What Alice Forgot (28 page)

“You saw Gina's accident. You were driving along behind her. It must have been terrible for you. I can't even imagine—”

“On the corner of Rawson and King streets?” interrupted Alice.

“Yes. Do you remember?”

“Not really. I think I just remember the feeling of it. It's happened twice now that I've got all panicky, nightmarish feelings when I see that corner.”

Would those feelings stop now that she knew what they meant?

She didn't know if she wanted to remember seeing someone killed in front of her.

They drank their milk in silence for a few seconds. Alice reached up for one of the dangling strings of the balloons and pulled upon it. She watched it bob about and remembered again those pink bouquets of balloons floating angrily about in a stormy sky.

“Pink balloons,” she said to Elisabeth. “I remember pink balloons and this terrible feeling of grief. Is that something to do with Gina?”

“That was at her funeral,” said Elisabeth. “You and Michael—that's her husband—organized for balloons to be released at the graveyard. It was very beautiful. Very sad.”

Alice tried to imagine herself talking about balloons with a bereaved man called Michael.

Michael. That was the name on that business card in her wallet. Michael Boyle—the physiotherapist from Melbourne—must be Gina's husband. That's why he'd written about “happier times” on the back of his business card. It was all very simple.

“Did Gina die before Nick and I separated?” asked Alice.

“Yes. I think about six months before. You've had a pretty hard year.”

“Sounds like it.”

“I'm sorry,” said Elisabeth.

“Don't be.” Alice looked up guiltily, worried she'd look like she was filled with self-pity. “I don't even remember Gina. Or the divorce.”

“Well, you're going to have to see that neurologist,” said Elisabeth, but she spoke without conviction, as if she couldn't be bothered pushing the point.

They sat in silence for a while, except for the intermittent gurgling sounds of the fish tank.

“Am I meant to be feeding those fish?” asked Alice.

“I don't know,” said Elisabeth. “Actually, I think they're Tom's responsibility. I think nobody else is allowed to have anything to do with them.”

Tom. The fair-haired little boy with the snuffly voice on the phone. She felt terrified at the thought of meeting him. He was in charge of fish. He had responsibilities and opinions. All three children would have opinions. They'd have opinions on Alice. They might not even like her that much. Maybe she was too strict. Or maybe she embarrassed them. Wore the wrong clothes when she picked them up from school. Maybe they preferred Nick. Maybe they blamed her for driving Nick away.

She said, “What are they like?”

“The fish?”

“No, the children.”

“Oh—well, they're great.”

“But tell me about them properly. Describe their personalities.”

Elisabeth opened her mouth and shut it again. “I feel stupid telling you about your children. You know them so much better than me.”

“But I don't even remember giving birth to them.”

“I know. It's just so hard to believe. You look exactly like yourself. I feel like any second you'll get your memory back and then you'll be saying, oh please, don't tell
me
about
my
children.”

“For heaven's sakes,” said Alice.

“Okay, okay.” Elisabeth held up her hands. “I'll have a go. So, Madison, well, Madison is—” She stopped and said, “Mum would do a much better job of this than me. She sees the children all the time. You should ask her.”

“But what do you mean? You know my children, don't you? I thought, well, I thought you'd know them better than anyone. You bought me my very first present for the baby. Tiny socks.”

Elisabeth had been the first person Alice had called after she and Nick had laid out all those positive pregnancy tests on the coffee table. She'd been so excited. She'd turned up with champagne (“For Nick and me, not you!”), a copy of
What to Expect When You're Expecting
, and the socks.

Elisabeth said, “Did I? I don't remember that.” She put down her mug and picked up a framed photo from the table next to her. “I used to see the children all the time when they were little. I adored them. I still do adore them, of course. It's just that you're all so busy. The children have so many activities. They've all got swimming lessons. Olivia has ballet. Tom plays soccer and Madison plays hockey. And the birthday parties! They're always going to someone's birthday party. Their social lives are amazing. I remember when they were little, I always knew exactly the right thing to get them for their birthdays. They'd rip off the paper in a frenzy. Now I have to ring you, and you tell me exactly where to go and what to ask for. Or else you just buy it yourself and I give you the money. And then you make the children send me a thank-you card.
Dear Auntie Libby. Thank you so much for my blah blah
.”

