The Alice Stories

by Davina Bell

  Alice leapt up, realising that the time had come to let out the secret she’d carried around since that rainy day. ‘Wait here!’ she said, and dashed out the door, through the garden and up the stairs to her room. With all the joy rushing through her, she lifted her mattress as easily as if it were just a quilt cover. She snatched up the creamy envelope that had been lying there all year, and ran back to Miss Lillibet.

  ‘Why, this is addressed to me!’ said Miss Lillibet.

  Alice nodded. ‘I know I shouldn’t have kept it, but you were in the camp, and then . . .’

  As Miss Lillibet read the letter, a smile spread across her face – a smile so big that Alice couldn’t help catching it.

  ‘I suspect that she may go on to be the most famous, most glorious dancer of our times,’ Miss Lillibet read. ‘Oh, dear Alice – that’s just what I’ve been thinking these last few months. That’s why I tried so hard to find you the pointe shoes. Would you like that, Alice? To go to London?’

  ‘I want to – more than anything in the world. But how can I leave everyone, with Teddy like he is and Mama not well and Papa Sir gone?’

  Miss Lillibet reached out and cupped Alice’s face in her hand. ‘Sweet child. It’s not your job to –’

  ‘To fix everything. I know that now,’ said Alice. ‘But I want to be there to hold them all tight. Is that silly?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Miss Lillibet. ‘You wouldn’t be the dancer you are if you felt differently. But promise me you’ll think about it.’

  ‘I will,’ Alice promised. ‘I do every day.’

  ‘In the meantime, I’ll write to Edouard and see if he’s made any progress with setting up his dance academy. And now the moment has arrived! It’s time to put you on pointe. How lucky I am to be here to see it.’

  Going on pointe should have been difficult; Alice had never tried it before, and most girls took time to get strong enough to stand on their toes without pain or wobbles, or collapsing in on their arches.

  But Alice wasn’t most girls. She had been strengthening her feet and toes and ankles every day since the concert. So when she held Miss Lillibet’s hands and slowly rolled through her foot muscles, pressing into the floor, she rose up as if she had been doing it all her life.

  The pointe shoes only made her a few inches taller, but from up on her toes, the whole world looked different. Alice wondered how she’d ever be able to take them off, they made her feel so utterly beautiful in every way. And balanced up there, feeling golden with happiness, one word seemed to shimmer all around her.

  London.

  re we ever going to get married, James, or do you think not?’ asked Mabel breezily, not looking up from the newspaper she was reading at the breakfast table. ‘I just need to know, that’s all.’

  Alice almost dropped her spoon in her porridge. She couldn’t believe Mabel would suggest such a thing, given everything that had happened: how James had only come back to Western Australia after the war because Mabel had been writing him letters, pretending to be a lady who was in love with him. Alice still felt guilty when she thought of how he’d returned to marry her and found out that Mabel was eight years old, though it seemed that she was still quite keen on marriage after all.

  James looked thoughtfully at Mabel. ‘Well, I’m busy this afternoon. Is there any hurry, Ducks?’

  ‘Not really, but listen to this from the paper: “The end of the war has brought the greatest ever number of marriages, and with the country in celebration mode, it’s only set to rise. And what prettier place to propose than at the Peace Night celebrations? The city will be trussed up like a Christmas tree, with illuminations hanging from all the major buildings.” So if you’re struggling with somewhere to ask me, James, that could be nice.’

  ‘Mm, I’ll give it some thought. It’s certainly going to be a spectacle. What time did we decide that I would pick you all up?’

  ‘We’re not going,’ growled Teddy from the end of the table.

  ‘Yes, we are!’ said Alice. ‘There’ll never be a night like this! It’s the chance for us all to celebrate the war really being over and Germany agreeing never to be so horrible again. And all the buildings in town will be lit up with ropes of tiny lights and everyone will be cheering for our victory.’ For the last couple of weeks, since she’d been on pointe, Alice had wanted to go out and soak everything up and take everyone with her out into the light, bright world. Most importantly, she’d invited Miss Lillibet to come with them all. ‘It might be good for you, Teddy,’ she said encouragingly.

