Greg laughs. “There won’t be any party, dear. I’m pretty sure the restaurant will manage without him.”
Greg reassures me that Robbie will be okay, that his son is strong, resourceful. He suggests that I give Robbie time to lick his wounds, to get over the humiliation of it all, and then e-mail him. Before he hangs up he tells me not to worry, everything will be fine.
And although I’m still horrified by Alice’s behavior, and the memory of the previous night still makes my stomach churn, I can’t help but be glad. Robbie has finally seen the truth. There’s no way he could possibly accept Alice back now. And he’s far away, in Europe. Miles away. He’s safe now from Alice’s games. Free.
I turn my cell phone off and decide to leave it that way for a while so that Alice has no way of reaching me. I don’t want to think about her, let alone talk to her. I don’t want to hear her explanations, her excuses.
I leave my cell phone off for a week, and the time passes in a blur of late-night gigs and sleeping in. But the thought of Alice is constantly at the back of my mind. Unpleasant as it is, I know I’ll have to speak to her eventually. It would be easy just to avoid her, easy to never speak to her again. But I have to say my piece, express my anger, defend Robbie. In any case I’m pretty sure that she’ll be trying to contact me and that she’ll keep on trying until she succeeds. I’d rather just get it over with.
And so one afternoon when Mick has gone out to buy beer, I find my phone and turn it on.
There are fourteen voice messages and numerous texts. I don’t bother listening to or reading them. I’m sure most of them are from Alice and that she’s probably angry or upset because I haven’t contacted her. But I’m no longer interested in what she has to say. I just want to call her one last time to let her know how disgusted I am. I punch in her number quickly, before I lose my nerve.
She answers almost immediately. “It’s the mysterious stranger. Finally. You know, I never had you pegged as the type of girl who’d dump a friend as soon as she gets a man. But you never can tell with the quiet types, can you?” She laughs. “That’s what they say, isn’t it?”
Only Alice would have the nerve to twist the situation in such a way when she is guilty of so much damage herself.
“I’m sorry, Alice. But I’ve been upset. With you. I haven’t known what to say.”
“Upset?” She sounds irritated, scornful. “For God’s sake. This isn’t about Robbie and his dad, is it?”
“I spoke to Greg that night,” I say. “After you left.”
“Of course. I knew you would.”
“Yes. I did.”
“You did. Great. We’ve certainly got that established. So what? What did you want to say?”
I don’t know if she is being deliberately obtuse, but I feel slightly ridiculous, suddenly uncertain of my own righteousness. “It was an unbelievably cruel thing to do, Alice.”
“Jesus, Katherine, I had no idea you two would be there, all right? None at all. That was all Greg’s brilliant idea.” Her voice is impatient, abrupt, as if she is already bored with the topic and resents having to explain herself. “How was I supposed to know what Greg was thinking?”
“It’s not about the dinner, Alice. Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t believe you think that’s some kind of justification. The whole relationship with Greg was cruel. Not just that night, not just the fact that you got caught. I can’t believe you did it. I actually can’t believe that you would be such a bitch—to Robbie, who has only ever been good to you.”
She is silent for a moment. She sighs. “Okay. Fair enough. I see your point. Lecture over now?”
“No, not really, but there’s no point continuing, is there? You don’t care. But this is all really horrible, Alice. Really upsetting.”
Alice laughs. It’s a nasty, humorless sound. “I don’t get it,” she says eventually. “I don’t understand what this has got to do with you. Why on earth should my relationship with Greg, or my relationship with Robbie, for that matter, upset you?”
And for the briefest moment I’m taken in by her, confused into thinking I’ve overreacted, that I should be minding my own business. But no, I think, it’s reasonable to not tolerate such appalling behavior from your friends.
“Because what you did was deliberately cruel, Alice. Destructive and awful. Robbie is devastated. He’s gone to Europe. Did you know that? All because of you. And you’ve wrecked his relationship with his father,” I say. “Robbie is one of my best friends. I’m amazed that you think I shouldn’t be upset.”
