What Alice Forgot (34 page)

I was eating corn chips and watching a woman experiencing the worst moment of her life.

I have no right to be sad about anything. No right to have therapy from expensive doctors like you for losing children who never existed. There is real grief in the world. There are real mothers losing real children. I make myself sick.

And that’s when Ben said, “Lots of children must have lost their parents.” He said it solemnly, but also with a definite hint of cheer. As in, hey, how handy! Lots of dead parents! Lots of spare kids up for grabs! Maybe a cute little violin player is crawling out of the rubble right now. Jesus.

I said, “Yes, isn’t this cyclone
great
!”

He said, “Don’t be like that.”

And suddenly I was screaming, “I would have adopted! I would have! I would have! But YOU SAID NO. You said you were psychologically damaged by being adopted, you said—”

And he interrupted and said, “I never EVER used the words ‘psychologically damaged.’”

Which is true. But he implied it.

I said, “You did so.” I mean he might as well have said it, Jeremy.

He said, “Bullshit.”

I really hate that word. He knows that. And it doesn’t even make sense. A bull’s shit.

Then he said, and this is the kicker, Jeremy, he said, “I thought it was
you
who didn’t want to adopt.”

After my head stopped exploding, I said, “Why would you think that?”

He said, “Whenever people asked us about it, you’d get so angry with them. You’d say we want our own biological child.”

I said, “But I was saying that because of you. Because you’d been so against it in the beginning.”

He said, “I was against it, but then after we kept losing the pregnancies, it seemed the obvious thing to do, but I didn’t want to bring it up because the idea seemed to upset you so much.”

So there you go. How’s that for great communication in a marriage?

It reminds me of that television show where they investigate airplane crashes. Sometimes a major disaster happens because of the tiniest, most stupid error.

I said, “Anyway, it’s too late now.”

He said, “It’s not.”

I said, “I’m not adopting. I’m too tired.”

It’s true, Jeremy. It has occurred to me recently that for the last few years I have been in a permanent state of tiredness. I’m so tired of trying and trying and trying. I don’t have anything left. I’m done. I would like to go to sleep for a year or two.

I said, “We’re not going to be parents. It’s over.”

And after a while of him munching corn chips (energetically grinding them with his teeth like a guinea pig), he said, “So are we just going to sit around and watch TV for the rest of our lives?”

And I said, “Suits me.”

He got up and left the room.

Now we’re not talking. I haven’t seen him since. But I know when he comes back, we won’t talk. Or if we do, we’ll talk very, very politely and coldly—which is the same as not talking.

Right now, I feel . . . nothing.

Nothing at all.

A huge, empty, endless nothing that I am filling up with corn chips and
Australia’s Funniest Home Videos
.

Chapter 22

T
he Love family was sitting around the dinner table. There had been an awkward moment when Alice went to sit in Olivia’s place, but Nick saved her by jerking his chin at the place opposite.

The children had become wriggly and giggly, almost as if they were drunk. They seemed unable to sit still. They were sliding off their chairs, constantly knocking cutlery onto the floor, and talking in high-pitched voices over the top of one another. Alice didn’t know if this was normal behavior or not. It wasn’t exactly relaxing. Nick had his jaw clenched, as if this dinner were a horrible medical procedure he had to endure.

“I
knew
you wouldn’t remember that you promised I could make lasagna.” Madison poked disgustedly at her hamburger.

“She’s got amnesia, stupid,” said Tom thickly, his mouth amazingly full.

“Manners,” said Alice automatically, and then caught herself. Did she just say, “Manners”? What did that even mean?

“Oh, yeah,” said Madison. She turned her dark eyes on Alice. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Alice said, and dropped her eyes first. The kid could be sort of scary.

“What’s for dessert, Mummy?” said Olivia. She was kicking the table leg rhythmically as she ate. “Maybe ice cream? Or I know, Chocolate Mush?”

“What’s Chocolate Mush?” asked Alice.

“Oh, silly, you know that!” said Olivia.

Tom slapped his hand against his forehead. “You girls! She’s got amnesia!”

“Mummy, darling,” said Olivia. “Is it gone now? Your am—thing? Because maybe you could take an aspirin? I could get it for you? I could get it for you now!”

She pushed her chair back from the table.

“Eat your dinner, Olivia,” said Nick.

“Daddy,” groaned Olivia. “I’m trying to
help
.”

“As if an aspirin is going to help,” said Tom. “She probably needs an operation. Like brain surgery. By a brain surgeon. I saw a brain surgeon on television the other night.” He brightened. “Hey! I would like to dissect a mouse and see its brain, as well as its intestines! With a scalpel. That would be excellent.”

“Oh my
God
.” Madison put down her knife and fork and put her head on the table. “That is making me sick. I am so going to be sick.”

“Stop it,” said Nick.

“This is a mouse’s brain, Madison.” Tom squished his fork into his hamburger meat. “Chop, chop, chop, mousie’s brain!”

“Make him stop!” wailed Madison.

“Tom,” sighed Nick.

“So!” said Alice. “How was the Aquatic Center today?”

Madison lifted her head from the table and said to Alice, “Did you remember that you and Dad were getting a divorce? After you hit your head? Did you remember that?”

Nick made a strangled, helpless sound.

Alice considered the question. “No,” she said. “I didn’t.”

No one spoke. Olivia banged her knife against her plate. Tom twisted his arm over and frowned ferociously at something on his elbow. There were spots of crimson on Madison’s cheekbones.