“A thank-you card,” repeated Alice.

“Yes. I know, I know, it's teaching them good manners and everything, but I sort of hate those thank-you cards. I always imagine the kids groaning and having to be forced into writing them. It makes me feel like an elderly aunt.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No! I can't believe I complained about thank-you cards. I've become a bitter old hag. Have you noticed?”

“It sounds more like I've become—” Alice didn't know how to describe the person it seemed she'd become. Insufferable?

“Anyway,” said Elisabeth dismissively. “Your children. Well, Madison is just Madison.” She smiled fondly.

Madison is just Madison. There was a whole world of memories in that sentence. If that world were lost to Alice forever, it would be unbearable.

“Mum always says, ‘Where did we get her from?'” said Elisabeth.

“Okay,” said Alice. This really wasn't helping much.

“Well, ever since she was a baby, she's always been so intense. She feels everything very deeply. On Christmas Eve she'd become almost feverish with excitement, but then she couldn't stand it when Christmas was over. You'd find her sobbing in a corner because she had to wait a whole year for Christmas to come again. What else? She's accident prone. She ran through those French doors last year and had to have forty-two stitches. It was very traumatic. A lot of blood. Apparently, Tom called an ambulance and Olivia fainted. I didn't know it was possible for a five-year-old to faint. But Olivia has a blood phobia. Well, she did. I don't know if she's still got it. Actually, didn't she get all excited about becoming a nurse for a while there? When Mum bought her that nurse's uniform?”

Alice just looked at her.

“I'm sorry,” said Elisabeth, flustered. “I can't imagine how weird this must feel—and I keep forgetting.”

Alice said, “Tell me more about the Sultana. I mean, Madison.”

“Madison likes to cook,” said Elisabeth. “Well, I assume she still does. I believe she's been a bit moody lately. She used to make her own recipes. They were good, too. Except the kitchen always looked like a bomb had exploded and she wasn't so good at the cleaning up part. Also she was a bit of a prima donna about her cooking. If the recipe didn't turn out exactly the way she wanted, she'd cry. I once saw her throw this triple-layer chocolate cake she'd spent hours decorating in the bin. You went
ballistic.
”

“I did?” Alice tried to readjust yet again to this new picture of herself. She never got angry. She was more of a sulker.

“Well, apparently you'd gone on some special shopping trip to find exactly the right ingredients for this cake, so I don't really blame you.”

“Madison sounds like one of the Flakes,” said Alice. It had never occurred to her before that Nick's sisters' genes could infiltrate her child. She had always assumed that if she had a daughter, it would be a miniature version of herself, a fresh new Alice she could improve upon, maybe with Nick's eyes thrown in for interest.

“No, she's not like the Flakes,” said Elisabeth definitely. “She's just Madison.”

Alice pressed her palms to her stomach and thought about how fiercely she and Nick had loved the Sultana. It had been such clean, simple, almost narcissistic love. Now the Sultana ran through glass doors and threw cakes in the bin and made Alice “ballistic.” It was all so much more complex and chaotic than she'd ever imagined.

“And Tom? What's he like?”

“He's smart,” said Elisabeth. “And surprisingly witty at times. He's a suspicious kid. You can't put anything over him. He goes and checks it up on the Internet. He gets obsessed with things and learns everything there is to know about them. It was dinosaurs for a while. And then roller coasters. I don't know what he's into at the moment. He does really well at school. He gets awards, and he's class captain. That sort of thing.”

“That's good,” said Alice.

“It was probably a relief after Madison.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh. Well, it's just that Madison has always had problems at school. ‘Behavioral problems' you call them.”

“Right.”

“But I think you've got it all under control. I haven't heard of any dramas for a while.”

Dramas. Alice had a life with “dramas.”