“Oh, screw you. I haven’t wrecked their relationship. They’ll work it out. Neither of them knew about it, so they didn’t actually do anything to each other, anyway. It’ll probably bring them closer in the long run. And some time away will do Robbie some good. He really needs to get his head straightened out. He’s got a lot of anger, that boy. And he’s ridiculously possessive. Anyway, they should both be glad to be rid of me, especially if I’m as bad a person as you seem to think.”
“Whatever happens between Robbie and his dad doesn’t change what you did. It was just wrong, Alice, totally evil. And why did you tell Greg your name was Rachel? Why that name?”
“I don’t like your tone, Katherine. You’re not my mother, you’re not better than me, I don’t need your good opinion.” Her voice is suddenly low and cold and serious, a noticeable contrast to the lazy, indifferent way she was speaking only moments before. “I seriously don’t want to talk about this anymore, Katherine. It’s getting boring. Very boring. Do you want to go out on Friday night or not? Let me know. I’m organizing a table at Giovanni’s.”
“No,” I say, and though I’m outraged and shocked by her lack of remorse, her brazen audacity, my voice sounds surprisingly normal. “No, thanks.”
“What about Saturday night, then?”
“No. Yes. I mean, no, Alice, I don’t want to go out with you. I’m angry. I’m shocked. Don’t you get how serious this all is? I’m really upset, really disgusted. Please stop asking me out.”
“Disgusted? You’re disgusted?”
“Yes. I am, to be honest. Disgusted and ashamed.”
“Oh.” She laughs. “You’re ashamed, too? You’re ashamed for me?”
“Of you. Yes.” My voice is small.
“Don’t you think you have enough to be ashamed of, Katherine? All by yourself?” And I know exactly what she’s going to say even before she says it. But I don’t hang up, I leave the phone pressed hard against my ear and listen, compelled to hear the words. “I may have done some bad stuff, but at least I’ve never left my sister alone to get raped. At least I’m not the gutless wimp who ran away and let her baby sister get murdered.”
30
Later that night, Mick and Philippa and I order pizza for dinner. Just as we’re sitting down to eat, Philippa asks if I’ve seen Alice recently.
“No. But I spoke to her on the phone today.”
“And?”
So I tell them, while we’re eating, about what she did to Robbie and Greg, about my telephone conversation with her earlier in the day.
“You’re kidding.” Mick puts his slice of pizza down. “That’s obscene. Sleeping with both Robbie and his father? What kind of person would do something like that?”
“A sick one,” Philippa says. “A very confused, very unhappy one.”
“And what about Robbie? Why was he with her? Is he nuts, too?”
“Robbie’s lovely,” I say. “One of the nicest people you could ever meet. A real gentle soul. A great friend.”
“Then why—”
“Because he fell in love with her,” I interrupt. “And you just wouldn’t understand how charming she can be unless you got to know her.” I speak deliberately, wanting Mick to understand, not to judge Robbie harshly or think me foolish. “I was really happy when she became friends with me. I was flattered—she’s such fun, people just want to be around her. She could be friends with anyone. I was lonely, I guess. Alice was like a breath of fr
esh air.”
Mick and Philippa are both looking at me sympathetically, and I realize, too late, that I’ve gone off track. I’ve started justifying my own friendship with Alice instead of Robbie’s. But it’s all the same, really. Me, Robbie—we were both bewitched.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mick looks hurt. “When you found out about all this? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, pretending not to be stung by the edge in his voice. “I just didn’t want to think about it. We’ve been so happy. I didn’t want to spoil it.”
“It couldn’t have spoiled anything. I don’t even know them.” Mick is frowning. He looks quite upset, offended that I’ve kept this from him, and I’m about to explain when Philippa interjects.
“Don’t be a brat.” She elbows him playfully. “She’s telling you now, isn’t she? And you’re right, you don’t know them, any of them, so shut up.” But then she looks at me and speaks in a mock-angry voice. “But I know them. Why didn’t you tell me? That was absolutely not fair. I’m totally and permanently offended. You denied me the opportunity to say I told you so.”