“So do you still love Dad?” said Madison. There was a slight tremor in her voice. She sounded much younger.

“Alice,” said Nick warningly, at the same time as Alice said, “Yes, of course I do.”

“Can Daddy come home, then?” Olivia looked up, elated. “And sleep in his own bed again!”

“Okay, time for a change of subject,” said Nick. He avoided Alice’s eyes.

“They’d fight too much,” said Tom.

“What do we fight about?” asked Alice, greedy for facts.

“Oh, I don’t
know
,” said Tom irritably. “You said that’s why you couldn’t live together anymore. Because you fight too much. Even though I still have to live with my stupid sisters and we fight all the time. So it wasn’t even logical.”

“You fight about Gina,” said Madison.

“Don’t talk about Gina!” said Olivia. “It makes me sad. It’s an absolute
tragedy
.”

“R.I.P. ,” said Tom. “That’s what you say when you talk about someone who has died. It means rest in peace. You have to say it whenever you hear their name.”

“Why did we fight about Gina?” asked Alice.

“R.I.P.!” cried Tom, as if he were saying “snap!”

“So, the Aquatic Center was a lot of fun,” said Nick. “Wasn’t it, kids?”

“Well,” said Madison. “I think Dad thought you liked Gina better than him.”

“R.I.P.!” shouted Tom and Olivia.

“Oh shut up!” said Madison. “Someone dying is not funny!”

Alice looked at Nick. His face looked red and raw, like windburn. She couldn’t tell whether it meant he was angry or embarrassed. Goodness. Had
she
had some sort of torrid lesbian affair with Gina?

“You fight about the American Expense a lot,” said Tom.

“American
Express
,” said Madison.

“American Expense works for me.” Nick lifted his wineglass in a mocking sort of salute but he still didn’t look at Alice.

“Once you had a really extremely big fight about
me
,” said Olivia with satisfaction.

“Why?” asked Alice.

“Oh, you remember.” Olivia looked wary. “That day. At the beach.”

“For the twenty-billionth time, she doesn’t remember!” said Tom.

“Olivia got lost,” said Madison. “The police came. You were crying.” She gave Alice a malicious look. “Like this: ‘Olivia! Olivia! My daughter! Where is my
daughter
?’” She buried her face in her hands and pretended to sob dramatically.

“Did I?” Alice felt ridiculously hurt by Madison’s act.

“Just in case you’re wondering,” said Madison, “Olivia is your favorite child.”

“Your mother doesn’t have favorites,” said Nick.

Did she? She hoped not.

“When I was pregnant with you, Madison,” said Alice, “your Dad and I called you the Sultana. Did you know that? Because you were as tiny as a sultana.”

“You never told me that.” Madison looked doubtful.

“What did you call
me
?” asked Olivia.

“Really? I never told you that?” said Alice.

Madison turned to Nick. “Is that true? Did you call me the Sultana?”

“Your Dad spoke to you through a toilet roll on my tummy,” said Alice. “He said, ‘Ahoy there, Sultana! It’s me! Your father!’ ”

Madison smiled. Alice stared. It was the most exquisite smile she had ever seen. She felt a shot of love so powerful, it hurt her chest.

She looked down at her plate and a memory dropped straight into her head.

She was in a car filled with gold, filmy light. There was a smell of salt and seaweed. Her neck hurt. She turned around to check the baby. Miracle. She was asleep. Fat pink cheeks. Long lashes. Her head lolling against the side of the car seat. As Alice watched, a bar of light fell across her face. Her eyes fluttered open and she yawned and stretched sleepily. Then she caught sight of Alice and her whole face lit up with a huge, surprised grin, as if to say, “Hey! I can’t believe it! You’re here, too!” There was a sudden loud, rumbling snore from the driver’s seat and the baby looked startled. “It’s okay,” said Alice. “It’s just Daddy.”

“The baby wouldn’t sleep.” Alice looked at Nick. “She wouldn’t sleep unless we were driving.”

Nick kept shoveling food into his mouth and looked straight ahead.

Alice stared at Madison and blinked. The angry, strange little girl at the table was the baby. The giggling baby in the car was the Sultana.

“We drove all through the night,” said Alice to Madison. “Every time we stopped you screamed.”

“I know,” said Madison. She was sullen again. “And you drove me all the way to Manly and you stopped in the car park and you and Daddy and me all fell asleep in the car, and then you took me on the beach and I rolled over for the first time. Whatever.”

“Yes!” said Alice excitedly—she remembered. “The baby rolled over on the picnic rug! We got takeaway coffees from that place with the blue awning. And toasted ham-and-cheese sandwiches.”

It felt like yesterday and it felt like a million years ago.

“I slept through the night when I was eight weeks old,” said Olivia. “Didn’t I, Mum? I was a gold-star sleeper.”

“Just—shhhh,” said Alice, holding up her hand, trying to focus. She could see that morning so clearly. The baby’s striped suit. Nick’s unshaven face and red eyes. A seagull white and squawky against a very blue sky. They were so tired, they were light-headed. The blessed feeling of the caffeine hitting her bloodstream. They were parents. They were filled with the wonder and the horror, the bliss and the exhaustion of being parents.

“Mummy,” whined Olivia.

If she remembered that day, she should be able to feel her way back to when Madison was born. And she should be able to feel her way forward to the day that Nick packed his bags and left.

“Mummy,” said Olivia again.
Oh, please be QUIET.
She groped about in the dark but there was nothing else.