What Alice Forgot (33 page)

This was meant to be her grown-up relationship. The one that lasted forever.

She put her wineglass on the coffee table and turned to face him. “Just tell me why we’re getting a divorce. Please.”

“That’s an impossible question to answer. There are a million reasons. And you’d probably give a million different reasons.”

“Well, just sort of . . . sum it up.”

“In twenty-five words or less.”

“Yes, please.”

He smiled slightly and it was the real Nick again. He kept appearing and disappearing.

He said, “Well, I guess—” and then he stopped and bowed his head. “Oh, Alice.” An expression of pure misery crossed his face.

It was too much for Alice. Her instinct was to comfort him, and she wanted to be comforted herself, and it was
Nick
, for heaven’s sake.

She launched herself across the room and into his arms and buried her face in his chest, breathing in deeply. It was still Nick. He still smelled exactly like himself.

“Whatever went wrong, we’ll fix it,” she babbled. “We’ll get counseling. We’ll go on a nice holiday somewhere!” She was inspired. “With the
children
! They can come too!
Our
children! How fun would that be? Or we’ll just hang around here. Swim in the pool. The pool! I love the pool! How did we ever afford that? I guess with your new job. Do you like the job? I couldn’t believe it! You’ve got your own personal assistant. She wasn’t very nice to me, but that’s okay, I don’t mind.”

“Alice.”

He wasn’t hugging her back. The words kept tumbling out of her mouth. She could talk her way out of this.

“I’m skinny, aren’t I? I might even be too skinny. What do you think? How did I get so skinny? Did I give up chocolate? I can’t find any chocolate in the whole house. My password is ‘oregano.’ Weird. Hey, why isn’t Mrs. Bergen talking to me? Did I offend her? Elisabeth seems mad at me, too. But you still love me, don’t you? You must still love me.”

“Stop it.” He held on to her shoulders and pushed her gently away.

“Because we have three children. And I still love you.”

“No, Alice.” He shook his head sternly, as if she were a toddler about to touch an electrical socket.

“What are you two fighting about this time?” Alice and Nick turned to see Madison leaning against the door frame. She must have had a shower. She was wearing a dressing gown, her face was scrubbed, and her hair was wet, pulled back from her face.

“Oh, you look so beautiful,” said Alice involuntarily.

Madison’s face changed, became ugly with rage.

“Why do you always say such stupid, retarded things?”

“Madison!” boomed Nick. “Do not speak to your mother like that.”

“Well, she
is
! Anyway, I heard you say to Auntie Ella that Mum was a hard bitch, so why are you pretending to like her? I know you hate her.”

Alice caught her breath.

“I do
not
hate your mother,” said Nick. Alice could see tension pulling the skin around his mouth tight. He looked so old.

“You do so hate her,” said Madison.

“He
does not
hate Mum!” It was Tom. He punched Madison in the arm. “I hate
you
.”

“Tom!” snapped Nick.

“Owwww!” Madison clutched her arm, her knees collapsed beneath her, and she fell in a heap on the floor. “He
hit
me. You’re not meant to hit girls. That is domestic violence. That is violence against women.”

“You’re not a woman,” sneered Tom. “You’re just a stupid girl.”

Madison kicked viciously at Tom’s leg. Tom threw back his head and howled. He looked at Alice, his face bright red and filled with righteous fury. “Mum, did you see how hard she kicked me? I only punched her a little bit!”

“A little bit?” Madison pulled up the sleeve of her dressing gown. “What’s that? That is a mark! There will be a bruise! A huge bruise.”

“Goodness,” breathed Alice. She picked up her wineglass and looked around for some grown-up to take control.

“I think I should go,” said Nick.

“Are you kidding?” said Alice. “You can’t leave me with them!”

Madison and Tom now appeared to be trying to kill each other. They were wrestling like rabid cats on the floor. There was kicking, hair-pulling, and ear-piercing screams of rage. It was remarkable.

“Do they do this a lot?” asked Alice. She stuck her fingers in her ears. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so much fun going on holidays with them.”