“I did, didn’t I?” I smile. “But, hey, you can still say it. You were right. I was wrong.”
“Right about what?” Now Mick looks confused.
“Right about Alice,” I tell him. “Your clever sister warned me about her months ago. She told me she was a mental case.”
“Anyway, I have met her,” Mick insists. “She’s that chick with the short dress, isn’t she?”
“The gorgeous one,” Philippa says. “Yes. The one in the short dress that all the men couldn’t stop staring at.”
“Not so gorgeous.” Mick makes a face, shakes his head, and—childishly—I’m glad. “Not to me. Too loud, too full of herself. Not my type at all.”
“So. Anyway.” Philippa rolls her eyes at Mick, then turns to me. “I hope you told her that you don’t want to play anymore. I hope you told her to go away and leave you alone forever.”
“I did,” I say. “Well, I tried to. Alice is good at ignoring what she doesn’t want to hear.”
“At least you told her,” Philippa says, smiling. “Finally you’ve come to your senses. Seen things my way. I have to admit that I’m absolutely, totally glad. She doesn’t deserve to be your friend. And I won’t say anything about poor Robbie. But I hope you’re not sorry. You don’t really think you’ll miss her, do you?”
“No.” I cover my eyes with my hands. “All that drama. I couldn’t bear any more of it. She’s just so damn exhausting. It sounds mean, but I’d be happy to never see her again in my life. I don’t want to know about her, don’t want to see her, talk to her. I’ve turned my phone off again, and I’m leaving it that way for a while.”
“She was pretty vicious when you talked,” Mick says. “She sounds like bad news all around.”
“She is.” Philippa nods, reaches for another slice of pizza. “Bad news. That’s exactly what she is.” And then she looks at my plate, at my barely touched slice. “You’re not eating. Don’t you like it?”
“Yeah, I do,” I say, but talking about Alice has made me feel weird—and the pizza isn’t helping, it’s too oily, too spicy. “I feel horrible. Thinking about what Alice did to Robbie just makes me sick. You should have seen his face. It was all just so unbelievable.” I slide my plate across the table. “I think I’ll just get some water—”
“I’ll get it.” Mick jumps up, frowns down at me. “Don’t let her make you feel bad. She’s not worth it. Forget about her. You don’t owe her anything.”
Philippa watches Mick as he goes to the kitchen. She turns to me and smiles, whispers, “He really loves you.”
“I know,” I say, and I smile back, but I suddenly feel so tired and queasy that I have to fight back an overwhelming urge to lay my head down on the table and close my eyes.
“He’s never been like this around a girl before. He’s usually quite indifferent. Always polite, but indifferent, if that makes any sense. And, if it’s okay to say about my own brother, he’s always been a bit of a heartbreaker. Always had plenty of girls interested.”
I’m genuinely fascinated by what Philippa is saying—there’s really no subject that could interest me more right now—but I’m having a hard time concentrating.
“I bet,” I say. I can feel the bile rising in my throat.
“Are you all right?” Philippa asks. “You’re white as a ghost.”
“No.” And suddenly I have to stand up and leave the table. I rush to the bathroom and make it to the toilet just in time to throw up what little I’ve eaten.
31
Mick has five days off and we spend the next few days together. Mick practices and we go shopping for food, but the rest of the time we stay holed up at his place. We talk—Mick tells me all about his childhood, about his dreams for the future, about his passion for music. I tell him about my childhood, about life before Rachel died, about life after. We are both intensely curious about each other, and though I barely move from Mick’s room, there is not one moment during that entire five days when I am bored or restless or wish I was somewhere else.
On Mick’s last day off, we call Philippa and arrange to meet her at a nearby café for breakfast. She is already there when we arrive. She’s wearing a yellow dress and has her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looks pretty and fresh, and I imagine that in my crumpled T-shirt and jeans I look scruffy in comparison.
I normally find Philippa’s fast-paced conversation delightful, but today, listening to her rush of news and responding with the requisite level of interest and enthusiasm saps all my energy. Secretly I long to return to Mick’s and go straight back to sleep.
