What Alice Forgot (14 page)

Alice would be nodding helplessly, taking shallow breaths so she didn’t feel sick from the scent of his aftershave, until Nick would appear, saying, “Methinks the lady needs a drink, Dad.”

And what about Nick? What would he think about this development? He had such a weird, fragile relationship with his father. He imitated him mercilessly behind his back and there was something close to hatred in his voice when Nick spoke about the way his dad had treated his mother during their divorce, but at the same time Alice noticed that whenever he was in Roger’s company, his voice would become deeper, his shoulders squarer, and he would often casually bring up some big deal he’d negotiated at work, or some other accomplishment that Alice didn’t even know about, as if deep down he still wanted his dad’s approval, even though he would have denied this vehemently, angrily even.

Alice couldn’t think what his reaction would be to this news. And didn’t it mean she and Nick were
related
? He was her stepbrother! Her first thought was that she and Nick would have laughed themselves silly over that, turned it into a stupid game, made lecherous remarks about incest, and pretended they were Greg and Marcia Brady. But maybe it hadn’t been funny at all. He might have been angry on behalf of his mother, even though his mother seemed to treat her ex-husband like a bumbling distant uncle.

And what about Nick’s sisters, the Flakes? Oh God, the Flakes. Nick’s nutty sisters were now her stepsisters. There was no way they would have reacted calmly to this news; they didn’t react calmly to anything—they fainted, they sobbed, they stopped talking to each other, they were offended by the most innocuous comments. There was always at least one sister in the middle of a crisis. Alice had never realized family life could be so dramatic until she met Nick’s family, with all those sisters, in-laws, boyfriends, aunties, and cousins by the dozen. Her own quiet, polite, mini-sized family had seemed boring and sedate in comparison.

Alice said, “Is this why Nick and I are . . . ? Because he’s upset about his dad marrying Mum?”

“Of course not!” Her mother was reenergized. “This divorce is a terrible mystery to all of us, but it’s certainly got nothing to do with Roger and me! Roger would be devastated to hear you even thought about such a thing. Of course Roger does have his own theories about the divorce—”

Elisabeth cut in. “Mum and Roger got together years ago. You and Nick were a bit funny about it at the time, and the Flakes were all in hysterics of course, but it settled down and nobody thinks twice about it now. I promise you, Alice, all these things that seem so shocking aren’t really that shocking. When you get your memory back, you’ll be laughing at yourself.”

Alice did not want to get back a self who thought there was nothing shocking about the fact that she and Nick were divorcing; she couldn’t believe how casually her mother had referred to “the divorce,” as if it were something solid and real, as if it were a
thing
.

“Well, I’m not getting a divorce anymore, actually,” said Alice. “There is no divorce.”

“Oh!” Her mother clasped her hands together rapturously, as if in prayer. “Oh, but that’s wonderful—”

“Mum!” Elisabeth said. “You must promise not to say one word about that to Roger or anybody else. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“I do so,” said Alice. She felt a bit drunk. “You can tell the whole world, Mum. Tell Roger. Tell the Flakes. Tell our three children. There is no divorce. Nick and I will work out whatever this thing is.”

“Wonderful!” cried Barb. “I’m so happy!”

“You will not think this is wonderful when you get your memory back,” said Elisabeth. “You’ve got legal proceedings going on. Jane Turner will have heart failure if you start doing this.”

“Jane Turner?” said Alice. “What’s Jane Turner got to do with the price of fish?”

“Jane is your lawyer,” said Elisabeth.

“A lawyer? She’s not a lawyer.” A memory flitted into Alice’s head of some guy losing an argument with Jane at work and saying, “You should have been a lawyer,” and Jane had said, “Yes, I’m perfectly aware of that.”

“She got her law degree years ago and now she specializes in divorce,” said Elisabeth. “She’s helping you—ah, divorce Nick.”

“Oh.” How ridiculous, how
stupid
, that Jane Turner was helping her “divorce Nick.” “A little Jane goes a very long way,” Nick once said, and Alice agreed. How could Jane Turner have anything to do with their lives?

“You and Nick are in the middle of a custody battle,” said Elisabeth. “It’s really serious.”

Custody battle. It sounded like “custardy” battle. Alice imagined herself and Nick flinging spoonfuls of sweet yellow custard at each other, laughing and shrieking and licking it off afterward.

Presumably a custody battle wasn’t as much fun as a custardy battle.

“Well, that’s off, too,” pronounced Alice. (Why in the world would she want “custody” of three children she’d never met! She wanted Nick.) “We don’t need a custody battle because we’re not getting a divorce, and that’s final.”

“Hooray!” said her mother. “I’m so glad you’ve lost your memory. This accident is going to turn out to be a blessing in disguise.”

“Well, there’s only one tiny problem with all that, isn’t there?” said Elisabeth.

“What?”

“Nick has still got his memory.”

Chapter 10

“
N
ick?” said Alice.

“Sorry, sweetie, it’s just me again,” said the nurse.

They were waking her every hour to check on her and shine the light in her pupils and ask the same questions over and over. “Alice Mary Love. Royal North Shore Hospital. Hurt my head,” Alice mumbled. The nurse chuckled. “Well done. Sorry about this. Go back to sleep now.”

Alice slept and dreamed of nurses waking her up. “Wake up! It’s time for your salsa-dancing lesson!” said a nurse with a huge hat that was actually a profiterole cake. “I dreamed we were getting a divorce,” said Alice to Nick. “And we had three children, and Mum married your dad, and Elisabeth was so sad.” “Why the
fuck
would I care?” said Nick. Alice gasped and sucked her thumb. Nick peeled a piece of red confetti off his neck and showed it to her. He said, “Only joking!”

