What Alice Forgot (30 page)

She wondered why she hadn't given the awful engagement ring back. Wasn't the ring normally torn from the finger and thrown at the man's face in a fit of rage at some point during a divorce?

She looked at herself in the bedroom mirror. This was much better, casual, unaffected—although her face looked pale and very old; she resisted an intense longing to go through that amazing dab, dab, slap, slap routine again that transformed her face. Surely she didn't normally wear makeup on a Sunday night at home.

Earlier in the day, after Elisabeth and Ben had gone home, it had suddenly occurred to Alice that it was presumably her responsibility to feed those three children. She had called her mother and asked her what she should cook for dinner, saying she wanted to cook their favorite thing. Barb had spent a full twenty minutes discussing each child's dietary idiosyncrasies throughout their lives. “Remember when Madison went through that vegetarian stage? And of course it would have to be at the same time that Tom was just refusing to eat
any
vegetable. Then Olivia couldn't decide whether she should only eat vegetables, like Madison, or refuse to eat vegetables, like Tom! Oh, you were tearing your hair out every tea time!” At last, after much changing of her mind, she'd finally settled on homemade hamburgers. “I think you found a healthy recipe in your Heart Foundation recipe book. You were saying just the other week that you were sick to death of it but the children can't get enough of it. I'm sure you remember
that
, don't you, darling? Because it was only last
week
.”

Alice had found the recipe book and it had opened straight at the right food-splattered page. All the ingredients were in her amazingly well-stocked freezer and pantry. It seemed like there was enough there to feed hundreds of children. As she made the mince for the hamburgers, she realized she wasn't looking at the recipe book anymore. She seemed to know that now she grated in two carrots, one zucchini, now she added two eggs. Once it was ready, she had put the mince back in the fridge, defrosted rolls ready to be toasted, and made a green salad. Would the children eat a green salad? Who knew? She and Nick could eat it. He would stay for dinner, wouldn't he? He wouldn't just drop the children off and
leave
? But she had an awful feeling that was exactly what divorced parents did. She'd just have to ask him to please stay. Beg him, if necessary. She couldn't be left alone with the children. It wasn't safe. She didn't know the procedures. For example, did they bath themselves? Did she read them stories? Sing them songs? When was bedtime? And how was it enforced?

She went back downstairs in her jeans and looked around her gleaming, beautiful house. Two cleaners had turned up at the door at midday, laden with mops and buckets, asking how the party had gone as they plugged in vacuum cleaners. They'd scrubbed and polished while Alice had wandered vaguely about, feeling embarrassed and not sure what she was meant to be doing. Should she help? Get out of the way? Supervise? Hide the valuables? She had her purse ready to give them however much they asked for, but there had been no request for money. They told her they'd see her on Thursday at the usual time and disappeared, waving cheerily. She'd closed the door behind them, breathed in the smell of furniture polish, and thought, “I am a woman with a swimming pool, air-conditioning, and
cleaners
.”

Now she looked about the kitchen and her eyes fell on a rack of wine. She should have a bottle open and breathing for Nick. She selected a bottle, went to get a corkscrew, and realized that the bottle didn't have a cork. Instead she unscrewed a normal bottle top. How funny. The smell of the wine hit her nostrils and she found she was pouring herself a glass. She buried her nose in it. Part of her mind thought, “What are you doing, you tosser?” Another part thought, “Mmmm.
Blackberries.
”

The wine slid smoothly down her throat and she wondered if she'd turned into an alcoholic. It wasn't even six o'clock. She'd never been much of a wine drinker. Yet drinking this wine felt right and familiar, even as it felt strange and wrong. Maybe that's why Nick had left her and wanted custody of the children. She'd become a drunk. Nobody knew, except for Nick and her children. It was a terrible secret. Well, but couldn't she just get help? Join AA and follow those twelve steps? Never touch a drop again? She took another sip and tapped her fingers on the countertop. Soon she would see him and then the mystery of all this would finally be solved. It wasn't logical, but she had a strong feeling that the moment she saw Nick's face her entire memory would land back in her head, fully intact.

Dominick had turned up again this afternoon. He had takeaway hot chocolates in a tray and tiny polenta cakes (she had a feeling they were her favorites and acted accordingly grateful). She'd been surprised by the pleasure she'd felt when she saw him standing at the door. Maybe it was because of his somewhat nervy demeanor. It made her feel like she was adored. Nick adored her, but she adored him back, so it was equal. Talking to Dominick made her feel as if every word she said was somehow amazing.

“How is your, ah, memory today?” he'd asked her politely, while they drank their hot chocolates and ate the cakes on the back veranda.

“Oh, maybe a bit better,” she'd said. People liked to think you were making progress when it came to health matters.

Apparently Jasper was with “his mother.” She realized that Dominick must be a divorced dad. How strange it all was. Wouldn't it be a lot less messy if everyone just stayed with the people they married in the first place?

That meant divorce was a shared interest. She'd had a moment of inspiration and said to him, “Have we ever talked about Nick—about why we separated?”

He gave her an odd sideways look. “Yes.”

Aha!

“Would you mind giving me a quick summary of what I told you?” She said this lightly, trying not to show how desperately she needed to know the answer.

