What Alice Forgot (29 page)

She tried to get control of her voice. “He wanted to be there every night for his children, and hear about what they did at school, and make breakfast with them on the weekend. He talked about that a lot. It was like he was going to make up for his own childhood, and I loved it when he talked like that because it was making up for
our
childhood, too, and not having our dad around. He had such lovely, romantic ideas about how we'd be a family. Well, we both did. I can't believe—I can't
believe
—”

She couldn't talk anymore. Elisabeth came over and sat on the couch beside her. She hugged her awkwardly. “Maybe,” she said tentatively. “Maybe this memory loss is sort of a good thing because it will help you see things more objectively without your mind being cluttered with everything that's happened over the last ten years. And once you get your memory back, you'll still have a different perspective and you and Nick will be able to work things out without all the fighting.”

“What if it never comes back?”

“Oh, of course it will come back. You're already remembering bits and pieces,” said Elisabeth.

“Maybe my old self has been sent from the past to stop the divorce,” said Alice only half flippantly. “Maybe I won't get my memory back until I've done that.”

“Possibly!” said Elisabeth too brightly. Then she paused and said, “Dominick seemed nice. Really nice.”

Alice thought of how she'd let Dominick kiss her on this very couch and felt suffused with guilt. She said, “He is perfectly nice. He's just not Nick.”

“No. He's
very
different from Nick.”

Now, what exactly did that mean? Should she be offended on Nick's behalf? Anyway, she wasn't going to have a conversation comparing their pros and cons, as if they were competing boyfriends. Nick was her husband. She changed the subject instead. She said, “Well, speaking of men, I liked Ben.”

“It's funny to hear you talk about him as if you've only just met him.”

“What did Ben mean when he said he'd been thinking about our discussion the other day?” Alice knew there was something controversial about this topic; it was time to get to the bottom of whatever this thing was between her and Elisabeth.

“Ummm.” Elisabeth yawned and stretched. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“No thanks.”

“I'm really thirsty.” She stood up and went into the kitchen. Alice watched her go and wondered if she was pretending not to have heard her.

She came back with the glass of water and sat back down on the single couch in front of Alice.

“It's late,” she said.

“Libby.”

Elisabeth sighed. “On Thursday—the day before your accident—Ben came over to help you with some problem you were having with your car. Except apparently there wasn't really a problem at all. It was a little setup.”

Good grief. What had she done? Alice sat up straight. She could feel her face flushing. Surely she hadn't made a move on her sister's husband? (For one thing, the man was freakishly large.) Had breaking up with Nick sent her over the edge?

“You gave him banana muffins straight out of the oven. He loves your banana muffins.”

Oh my Lord.

“With lots of butter. I never let him have butter. He's got high cholesterol, you know. I mean, you're the health-conscious one.”

She'd
seduced her brother-in-law with butter
. Alice's heart pounded.

“And then you gave him your little speech.”

“Little speech?” said Alice faintly.

“Yes, your little speech about why we should stop IVF and adopt. You had brochures. Application forms. Website addresses. You'd done all this research.”

Alice couldn't get her head around it for a few seconds. Her mind had been filled with horrific images of herself going upstairs to “freshen up” and appearing in red lingerie.

“Adoption,” she repeated confusedly.

“Yes. You think we should pop over to a Third World country like Angelina and Brad and help ourselves to a cute orphan.”

“That was very presumptuous of me,” said Alice sternly, weak with relief that she hadn't tried to seduce Ben. “Meddlesome. Nosey!”

Then again, she thought, wasn't adoption actually a pretty good idea?

“Well,” said Elisabeth. “I was angry. When Ben came home and told me, I rang you and we got into a big argument about it. You think it's time we ‘faced reality.'”

“Did I really say that?”

“Yes.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I guess you meant well. It's just that you made me feel as if you thought I was stupid. As if you would never have let things get so far. As if you would never be so
messy
as to keep having miscarriage after miscarriage. As if, I don't know, as if I've been overly emotional about the whole thing.”

“I'm sorry,” said Alice again. “I'm really sorry.”

“You don't even remember it,” said Elisabeth. “Once you remember it, you'll feel differently. Anyway, I said some pretty nasty things to you.”

“Like what?”

“I'm not saying them again! I didn't even mean them. This lets me off the hook.”

They were silent for a few seconds. Alice said, “Are Angelina and Brad friends of yours?”

Elisabeth snorted. “Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. You've forgotten all your celebrity gossip, too.”

“I thought Brad Pitt was engaged to Gwyneth Paltrow.”

“Ancient history. He's married and divorced Jennifer Aniston since then, and Gwyneth has had a baby called Apple. I'm not kidding. Apple.”

“Oh.” Alice felt unaccountably sad for Brad and Gwyneth. “They seemed happy in the photos.”

“Everyone looks happy in photos.”

“What about Bill and Hillary Clinton?” asked Alice. “Did they stay together?”

“You mean after the Lewinsky thing?” said Elisabeth. “Yes, they did. I don't think anyone even thinks about that much anymore.”

Alice looked at Elisabeth. “So,” she said with wild abandon, “I take it you don't want to adopt a baby?”

