Authors: Liane Moriarty
What Alice Forgot (15 page)
At 4:30 a.m. Alice woke with a start and the thought clear in her head:
I never asked Elisabeth how many children she has.
I never asked Elisabeth how many children she has.
How could she not know the answer to that question? But more important, how could she have forgotten to
ask
it when she didn't know? She was a selfish, self-obsessed, shallow person. No wonder Nick wanted to divorce her. No wonder Elisabeth didn't look at her in the same way anymore.
ask
it when she didn't know? She was a selfish, self-obsessed, shallow person. No wonder Nick wanted to divorce her. No wonder Elisabeth didn't look at her in the same way anymore.
She would ring Mum in the morning and check with her and then she would pretend that of course she hadn't forgotten the existence of Elisabeth's children (just her own) and say, “Oh, by the way, how is little thingummybob?”
Except she couldn't be sure Mum still had the same phone number anymore. She didn't even know where Mum lived. Had she moved into Roger's cream-and-chrome apartment with its harbor views? Or had Roger moved into Mum's house with the doilies and knickknacks and potted plants? Either possibility seemed ludicrous.
The girl in the cubicle next to her was snoring. It was a thin, whiny sound like a mosquito. Alice turned over on her front and pushed her face hard into the pillow, as if she were trying to suffocate herself.
She thought,
This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
But actually, she couldn't even be sure of that.
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Elisabeth's Homework for Dr. Hodges
After we left the hospital this afternoon, Mum and I went over to Alice's place to meet Ben and the kids. We all had pizza for dinner. (Thankfully Roger had a Rotary meeting; I was not in the mood for Roger. I can't think of anyone ever being in the mood for Roger, except for Mum, presumably, and Roger, of course.) We didn't tell the children that Alice had lost her memory. We just said she'd hit her head at the gym but she was going to be fine. Olivia clasped her hands together and said, “Darling Mummy! This is an absolute tragedy!” and I could see Ben's back shaking with suppressed laughter as he stood at the cutlery drawer. Madison curled her lip and said contemptuously, “So, does Dad know about this?” and then stomped up to her bedroom as if she already knew what the answer would be. Tom waited till Olivia was busy at the kitchen table with crayons and glitter making a huge getwell card for Alice before silently taking me by the hand and leading me into the living room. He sat me down and looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Okay, tell me the truth. Has Mum really got a brain tumor?” Before I could answer, he said, “Don't lie! I'm a human lie detector! If your eyes look up to the right, that means you're lying.” I had to make a superhuman effort not to look up to the right.
It was sort of a fun night. I don't know why. A fun night at poor Alice's expense.
Oh, a yawn! A precious, proper yawn! I've got to go now, Dr. Hodges. It might be sleep.
As the sky began to lighten outside the hospital Alice fell into her deepest sleep of this long, strange, fragmented night. She dreamed of Nick sitting at a long pine table she'd never seen. He shook his head, picked up a coffee mug, and said, “It's always about Gina, isn't it? Gina, Gina, Gina.” He drank from the coffee mug and Alice felt pure dislike; she turned away from him to wipe vigorously at a dried grease spot on a granite countertop.
In her sleep, Alice twitched so violently the bed moved.
She dreamed she was standing up in a small, darkened room, and Elisabeth was lying next to her, looking up at her with a frightened face, saying, “What does she mean there is no heartbeat?”
She dreamed of a giant rolling pin. She had to push it up a hill while thousands of people watched. It was important that she make it look easy.
“Good morning, sleepyhead!” said a nurse. Her bright, bubbly voice was like glass breaking.
Alice jumped and gasped for air as if she'd been holding her breath.
Chapter 11
Frannie's Letter to Phil
I'm back again, Phil.
It's six a.m. Still dark outside, and chilly. Brrrrr! I'm writing this in bed.
Barb called again last night to say that Alice is fine. They've done a CT scan apparently, whatever that is, and everything looks normal, although evidently Alice is suffering some memory loss. When she woke up, she thought she was still together with Nick!
Now Barb is celebrating because she thinks they'll get back together. She has become so irritatingly optimistic ever since she took up salsa dancing.
I think reconciliation is unlikely. Alice was here on Monday (which was lovely, although I do sometimes feel as though I'm a chore being crossed off her list, but perhaps that's unfair). I asked her about Nick and the most repellent expression crossed her face. She became quite ugly with hatred.
After she left, I was thinking about the first time Alice brought Nick around to meet me. They'd come straight from the beach, their feet sandy, their hair still wet, smelling of the sea. They were sitting on the couch chatting politely with me, not touching, or so it seemed, except that I happened to glance down and I saw that their hands were lying next to each other on the couch, and that Nick was caressing Alice's little finger with his own. I remember being shocked by a feeling of pure envy. I wanted to be Alice, young and lovely, feeling the secret caress of a handsome boy's fingertip.
Isn't it strange and sad what time can do? What became of those passionate young people?
But what do I know about marriage? It's a mystery to me. I assume it's a matter of compromise. Negotiation. Give and take.