“Nick?” said Alice.

“I do not love you anymore because you still suck your thumb.”

“But I don’t!” Alice was so embarrassed she could die.

“What’s your name?” shouted a nurse, but this was another one that couldn’t be real because she was floating through the air, holding on to bouquets of pink balloons. Alice ignored her.

“Me again,” said a nurse.

“Nick?” said Alice. “I’ve got a headache. Such a bad headache.”

“No, it’s not Nick. It’s Sarah.”

“You’re not a real nurse. You’re another dream nurse.”

“Actually, I’m a real one. Can you open your eyes and tell me your name?”

Elisabeth’s Homework for Dr. Hodges

Hi, me again, Dr. Hodges. It’s 3:30 a.m. and sleep feels like something impossible and stupid that only other people do. I woke up thinking of Alice and how she said to me, “You’re such a good big sister.”

I’m not. I’m not at all.

We still care about each other, of course we do. It’s not that. We’d never forget each other’s birthdays. In fact, there’s a weird sort of silent competition going on to see who can give the best present each year, as if we’re always jostling for the role of most generous, thoughtful sister. We see each other pretty regularly. We still have a laugh. We’re just the same as a million sisters. So I don’t even know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s just that it isn’t the same as when we were younger. But that’s just life, isn’t it, Dr. Hodges? Relationships don’t stay the same. There isn’t
time
. Ask Alice! She converted to the role of busy North Shore Mum like it was a religion.

Maybe if I’d been more vigilant? Perhaps it was my responsibility as the older sister to keep us on track.

But the only way I’ve been able to get through the last seven years is by wrapping myself up like a package with a tighter and tighter string. It’s so tight that if I’m talking about anything (other than how to write the perfect direct-mail package), I feel as though there is something constricting my throat, as if my mouth doesn’t open wide enough for proper, unthinking conversation.

The problem is the rage. It’s permanently simmering, even when I’m not aware of it. If I hurt myself unexpectedly, or drop a punnet of blueberries all over the kitchen floor, it bubbles over like boiling milk. You should have heard the primeval scream of rage when I banged my forehead against an open cupboard door the other day when I was unpacking the dishwasher. I sat on the kitchen floor with my back against the fridge and sobbed for twenty minutes. It’s pretty embarrassing.

Before Alice and Nick split up, I sometimes felt there were unforgivable words hovering on the tip of my tongue whenever I spoke to Alice, words like: “You think the world begins and ends with you and your perfect little family and your perfect little life and you think stress is finding the perfectly color-coordinated cushions for your new $10,000 sofa.”

And I feel like scribbling those things out because they’re nasty and not even true. I don’t think those things at all, but I could have said them, I could still say them, and if I did, those words would have been there in both our memories forever. So it was safer to say nothing and pretend, and she knew I was pretending and she pretended too, and then we forgot how to be real with each other.

That’s why when she called me to say that Nick had moved out, it was as shocking as a death. I had no idea, no inkling they were having troubles. There was the indisputable evidence that we didn’t share secrets anymore. I should have known what was going on in her life. She should have been asking me for wise, sisterly advice. But she didn’t. So I’ve let her down as much as she let me down.

And that’s why, when I got the news about Gina, I couldn’t think what the right thing was to do. Should I phone Alice? Should I drive straight over? Should I call and ask first? I couldn’t think what Alice would want. I was worrying about the right etiquette, as if this was someone I didn’t know very well. And OF COURSE I should have driven straight to her, for God’s sake. What was wrong with me that I even had to think about it?

As we were walking out of the hospital, Mum said to me in a diffident, un-Mumlike voice, “I guess she doesn’t remember anything about Gina, either, does she?” And I said, “I guess not.” Neither of us knew what to say about that.

How do you find the thread that started it all and follow it all the way back through the tangles of phone calls and Christmases and kids’ parties, right back to the beginning when we were just Alice and Libby Jones? Do you know, Dr. Hodges?

Anyway . . . maybe I should try and sleep.

No. Can’t even fake a yawn.

Tomorrow I’m going to the hospital to pick up Alice and take her home. They’re expecting to discharge her by 10. She just seemed to take it for granted that I would be the one to come and get her. If she were her normal self, she would be making a point of not relying on me. She only takes favors from other school mums, because they can be repaid with complicated playdate arrangements involving their children.

I wonder if she’ll have her memory back by tomorrow. I wonder if she will feel embarrassed by the things she said this afternoon, especially about Nick. I wonder if that was her real self, or her old self, or just a confused, banged-on-the-head self. Deep down, is she devastated about the divorce? Was that a glimpse of what she’s really feeling? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

The doctor I spoke to seems confident that she’ll have her memory back by the morning. She was one of the nicer doctors I’ve met in my years of doctors. She actually looked me in the eyes and waited till I’d finished speaking before she spoke. But I could tell she was just focused on the fact that Alice’s CT scan didn’t show any sign of what she called “intracranial bleeding.” She blinked a bit when I said Alice doesn’t remember the existence of her own children, but she said people can have a wide variety of responses to concussion and that rest was the best thing. She said as her injury heals, her memory will come back. She seemed to be implying that they’d already gone above and beyond what they’d do in a normal concussion case by keeping her overnight for observation.

I felt strangely guilty leaving Alice there at the hospital. She seems so much younger. That’s the thing about this I couldn’t seem to get across to the doctor. It’s not just Alice being confused. It’s like I am
literally
talking to 29-year-old Alice. Even the way she talks is different. It’s slower and softer and less careful. She’s just saying whatever comes into her head.