Elisabeth smiled a sick sort of a smile. “I would have considered it years ago, but Ben couldn't stand the idea. He's always been ideologically opposed to adoption because he's adopted himself, and his mother is—difficult. He didn't have a great childhood. My charming mother-in-law told him that his real mother couldn't afford to keep him, so Ben saved up his money. He thought once he had a hundred dollars, he could write to his real mum to tell her he could be self-supporting now, so could she please take him back. On his birthday he always ran to the letterbox, thinking that maybe this year, out of the blue, his real mum might decide to send him a card.

“He thought his baby photos were ugly—he was a funny-looking baby— and he wondered if maybe his real mother hadn't liked the look of him when he was born. He always felt that his parents wished they had chosen a smaller, smarter son. He'd spent his whole childhood keeping his room tidy, not saying much, feeling like a big clumsy visitor in his own home. It breaks my heart to think of it. When you were saying earlier that Nick wanted to be a good father to make up for his own father leaving, well, Ben was similar. He wanted his own biological child. He wanted to have someone who looked like him, who had the same eyes or whatever. And I was so looking forward to giving him that. I so badly wanted to give him that.”

“Of course you did.”

“So I was always very respectful of Ben's views on adoption.”

“Yes. I can imagine.”

Elisabeth gave a wry half-smile.

“What?”

“On Thursday you told Ben that he needed to get over it.”

“Get over what?”

“Get over his problem with adoption. You said that plenty of people didn't get on with their biological parents and that it was a lottery, but that any kid who got Ben and me as parents would hit the jackpot. Thank you, by the way. That was a nice thing to say.”

“That's okay.” At least she'd said one thing right. “But Ben must not have appreciated me saying that.”

“Well, that's the thing. Yesterday when I came home from lunch he said he'd been thinking about what you said, and he thinks you're right. We should adopt. He's all excited. He'd done all this research on the Internet. Apparently all I needed to say to him five years ago was ‘Get over it.' Silly old me. All that unnecessary tiptoeing around his traumatic childhood.”

Alice tried to imagine herself telling that big grizzly man to “get over it” while she fed him banana muffins. (Banana muffins. She wondered what recipe she used. Also, she must own a muffin tray.) She had never had opinions about how Elisabeth should run her life, although Elisabeth had plenty of opinions about how Alice should run hers. That was fine because she was the big sister. It was her job to be the sensible, bossy one who did her tax returns on time, got her car serviced regularly, and had a career, while Alice could be whimsical and hopeless and make fun of Elisabeth for her motivational posters of mountains and sunsets. Actually, now she thought about it, it had been
Elisabeth
who had bullied her into doing that Thai cooking course with Sophie, instead of wasting her life moping over that sneering IT consultant.

Now Alice was the one doing the bullying.

“So if Ben is considering adoption now, isn't that maybe a good thing?” she said hopefully.

“No, it's not.” Elisabeth's voice became flinty. She sat up straight. Here we go, thought Alice. “It's not at all. You don't know what you're talking about, Alice.”

“But—”

“It's too late now. You don't seem to realize how long adoption takes. What you have to go through. You don't just order a kid online. We're not Brad and Angelina. We've got to jump through hoops and pay thousands of dollars, which we don't have. It takes years and years, and it's stressful and things go wrong, and I don't have the energy for it. I've had enough. We'd be nearly fifty by the time we got a child. I'm too tired to start dealing with bureaucrats and trying to convince them why I'd make a good mother and how much money we earn and blah, blah, blah. I don't know why you're suddenly taking this interest in my life, but you're too late.”

“I'm
suddenly
taking an interest?” Alice was wounded, desperate to defend herself, except she had no facts at her disposal. She didn't believe it. She would never have not been interested in Elisabeth's life. “Are you saying I haven't been interested before?”

Elisabeth breathed out noisily, deflating like a balloon, and sank back in her chair.

“Of course you have.”

“Well, why did you say it?”

“I don't know. Sometimes I've felt it. Look, I withdraw the comment.”

“We're not in court.”

“I didn't even mean it. Anyway, you could probably say the same thing about me. I don't see the children as much as I did. I should have done more for you after Gina, and after Nick. But you're always so . . . I don't know. Busy. Self-sufficient.” She yawned. “Just forget it.”

Alice looked down at her strange wrinkled hands. “What's gone wrong between us?” she asked quietly.

There was no answer. Alice looked up and saw that Elisabeth had closed her eyes and put her head back against the couch. She looked exhausted and sad.

Finally she spoke without opening her eyes. “We really should go to bed.”

I
t was five-thirty p.m., Sunday afternoon. In half an hour Nick would be home with the children.

Alice had a sick, excited feeling in her stomach as if she were going on a first date.

She'd been wearing a pretty floral dress and makeup, her hair all fluffy and motherly, when she decided that she was trying too hard. Presumably she didn't normally dress up like a 1950s mother at a fancy-dress party. So she'd run back upstairs and scrubbed off the makeup, and pulled the dress over her head in mad panic. She'd found jeans and a white T-shirt, and flattened her hair. No jewelry except for Nick's bracelet and her wedding ring, which she'd found at the back of a drawer, together with Granny Love's engagement ring. It had been yet another fresh shock to find these symbols of her marriage carelessly tossed in with her underwear. She remembered when Nick had placed the wedding ring on her finger for the first time. Most grooms were clumsy at this point, grinning goofily, soft chuckles from the guests, but Nick had smoothly, tenderly slid it onto her finger in one go, his eyes locked on hers; she'd been proud. He was so dexterous.