Actually, I remember seeing Alice and Nick, after another trip to the beach, except by this time they had three children and there was certainly no fingertip caressing. Something had obviously happened (to do with Olivia, I think) and you could have cut the air with a knife. They were talking to each other in those terrible, icily polite voices I've noticed couples use in public when they're arguing.
Do you ever wonder, Phil, what sort of a marriage we would have had?
Would we have fought? For example, you always said you didn't mind that I had the more senior position, but perhaps that wasn't really true and it would eventually have become a problem for us. They say that men are defined by their work.
Do you know I've been writing to you now for over three decades? That's longer than a lot of marriages. Longer than Alice's marriage.
May I share another quibble with you about that fellow? That Mr. Mustache? Last night, I was in the dining room for dinner and he was sitting at the same table. He asked if any of my own family were performing at the Talent Night. I said that my “honorary granddaughter” would be dancing.
Mr. Mustache wanted to know what I meant by “honorary.”
I briskly gave him the facts. I said that I had lived next door to a young family, and that when the father died suddenly of a heart attack the mother wasn't coping especially well and I stepped in to help out, as she had no other family. Eventually I became a sort of “pseudo” grandmother.
I didn't tell him how the shattered, white faces of those poor little girls are imprinted on my memory forever. I didn't tell him about the many days I had to drag their mother out of bed. (Once I got so frustrated, I actually pinched poor Barb, quite hard, on the arm. Isn't that dreadful! I was tough back then.)
Of course, I didn't tell him about you.
Mr. Mustache listened (I'll give him that. He really did listen.) and then he said, “I think you can drop the âhonorary.' Sounds like they really are your family.”
Phil, I'm not sure why this bothered me so much. It was something about his tone. So definite. So presumptuous. I've only known the man five minutes and he's making remarks about my life. And he seemed to be implying that I was being overly pedantic.
Am I making too much of this? Am I pedantic?
I guess I've always taken secret pride in my pedantry.
Oh I can just imagine you snorting!
Must rush. I'm catching the minibus into the shops to buy a gift for Alice. I'll never get this letter finished at this rate!
Right! Time to get moving. A nice hot shower. Clothes. Hair. Makeup.
The last nurse had left and now a brisk, bossy voice in Alice's head was telling her what to do.
Too tired,
replied Alice truculently. Her eyes were dry and stinging.
I've just had the worst night of my life. Also I should probably wait and ask a nurse.
replied Alice truculently. Her eyes were dry and stinging.
I've just had the worst night of my life. Also I should probably wait and ask a nurse.
Rubbish! You'll feel more awake after your shower. You always do!
Do I?
Yes! And it's time to look in the mirror, for heaven's sake. You're only thirty-nine, not eighty-nine. How bad can it be?
What about a towel? I don't know which towel to use. There might be procedures.
You smell of sweat, Alice. From that gym class. You need a shower.
Alice sat up. She couldn't stand the thought of having any sort of body odor. It was the ultimate humiliation. She was horrified even when Nick casually mentioned she had garlicky breath the day after they'd eaten an especially garlicky dinner. She would clap a hand to her mouth and run to clean her teeth and spend the whole day chewing gum. Nick was bemused by the fuss. He couldn't care less if he smelled. After working all day on the house, he'd sniff cheerfully at his armpits like an ape and announce, “I stink!” as if it were a fine achievement.
Maybe Nick was divorcing her because she'd developed extremely bad breath.
She put a tentative hand to the tender lump on her head. The pain was still there, but it was definitely better, more like a memory of yesterday's pain.
But she didn't remember those children, and she didn't remember Nick moving out.
She slid her bare feet onto the cool floor and looked around her. The tulips her mother had given her were fat, gold bulbs against the white of the hospital room wall. She tried to imagine her mother dancing the salsa with Roger, their hips swiveling in unison. She could imagine Roger's hips swiveling all right, but Mum's? She was fascinated and repelled by the thought. She couldn't wait to talk to Nick about it.
Well.
She remembered his voice on the phone yesterday, thick with hatred. It had to be over something more than bad breath. If that had been the reason, he would have sounded compassionate and embarrassed.
Even with the memory of that phone call (the way he swore at her!), it still seemed impossible that Nick wasn't about to turn up any minute, breathless and rumpled, apologizing for the misunderstanding, hugging her to his chest. She couldn't feel properly upset about this talk of divorce because it was too stupid. This was
Nick
! Her Nick. As soon as she saw him again it would all be okay.
Nick
! Her Nick. As soon as she saw him again it would all be okay.
The rucksack with the dinosaur stickers was sitting in the cupboard next to her bed. She thought about that beautiful red dress; maybe she could squeeze into it.
She held the rucksack under one arm and prudishly clutched the hospital robe together behind her in one hand so as not to reveal her underpants, but there was no need. The curtains around the other girl's bed were pulled and she was still snoring her mosquito-whine snore.
Maybe as Alice had got older her snoring had got even worse and that's why Nick had left. She could get one of those horrible mouthguard things. That was easy to solve. Come on home, Nick.
She was so tired it felt like she was walking through wet concrete.
I think I should get back into bed.
Don't you dare get back into bed. You'll make them late for school again and you'll never hear the end of it.
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