life is so . . . so full of comfort – of love? What right do I ’ave to be sad?’

  ‘But everyone is sad sometimes,’ said Alice. ‘It doesn’t mean you aren’t brave, Mama. Even Papa Sir was sad sometimes.’

  ‘My baby, you ’ave always been so wise.’ Mama sighed and reached out to stroke Alice’s head. ‘Springtime is with us – I can see it in your hair.’ Alice nodded; she was always much blonder in the sunny months. ‘Ma petite, I will tell you what helped me when your papa went away.’

  Mama turned back her pretty bed covers and tiptoed over to her dresser. She opened a little drawer and felt around the back of it until her fingers found what she was searching for. It was something round, and as Mama climbed back into bed, Alice could make out the big numbers and curly little hands that she remembered from when she was a very little girl. It was Papa Sir’s pocket watch.

  ‘It ticks like a heart, non?’ said Mama, holding it out. ‘And if I put it under my pillow, I could imagine it was your father’s heart, beating beside me. Take it, ma cherie, and ’e will be with you.’

  Alice felt the watch grow warm in her fingertips; she could feel its steady tick become part of her. It made her feel strong.

  ‘The other thing that ’elped was being busy. My job at the bank, playing my harp, riding my bicyclette . . . The more I did, the less time I had to think about what I missed. Now, you had your ballet, and –’

  ‘I’m not going to dance again – I can’t.’

  ‘Oui, d’accord, I understand. And soon there will be swimming and tennis, but until then – a project?’

  Alice sighed. ‘I was going to do all those things for the soldiers – I promised myself I would,’ she said. ‘I could even have helped with the Red Cross fair, but then Mrs McNair said that –’

  ‘Pffft,’ Mama snorted. ‘Mrs McNair is not as important as she thinks. And while she might run the knitting circle, there is someone much more powerful doing the fair – mais oui!’

  ‘Mrs Baker!’ they said together. The bossiest, wealthiest, most organised lady in town.

  ‘Well, I suppose I could ask her. And we could put together a nice table for the fair, couldn’t we, Mama? With Little’s cooking, and all of us sewing? I’ll go tomorrow and ask.’ Alice kissed Mama’s smooth cheek, feeling a million times better for having a plan.

  As she was about to slip down out of the bed, Mama held her arm. ‘Alice, ’ave you heard something . . . something about Uncle Bear?’

  Alice remembered what Georgiana had said about The Vandal, and what she’d heard just yesterday about the pavilion at Manners Hill Park being splattered all over with red paint. But Alice wasn’t sure if she should bother Mama with gossip. ‘Something like what exactly?’

  ‘Rien – nothing. It was just . . . never mind. Bonne nuit, my sweet.’

  ‘Bonne nuit, Maman. Thank you for the watch. I’ll treasure it always.’

  eorge had once told Alice that Mrs Baker insisted her lawn be cut with nail scissors. Looking at it now as she waited on the front steps of the Bakers’ big limestone house, Alice could believe it – they were as neat and flat as carpet. When the big front door opened, a flustered housekeeper showed Alice into the parlour, where, she said, Mrs Baker would receive her when she was finished on the telephone. Alice couldn’t remember the last time she’d been to a house with a housekeeper. Not since before the war, when lots of families had had maids and even butlers. We had a nursery maid, Alice remembered as she waited on the scratchy horsehair settee, but she left to work in a factory when the war began.

  ‘Why, Alice Alexander, what a pleasant surprise!’ Mrs Baker said as she bustled in, her purple skirts touching the sides of the doorway. ‘What brings you to these parts? Excuse me, my dear – Hetty?’ she screeched. ‘Tea!’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Baker,’ said Alice. ‘Thank you for seeing me. I’ve come because I’ve heard about the fete and –’

  ‘Oh! You mean the Apple Blossom Fair. I’m not surprised you’ve heard about it. It will be quite the spectacle.’

  ‘I, well, I was wondering if I might be involved.’

  ‘A dance recital!’ said Mrs Baker, clasping her hands to her chest. ‘A tutu – an accom-panist on the pianoforte! Divine. I shall slot you into our mammoth program – perhaps between the elocution competition and the solo singing.’

  ‘Oh, ah – I’m not actually dancing anymore, Mrs Baker.’