  ‘You’re going to go and cheer for the fact that millions of people were slaughtered? And wave flags while Papa Sir’s body rots on a seabed without anything to even mark it?’ Teddy glowered at them all and stood up so abruptly that his chair clattered over. ‘It’s up to you, but just so you know: anyone who goes to that damn parade is no family of mine.’ He turned and stormed out, the screen door banging like a gunshot behind him. Then there was silence.

  Alice felt happiness leaking out of her, leaving her as flat as Rough-and-Tumble’s tire when Uncle Bear had driven over a nail.

  ‘He’s not himself. He doesn’t mean it,’ said James quietly.

  ‘Er, well actually, I think I’d rather stay home after all and work on my new play: The Valley of Death and the Mountain of Life,’ said George. ‘It’s at a crucial point.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll just stay behind and turn the parlour lights on to celebrate, instead,’ said Little. ‘And look after Pudding.’

  ‘And if you’re not going to propose there, James, I might just hang round here and wait to get older,’ said Mabel.

  ‘We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,’ said Alice, feeling defeated. ‘I just thought it might be fun.’

  ‘If it’s fun you’re after, I could do a reading of The Valley of Death and the Mountain of Life when I’m through writing it?’ George suggested. ‘I’ve included some very humorous translations of Greek poetry.’

  Mabel coughed into her eggs, but Alice said, ‘That sounds brilliant, George. Mabel, may I have the paper?’

  Nobody said anything else as they finished their breakfast, and one by one they excused themselves until it was just James and Alice left, munching their toast in silence. James reached out and put his arm across the back of Alice’s chair, and his solid, friendly warmth wrapped around her, as though she was tucked inside his coat. She felt her cheeks turning pink, and buried her head deeper into the paper.

  ‘Have you heard about this, James?’ she asked, pointing to an article that had caught her eye. ‘There’s going to be a tree-planting ceremony in Kings Park to commemorate the fallen soldiers. Isn’t that a nice idea? Anyone who wants to can buy a little acorn, and they’ll make a special plaque with the name on and put it in the ground.’ She hesitated. ‘I wish we could go and plant one for Papa Sir.’

  ‘And why not? I could take you all, Birdy,’ said James. ‘I could organise the whole thing. I think it’s a fine idea to give old Papa Sir a real goodbye.’

  ‘No,’ said Alice hurriedly. ‘I don’t think . . .’ She trailed off.

  ‘You don’t think Teddy would let you,’ said James. ‘Well, I’ve got news for you, Bird. Teddy isn’t well; he doesn’t know what’s good for him – or for any of you.’

  ‘But I’m scared of him,’ whispered Alice, realising as she spoke the words that they’d been true since the second he’d returned from the war.

  Then James took her hand in his, and in spite of her fears, Alice felt a kind of sweet joy burble inside her.

  ‘I won’t ever let Teddy hurt you,’ he said gravely. ‘He may never recover, but that doesn’t mean you can’t go off and live your own lives however you’d like to.’

  Alice looked down at James’s strong fingers. Hers seemed so little in comparison. ‘I suppose Papa Sir deserves a proper send-off. Oh James, he was so nice.’ And then she started to cry: just little hiccups at first, but then they grew into great sobs. She wasn’t just crying for Papa Sir
and Teddy. She was crying for London, and for everything she’d have to leave behind.

  With his one strong arm, James lifted her up gently and deftly, and put her on his knee. He let her cry and cry, until her sobs calmed down to hiccups again, and then he said, ‘I think I would have liked Papa Sir. Tell me about him, Birdy – anything you like.’

  Alice sniffed and looked across the orchard to the blue strip of river that showed through the trees. ‘I’ll tell you my favourite story. It’s about how he met Mama.’ She sat up straighter and wiped the tears from her chin, not wanting to forget even the tiniest bit. ‘Well,’ she began, ‘Papa Sir’s English, and his family were all la-di-da in a mansion in the country with a chandelier as big as a car and huge grounds where deer roamed. And anyway, his big brother was wonderful at making their money into even more money. But Papa Sir, he was hopeless because he didn’t much care about money. And even though he was very clever and studied and became a doctor, his family still made fun of him because he cried when he heard sad music, and would rather paint in the attic than woo ladies at dances.