Nick laughed, a surprised guffaw that he stopped short.

Alice said, “Did you really tell Ella I was a hard bitch?”

She paused. “Am I a hard bitch?”

Nick walked over to the children and grabbed the back of Tom’s T-shirt in one hand. He wrenched him up in the air and carried him over to the couch and dropped him. Then he turned back to Madison and said, “Go to your room.”

“Me? But
he
started it! He punched me first! That’s not justice!
Mum?
”

Madison sat upright, her back against the wall, and looked at Alice imploringly.

At that moment Olivia came running into the room, wearing only a T-shirt and underpants dotted with pictures of strawberries. “Mummy, where are my shorts? I mean the denim ones. And don’t say, ‘Have I looked in the drawer?’ because yes, I have looked, for ages and ages, and yes, actually, I did use my eyes.” She pirouetted on the spot with her arms held gracefully above her head.

“You’re very good at that,” said Alice, glad of the distraction.

“Yes, I am pretty good,” sighed Oliva, as if it were quite a responsibility. She lifted one skinny brown leg and admired her pointed toe. A thought struck her. “Mum, who is going to take me to the Family Talent Night concert at Frannie’s retirement city? You or Daddy? Which house will I be sleeping in?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” said Alice.

“We only sleep at Dad’s place on weekends.” Madison looked sharply at Alice. “Olivia’s concert is on Wednesday night, right?”

“Well, that must be right then, Madison,” said Alice.

“I’m so hungry,” sighed Tom from the couch. “When is dinner? Mum? Excuse me, please, when is dinner? I think my blood sugar has dropped.”

“Okay, Tom—”

“Why are you saying our names all the time?” interrupted Madison.

“Oh, sorry, I just—sorry.”

Madison said, “You don’t remember us, do you?”

Tom sat up straight on the couch and Olivia stopped twirling.

“She doesn’t even know who we are,” Madison told them.

Chapter 21

A
lice pursed her lips together in the manner of a stern, distracted mother and tried not to let the panic show.

“Of course I know who you are,” she said to Madison. “Don’t be silly.”

“How could Mum not remember us?” Olivia put her hands on her hips and stuck her stomach out. “Madison? What does that mean?”

Madison gave her a bored, superior look. “Mum fell over and hit her head at the gym. I heard Auntie Libby telling Uncle Ben she’d lost ten years of her memory. Well, guess what? We weren’t born ten years ago!”

“Yes, but so—she still knows who we are! We’re her
children
!” Olivia seemed both agitated and excited.

“Okay, why don’t you kids watch some TV,” said Nick. “Or PlayStation? And maybe it’s time you stopped eavesdropping on grown-up conversations, Madison.”

“I was not eavesdropping! I was just
there
! In the kitchen! Getting some juice out of the fridge. What am I meant to do? Walk around like this?” She stuck her fingers in her ears.

“Amnesia,” said Tom. “That’s called amnesia. Is that what you’ve got, Mum?”

“Your mother is perfectly fine,” said Nick.

“Mum?” said Tom.

“We’ll do a test,” said Madison. “Ask her some questions.”

“Like what?” said Olivia.

“I know!” Tom put his hand up as if he were in school. “I know! Okay, Mum, what is my favorite food?”

“French fries,” said Nick. “Now that’s enough.”

“That’s wrong!” cried Tom. “It’s chicken schnitzel. Sometimes. Or otherwise sushi.”

“Well, there you go, I’ve got amnesia, too. Now that’s enough.”

“My favorite food is chicken schnitzel, too,” commented Olivia.

“It is not,” said Tom. “Think of your own thing! You copy every single thing I do.”

“What’s my teacher’s name, Mum?” said Madison.

“Now that’s enough,” repeated Nick.

“Oh! I know that one!” Alice managed to stop herself from putting her hand up. She’d seen a notice on the fridge door about a Year 5 excursion with a teacher’s name on it. “Mrs. Ollaway! I mean Alloway. Ollaway? Something like that.”