“And then there's Olivia,” said Elisabeth. “She's just one of those children everyone adores. When we took her out when she was a baby, people used to stop you in the street to compliment you. Even serious middle-aged businessmen rushing along to meetings would smile when they saw Olivia sitting in the stroller. It was like being with a celebrity, heads turning everywhere. And she's still so cute. We keep waiting for her to turn into a monster, but she doesn't. She's very loving—maybe too loving. I remember her squatting down in the kitchen saying, ‘Hello, little fella,' and we all looked down and saw she was trying to pat a cockroach. Mum nearly dropped dead on the spot.”

Elisabeth stopped talking and yawned enormously.

“You'd probably describe them differently,” she said, and her tone was defensive. “You're their mother.”

Alice was thinking about the first time she'd set eyes on Nick. She was wearing a striped apron, sitting on a high stool at a long counter, ready to learn Thai cooking. Her friend Sophie was meant to be there but she'd twisted her ankle and missed the first class. Nick came in late with a girl who Alice assumed was his girlfriend but later turned out to be the flakiest of his sisters, Ella. When they walked in, they were both laughing, and Alice, who was newly, sadly single, was immensely irritated. Typical. Here comes another happy, laughing, loving couple. Alice remembered how her eyes had met Nick's as he looked about the class for free spots (while Ella gazed reverently and weirdly at the ceiling, entranced for some reason by the ceiling fan). Nick had raised his bushy eyebrows questioningly and Alice had smiled politely, thinking yes, yes, fine, come and sit here, lovebirds, and let's make boring conversation.

There had been another free spot at the front of the class. If her eyes hadn't met his, if she'd looked down at the fish cakes recipe in front of her, or if Sophie had walked two centimeters to the left and therefore missed twisting her ankle in that pothole, or if they had decided to do the wine tasting course instead, which they very nearly did, then those three children would never have been born. Madison Love. Thomas Love. Olivia Love. Three little individuals who already had their own personalities and quirks and stories.

The moment Nick raised his hairy eyebrows in her direction, they all got their stamps of approval. Yes, yes, yes, you will exist.

Alice was filled with elation. It was amazing. Of course, a billion babies were born every second or something, so it wasn't that amazing, but still. Why weren't they just overcome with joy every time they
looked
at those kids? Why in the world were they divorcing?

She said, “So, Nick and I are fighting over custody of the children?” Such a grown-up, alien concept.

“Nick wants them with him half the time. We don't know how Nick thinks he can do it, when he works such long hours. You've always been their ‘primary caregiver,' as they say. But it's all got—well, it's all turned so nasty. I guess it's just the nature of divorce.”

“But does Nick think—” Alice was overwhelmed with hurt. “Does he think I'm not a good mother?”
And was she a good mother?

Elisabeth lifted her chin and her eyes flashed like the old Elisabeth. “Well, if he thinks that, he's wrong, and we'll have a million witnesses ready to stand up in court and say otherwise. You're a
great
mother. Don't worry. He's not going to win. He hasn't got a chance. I don't know what he's trying to prove. It's just a power game for him, I think.”

It was confusing because although it gave Alice pleasure to see Elisabeth angry on her behalf, at the same time she felt automatic loyalty for Nick. Elisabeth had always adored Nick. If Alice and Nick ever had an argument, Elisabeth took Nick's side. He was a “catch,” she said.

Elisabeth was getting herself worked up. “I mean, it's just so
stupid
. He doesn't know the first thing about looking after them. He doesn't cook. I doubt he's ever used the washing machine. He's always traveling, anyway. He's just so—”

Alice held up her hand to make her stop. She said, “I expect it's just that he can't stand the idea of being a part-time dad like his own father. He used to hate it when Roger came to take him and his sisters out. He said Roger always tried too hard, you can just imagine, and it was awkward and strange, and the girls squabbled and took advantage of his credit card. Whenever we go out to a restaurant and Nick sees a man alone with his children, he always says, ‘Divorced dad,' and shudders. I mean—that's what he did. Ten years ago.”