When our food arrives—we’ve ordered French toast and coffee—I feel a familiar rush of saliva in my mouth, the taste of bile at the back of my throat.
“Oh, God.” I stand up, clamp my hand over my lips. “Sorry, guys.” I hurry to the bathroom, lean over the toilet bowl, and retch. But I haven’t eaten, and there is nothing but a thin stream of bile.
“Katherine. Are you all right?” Philippa’s voice is right behind me. I feel her hand on my back. “You poor thing.”
I stand, go to the sink, and rinse my mouth, splash my face. I look at myself in the mirror and am shocked at how pale and gaunt I look beside Philippa, and I wonder, for a foolish moment, if I’ve got some kind of terminal disease. Perhaps it’s my fate to die young, just like Rachel.
“You were sick the other day, too,” Philippa says. “Is it food poisoning, do you think? Some kind of virus?”
“Dunno.” I shrug, scoop water into my mouth and swallow, hope I can keep it down.
“You really should go see a doctor.”
I nod.
“Maybe it’s morning sickness.” She laughs. “Maybe you’re pregnant.”
Pregnant. Though she is only joking, as soon as Philippa mentions it, I’m suddenly quite certain that is exactly what is wrong with me. It would explain a lot—the nausea, the paralyzing tiredness, my sore, swollen breasts. And try as I might, I can’t remember when I last had a period.
“Oh, shit,” I say.
“Oh, shit, what?” We look at each other in the mirror; Philippa’s eyes widen. “What? Oh my God. Pregnant? Are you serious? Really? Could you be?”
“Fuck. Fuck.” I shake my head. “I don’t know. But I …”
“When was your last period?”
“That’s the thing. I can’t remember. Oh, crap, Philippa, I can’t even remember having a period at all. Not since I’ve been with Mick. I’d remember, wouldn’t I? I mean, I’d remember because he would have noticed. We wouldn’t have been able to …” I struggle to think. But I’m certain that I haven’t had a period in months. It would have been awkward in bed with Mick; I would have had to explain when he tried to make love to me—and I would remember. “How did I fail to notice? How could I be so hopeless?”
Philippa pulls me toward her, wraps her arms around me. “Don�
�t worry. It’ll be okay. Anyway, maybe you’re not pregnant, maybe it’s just a false alarm. Stress can totally make you miss a period. I’ve read that. Somewhere.”
“But I haven’t been particularly stressed.”
“But what about Alice? Your exams?”
“Oh God, I wish. But I don’t think so. I’ve been happy, Philippa, not stressed,” I say. And suddenly it occurs to me how many strange changes have taken place with my body lately, how odd I’ve felt. “That’s why my bras are all suddenly too small. Even my jeans are getting tight.”
“Maybe you’re just putting on weight?” She tries to tease me, but the joke falls flat.
“No.” I shake my head. “What am I going to do? Oh, Philippa, poor Mick, what’s he going to think?”
“Poor Mick? Don’t be stupid. He’s not a child. He knows about the birds and the bees. Poor you, you’re the one with watermelon breasts.” Her eyes grow wide as she looks at my chest. She puts her hand over her mouth to cover her grin. “They have become pretty enormous, actually. Now that I’ve noticed.”
I look down, cup a breast in each of my hands, and lift them. They’re heavy, full, tender.
“Jesus. Haven’t they? Why on earth didn’t I realize?”
“Too busy bonking your brains out?”
“Obviously.”
I lean over the sink. Stare at myself in the mirror. My skin is pale, but except for that I don’t look different. There is nothing different about the shape of my face, my eyes. It seems impossible that I could have a new life growing within me without it showing in my face, without me even knowing. Without me giving my consent. I shake my head.
“A baby,” I say, shaking my head. “Philippa. It’s just too … how could … I’m not even eighteen.”
She nods, serious again. “You’re still a teenager.”
“What will I do?”
“I don’t know, Katherine.” She shrugs, looks solemn.
I look down at my belly, spread my fingers over it. It’s impossible to fathom. A new life. Inside me.
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