  ‘So then he packed his bags in the middle of the night and fled on a ferry to Paris! And he could look at art all day, and paint at night by candlelight, with nobody to disturb him. And that was just the time in Paris when people were in love with ideas and talking in cafes till dawn and didn’t mind a bit about things like money and whatnot, and Papa Sir loved it. That’s where he met Mama – in a cafe where she was drinking crème de cassis with her best friend, Coco. And they felt sorry for him, sketching all alone at the next table, so they invited him to join them. Just one month later, they were sailing around the Mediterranean Sea together in a tiny yacht called Minnie May when Mama said, “Let’s sail to the end of the world.” And that’s how they ended up here, in Western Australia. Isn’t that a lovely story?’

  ‘The loveliest,’ said James. ‘My father couldn’t have written it better. It reminds me: as soon as the winter’s over, I’ll take you all out in the boat – your mother, too. The fresh air would do her good. And now, let’s organise this tree, eh?’

  ‘But what if we do, and no one will come?’

  ‘Well, they can’t refuse if they don’t know where they’re going. Say you’ve planned a surprise and pack a picnic. I’ll go ahead and pick up the sapling, and Uncle Bear can drive you all in my car. Don’t take no for an answer.’

  Perhaps Teddy would feel better if we gave Papa Sir a proper goodbye – like the one we had for Pan when we buried him under the big tree, thought Alice. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘And I’ll invite Miss Lillibet.’

  ‘That’s a grand idea,’ said James eagerly. ‘I haven’t seen her in ages.’

  Alice looked at James and a cold ripple ran over her. She remembered back to Christmas Eve, when she’d planned to make James and Miss Lillibet fall in love. All through the summer she had put them together at every chance. Had she made poor James care for Miss Lillibet when she could never like him back? It was too terrible to even think about.

  ‘Miss Lillibet doesn’t love you,’ Alice blurted out. ‘She loves . . . someone else. I’m so sorry, James. It’s my fault if your feelings are hurt. It’s my fault if you –’

  James put a finger on her lips to shush her. ‘Nothing’s your fault, my pretty little Bird.’

  Alice looked into his beautiful face, searching for sadness. But there wasn’t any there.

  ‘It’s Teddy, isn’t it?’ he said with a sigh. ‘Yes, I’ve seen the way they look at each other.’

  Though she didn’t want to, Alice brushed his finger from her mouth and said, ‘What do you mean? Teddy barely looks at anyone. He doesn’t love Miss Lillibet . . . does he?’

  ‘You’d be surprised, Bird. The human heart is a funny old thing.’ James winked at her, and Alice felt as if sparks were shooting from her chest.

  ‘James?’ she said, suddenly feeling bold. ‘Will you stay near me forever? Near us, I mean – you’re such a help to Mama,’ she added in a rush, feeling embarrassed.

  For a long moment, James didn’t say anything; he just looked at her with his head on one side and smiled a sweet smile. ‘I’ve just bought the house next door to mine,’ he said eventually. ‘With a field out the back big enough to grow fruit trees. So, dear Alice, you’ll have a hard time getting rid of me now.’

  I’m going to save those tickets for the Zephyr after all, thought Alice. One day, some day, I might need them.

  nfortunately, the wind was wailing and the rain was coming down in sheets when the day of the big surprise finally came around.

  ‘Do we have to?’ asked Mabel as she helped Little serve the porridge. ‘Can’t we stay home?’

  Alice shook her head firmly as she finished packing up the lunch. ‘You’ll like it once you get there. Teddy? Are you going to come?’

  Teddy stared at her and then shrugged his shoulders. ‘I suppose,’ he said flatly, and Alice had to struggle to keep herself from pirouetting with happiness.

  Uncle Bear was smiling as he pulled up in James’s big car at the front door, where they stood under the verandah with the picnic baskets that Alice had got up so early to pack. There was jam roly-poly and soda bread and tins of ham and fruit salad and a bottle of strawberry sauce, which they loved to eat out of the bottle with spoons. She wondered where they would find a dry place to eat all this loot.

  Alice had insisted that everyone dress in their warmest, cleanest, finest clothes and put on their hats, and as Miss Lillibet pulled up in her Panhard and they loaded up both cars, Mama called down from her balcony to tell them how smart they were looking.

  ‘Go back inside!’ Alice called up to her. ‘It’s too cold!’