  ‘Oh?’ Mrs Baker’s eyes lit up. ‘Ah yes, the scandal with the German dance teacher.’ She lowered her voice and nodded dramatically. ‘I remember.’

  Poor Miss Lillibet, thought Alice. ‘I was actually wondering if we might have a fundraising table – my brother and sisters and I. We all sew very well, and cook. We can crochet and embroider. I think we could raise quite a bit of money for the soldiers.’

  ‘My dear,’ said Mrs Baker, looking up to the ceiling. ‘Not just anyone can have a table at an event of the Red Cross. Tell me,’ she said, patting Alice’s arm, ‘will your mother be assisting you? Such exquisite taste.’

  Alice was confused. Didn’t the Red Cross women hate Mama?

  ‘So stylish. All those divine fabrics – and that lovely French tailoring.’

  ‘Um, ye-es.’ It wasn’t a total lie. Mama let them use whatever they liked from her wardrobe. That was assisting. Sort of.

  ‘Well, your timing is remarkable. Just this morning, I had a call from dear Mrs Foster. Her youngest has come down with the mumps. Imagine!’ Mrs Baker fanned herself. ‘We are in need of a table decorated to an extremely high standard to make up for the loss of her contribution. Do you feel you are up to the task? There’s a prize, you know, for the most handsome stall.’

  A prize! ‘I think you’ll be very pleased with what we put together, Mrs Baker,’ promised Alice, picturing it all.

  ‘Very good, dear. Hetty? Hetty! Put down that tea tray at once and fetch Miss Alice’s hat. Alice, I will refer you to our secretary, Miss Elvira, for the particulars. I must go – I’ve just had a telephone call about an incident at the church hall – The Vandal has struck again! Red paint on a statue of Christ – I ask you.’ She fanned herself even more wildly, which would have been funny if Alice didn’t feel suddenly sick at the mention of The Vandal. So he was real after all.

  On the way home, Alice crossed over The Esplanade and headed for Lovers’ Walk – the path by the river – and the shade of the tuart trees that lined the foreshore. It was hot enough to swim today, but of course there’d be no time for swimming now. It was only a month till the fair, and there was so much to do. Alice would need a very long list. The thought cheered her greatly, and she was almost skipping as she passed the bend where she and Jilly had once seen a black swan with six cygnets bobbing behind.

/>   And then it came to her . . . If their table was beautiful – no, perfect! – and won that prize, perhaps Mrs McNair would see that Alice was worthy of being Jilly’s friend. And Jilly would be so impressed that she wouldn’t mind that Alice wasn’t as popular as May Vivienne, and –

  ‘Oof.’ Alice had been thinking so hard, she had rounded a corner and run straight into someone coming the other way.

  ‘Why, Uncle Bear! What are you doing down here?’

  Uncle Bear looked down at his feet and shuffled uneasily. His right eye was puffy, and all around it was scarlet and mauve.

  Alice felt herself prickle with fear. ‘Uncle Bear, what happened to your eye?’

  But he wouldn’t meet her gaze, and Alice had a sudden awful thought. ‘Was it Douglas? Did he hurt you? Tell me!’

  But he wouldn’t. He just pointed to the path ahead. Alice reached up and grabbed his wrist and pulled it towards her to kiss his hand and show that she was sorry.

  Just as she brought it to her lips, she noticed that under each nail of Uncle Bear’s fingers, there was a tiny line of bright red paint.

  Alice pushed open the side door to the kitchen, her mind whirling and her heart full of dread. Was the red paint under Uncle Bear’s fingernails the same red paint that had been sloshed around the church – around the town? Could he really be The Vandal? Was he as strange as everyone said, and she just couldn’t see it because her love for him was hiding it, like fog? Should she tell someone?

  ‘Alice!’ Mabel came bounding down the hallway, Little and Pudding running after her. ‘Come quick – Mama has a letter from Teddy! We’ve been waiting for you to get here to open it. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive!’ she sang as they burst into the parlour where Mama was sitting on the rocking chair, smiling.

  ‘You read it, Alice,’ said Little.

  As Alice took the battered envelope from Mama, her worries slid away. Just seeing Teddy’s writing made her feel as if she could survive anything; she could lunch alone a thousand times if she knew that Teddy was safe.