“You don't remember anything about why you and Nick split up?” he'd said slowly.

“No! I couldn't believe it! It was a total shock to me.”

The words spilled out of her mouth before she realized that they might be upsetting to someone who was hoping to start a relationship with her.

He'd scratched hard at his nose. “Well. Obviously I don't know every detail, but, ah, it seemed that he—Nick—was pretty much involved with his job. He was away a lot and he worked long hours, and so I guess, I think you said, you just drifted apart. That's the way it happened. And, ummm, I guess, maybe some sexual issues. You mentioned . . .” He coughed loudly and stopped talking.

Sex?
She'd talked to this man about sex? It was an unforgivable betrayal of Nick. And besides which, what
issues
could there have been relating to sex? They had a glorious, funny, tender, highly satisfying sex life.

It was so embarrassing to hear the word “sex” coming out of Dominick's mouth. He was too nice. Too grown-up and proper. Even now, when Alice was alone thinking about it, she felt her face become warm.

Dominick had seemed embarrassed, too. He'd cleared his throat so many times, Alice had offered him a glass of water, and then he'd left soon after, telling her to take care of herself. At the front door he'd suddenly wrapped his arms around her in a quick, warm hug. He'd said in her ear, “I care a lot about you,” and then he was gone.

So that hadn't helped much at all. “Drifting apart because of Nick's long hours.” That was such a cliché. The sort of thing that broke up other marriages. If Nick had to work long hours, they would have just made up for it in the hours they did have.

She looked at her wineglass and saw that the level had gone down considerably. What if her lips and teeth were stained purple and she opened the door to Nick and the children looking like a vampire? She rushed to the mirror in the hallway and checked her reflection. Her lips were fine. Her eyes just looked a bit wild and crazed, and she still looked extremely old.

As she walked back into the kitchen, she stopped by the Green Room, except it wasn't green anymore. It was a small room off the hallway that had originally been painted a bright lime green. Now the walls were painted a tasteful mushroom. Alice leaned against the doorway and found that she missed the green. It had made people laugh and shield their eyes whenever they saw it. Of course, it had to go—but still. The house was literally perfect now. Instead of being thrilling, that suddenly seemed depressing.

The Green Room had been turned into a study, which had always been their plan. There was a computer on a desk and bookshelves lined the walls. She walked in and sat down at the computer. Immediately, without thinking, she leaned down and pushed a round silver button on a black box sitting on the floor. The computer whirred to life and she pressed another button on the monitor. The screen turned blue. White letters ordered her “To begin, click your user name.” There were four icons: Alice, Madison, Tom, and Olivia. (Did that mean the children used this computer? Weren't they too little?) She clicked on her own name and a colorful photo filled the whole screen. It was the three children. They were all rugged up in parkas and scarves, sharing a toboggan that was flying down a snowy incline. Madison was at the back, Tom was in the middle, and the little one, Olivia, was at the front. Madison had hold of the control rope. Their mouths were open as if laughing or shrieking, and their eyes were wide with fear and exhilaration.

Alice put a hand to the base of her throat. They were extraordinarily beautiful. She wanted the memory of that day back so bad. She stared at the photo and for a second she thought she heard the faint sounds of children shouting, the feeling of an icy-cold nose and fingertips . . . and as soon as she tried too hard to grab hold of it, it slipped deftly away.

Instead, she clicked on an icon that said E-mail. It asked for a password.

Naturally, she didn't know it, but as she held her hands over the keyboard, her fingers went ahead and inexplicably typed out the word OREGANO.

What in the world? But it seemed her body remembered more than her mind because the screen was obediently vanishing, to be replaced by a dancing image of an envelope and a message saying, “You have 7 new messages.”

What inspired her to choose an
herb
for her password?

There was an e-mail from Jane Turner with the subject heading:

“How's the head?”; another one from a Dominick Gordon (Who? Oh, of course. Him. Her
boyfriend
) with the subject heading: “Next weekend?” and five from names she didn't recognize, all with the heading: “Mega Meringue Mother's Day.”

Mega Meringue Mother's Day. It made her want to snort with derision. It seemed like something Elisabeth—the old energetic Elisabeth—might have arranged. Not her.

There was also an e-mail from Nick Love, with no subject heading, dated Friday, the day of her accident. She clicked on it and read:

“Even for you.” Alice struggled to catch her breath. It was like being winded. The coldness. The viciousness. The dislike.

It was impossible to believe that this was written by the same man who got tears in his eyes when she said she would marry him; who would crashtackle her onto the bed and lift her hair and kiss the back of her neck; who told her when it was safe to look back at the television because the blood and guts had gone now; who sang all the words to “Living Next Door to Alice” to her in the shower.

And why was she refusing to give back Granny Love's dreadful ring? It was a family heirloom. Of course the Love family should get it back.

She scrolled down and saw that Nick's message was part of a whole conversation that had been going on for days.

There was one from herself dated just three days ago.

It was May! Why were they even talking about what would happen on Christmas Day?

Some impostor had been living her life. She was stunned by her sanctimonious, contemptuous tone.

She scrolled down further and bitter words and phrases jumped out at her.