  ‘Will you be all right by yourself, Mama?’ Little shouted.

  ‘Mais oui! Of course! Au revoir,’ she cried as they sprinted out to the car and jostled for seats.

  Alice waved all the way down the driveway and kept a watch to make sure Miss Lillibet was following them.

  ‘Are we off to the beach, Alice?’ Mabel asked, raising her voice to be heard above the rain.

  ‘In this weather?’ scoffed George. ‘You simpleton.’

  ‘I think we’re going to the mountains,’ said Little dreamily.

  ‘There are no mountains in Perth,’ said George. ‘You know that.’

  ‘What about the Darling Ranges? Aren’t they almost mountains?’ said Little.

  ‘What’s the difference between a hill and a mountain, anyway?’ said Mabel.

  ‘I’m glad you asked,’ said George enthusiastically. ‘While there is no standard definition, one must consider the height from base point, elevation –’

  ‘Were you born boring,’ said Mabel, ‘or did you have to practise?’

  ‘Hush now,’ said Alice. ‘No squabbling today. We’re going to do something special for somebody, and that’s all I’m going to tell you.’

  They chugged up the Perth to Fremantle Road, through Claremont and past Nedlands, and then joined a big queue of cars.

  ‘Have I ever been so far from home?’ Little asked as they rounded Riverside Drive.

  ‘This is Kings Park,’ said Alice. ‘It’s like a big piece of the bush on a hill above the city. And there’s a park where you can play, and big lawns, and we’re here for a special occasion. It won’t be scary, I promise.’ Alice pulled Papa Sir’s old pocket watch from her coat pocket. ‘Even if we can’t park very close, we’ll be just in time.’

  They couldn’t park very close and Pudding decided she wasn’t going to be carried, so by the time they arrived, they were all very wet and cold. They joined a river of people all walking the same way – thousands of them, huddling against the awful weather. Luckily, James was standing on the corner of May Drive and Lovekin Avenue, just where he’d said he would be. As Alice blew on her hands, she thought she’d never been more pleased to see someone in all her life. Next to him was a sack, and inside was the dearest little acorn sapling. They all crowded around to look at it.

 
‘You brought us here for that? A twig?’ said Mabel in disgust.

  ‘Follow me, Ducks,’ said James. ‘It’ll all make sense in a minute.’

  ‘It’s not a twig, it’s a tree,’ said George. ‘It’s a tree for Papa Sir, isn’t it? Everyone’s here to plant them to remember the people who died. I say, Alice, that’s jolly nice of you to organise.’

  ‘James helped,’ said Alice shyly.

  But Teddy’s eyes blazed. ‘How dare you,’ he said to her. ‘How dare you bring me here to remember dead soldiers when you know very well I wish I was one of them.’

  He looked ready to storm off and Alice felt the familiar mixture of sorrow and hate boil up inside her, but Miss Lillibet hooked one hand through the curve of Alice’s elbow and patted Teddy’s arm with the other. ‘Let’s just see where his special spot is, shall we?’

  And so they trudged on together through the mud. Along the road there were big holes, five feet wide. Little clumps of people were waiting in front of each one, some with their heads bowed, and others with handkerchiefs balled in their fists.

  James stopped halfway down the row, where a plaque was resting on the ground.

  ‘Read it to me, Alice,’ said Pudding.

  ‘In honour of Captain Martin Alexander, 28th Battalion. Lost at Sea, 1918. Dedicated by his loving family.’ Alice cleared her throat. ‘That’s our father, Pudding,’ she said. ‘And this tree is for him. In years to come, people will visit this road and remember all the soldiers who lost their lives. It’s going to be called Honour Avenue. Isn’t that a pretty name?’

  ‘Let’s start planting right now,’ said Mabel, ripping off her gloves.

  ‘Not till they give the signal, sport,’ said James. ‘I’ll leave you to it, and come back in a bit. Here’s a shovel.’

  A couple of minutes later, a hooter sounded, and up and down the road, people started to wiggle their trees into the holes, ducking their faces against the howling wind. As Mabel and George manoeuvred the tree together, Alice picked up the shovel, surprised by how heavy it was. But with each clump of dirt that she threw into the hole, she felt lighter, as if something inside her was melting away.