There was an ominous silence.

“Mrs.
Holloway
is the deputy principal,” said Madison quietly, in the tone of one pointing out an incredibly foolish, potentially dangerous mistake.

“Oh, yes, of course, that’s what I meant,” said Alice humbly.

“You didn’t,” said Madison.

“When’s my birthday, Mum?” asked Tom, and he pointed a warning finger at his father. “Don’t you answer for her!”

“Right!” Nick clapped his hands together and made a loud hollow sound. “Your mother had an accident and she’s a bit muddled about some things, that’s all. She needs you all to be extra helpful and extra quiet. She doesn’t need you interrogating her. So I want all three of you setting the table now.”

Olivia came and stood beside Alice and slipped a hand in hers. She whispered, “You know that my birthday is twentieth June, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, darling,” said Alice, and suddenly she felt like a mother. “That’s the day you were born. I could never ever forget that.”

She looked up and saw Madison standing in the hallway, staring at her with fierce concentration.

“You’re lying,” she said.

Elisabeth’s Homework for Dr. Hodges

Dear Doctor Hodges,

You know what? I’m going to give in and call you by your first name. I was remembering today how you made such a point of it at our first session. “Jeremy,” you said firmly each time I said “Dr. Hodges.” You probably don’t like your name. I don’t blame you. Hodges is a plump, greasy name, and you’re not plump and greasy. You’re actually quite good-looking, which I find distracting. Your nice looks keep reminding me that you’re a real person, and I don’t want you to be a real person. Real people don’t have the answers. They make mistakes. They say things with great authority and they’re
wrong
.

But anyway, whatever, I’m officially taking you off your pedestal.

How are you, anyway, Jeremy? What are you doing this Sunday night? Are you drinking red wine with your pretty, fertile wife while she prepares a roast dinner and you help those fair-haired kids with their homework? Is the house warm and toasty and smelling of garlic and rosemary?

There is no roast dinner in the oven here. There is no conversation. There is only the sound of the television. There is always the sound of the television. I can’t stand to turn it off. I can’t stand the silence. “Couldn’t we just play some music?” Ben says. No. I want TV. I want gunshots and canned laughter and dog food commercials. Nothing seems too tragic when the television is blaring. (I lived for two years without a television when I was in my twenties. How did I do that? Now it’s like a narcotic.)

So, what did I want to tell you? Oh yes. Ben. We’re fighting.

On the way home from Alice’s place today, Ben started telling me about some man he’d met at last night’s party. I’d seen them talking while I was chatting with Alice’s new boyfriend, who, by the by, is sweet and awkward. It made me feel a bit weird. As if I was being unfaithful to Nick. But I liked him. Anyway, I thought, oh good, Ben’s found someone to talk about cars.

But no.

They were talking about infertility and adoption. Suddenly Ben is the sort of guy who reveals details of his personal life to strangers at kindergarten cocktail parties. I’ve had him wrong all these years. He’s not the silent, strong, damaged type at all. Oh no.

This guy’s sister went through eleven failed IVF cycles before adopting a baby girl from Thailand and the little girl is a talented violin player and they all lived happily ever after.

Ben got this woman’s number. He’s going to call her. My husband has a zealous new look in his eyes. It’s as if he’s discovered religion or golf. Mr. Never Ever Adopt has become Mr. I Can’t Wait to Adopt.

I asked how many years it took, but Ben didn’t know.

I changed the subject.

Then, tonight, we’re watching the news and they’re showing the cyclone in Burma.

There was a woman wearing a red dress a bit like Alice’s. She was standing in front of a pile of rubble that had once been her daughter’s school. She had a photo of a solemn-faced girl. She looked about Olivia’s age. The mother talked politely in good English to the reporter and explained that the local authorities were doing everything they could. She seemed fine, almost businesslike. The camera moved away. Then it came back and now the mother was writhing on the ground, wailing and biting her knuckles. The reporter explained that she’d just heard that there would be no further rescues from the school because it was too dangerous.