Putting Alice Back Together (14 page)

‘I’m not worried about anorexia!’ He stared right at me. ‘I’ve got four sisters, Alice, I’m not stupid.’

Tell him
. There was a voice in my head that kept telling me to
tell him
. That he would understand, that he could sort this out. Only if I told him it was real, if I told him, I knew what would come—and anyway it might all be for nothing. I could feel my stomach cramping and I was sure,
sure
that my period was about to come. Maybe it just had, my boobs were tender, I had all the signs.

‘Alice, you can talk to me.’

‘I can’t.’ I was crying. I hadn’t cried since it happened, and I didn’t want to start now, but there were big fat tears rolling down my cheeks and my nose was running.

‘Alice, you
can
talk to me…’

‘I’m…’ I opened my mouth, the words were there, the truth a second away, ‘I’m worried what Mum will say.’

‘Alice!’ Mum was calling, and I saw Lex close his eyes in frustration. She sounded so normal, so fucking oblivious. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t make myself say it. ‘Alice!’ She was standing at the bottom of the stairs and calling up. ‘Your dinner’s getting cold.’

‘Coming!’ I managed, and when I knew she’d gone I knew the moment had too. I could feel Lex waiting for me to continue, knew that he wasn’t going to go away until he got to the bottom of this.

Or thought that he had.

‘I don’t feel well.’ I sniffed back my snot and when that didn’t work I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. ‘I’ve got the worst period ever and you know what she’s like—she makes such a fuss since I had that seizure.’

‘You’ve got your period?’ I could hear the doubt in his voice.

‘Really badly. I just get it like that sometimes and I don’t want her fussing.’ I could see the relief whooshing over his features. ‘I just want to go to bed, but I know I ought to do some piano practice…’

‘Go to bed, Alice.’ He led me to my bedroom door. ‘Go and lie down and I’ll talk to your mum.’

He must have, because fifteen or so minutes later Mum came in my room, with two paracetamol and some tea and toast and a big hot-water bottle.

‘I’m not going to make a fuss.’ She sat on the bed and smiled at my pale, tear-streaked face. ‘You should have told me.’

‘I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Well, I do worry,’ Mum said. ‘That’s my job.’ Which didn’t make me feel better.

‘Look—I know you struggle with your periods, but why don’t we make an appointment with the doctor and see about you going on the Pill? That should help.’

‘No!’ The last thing I wanted was a doctor poking me
and asking questions and I started crying again. ‘I don’t want to go on the Pill.’

‘I know, pet.’ She was sort of kneading my shoulder with her hand. ‘But just because you’re on the Pill—well, it doesn’t mean it’s for that. You can go on it for medical reasons. You’ll still be a good girl…’

It was hopeless, fucking hopeless.

How could I tell her?

How could I tell her?

‘We’ll just leave it for now,’ Mum said, and I took my paracetamol and ate my tea and toast as Mum watched. Then I lay back on the pillow with the hot bottle on me and hoped it would make
something
happen, that this awful cramping meant something.

‘You rest, darling,’ Mum said. ‘Take the day off tomorrow. I have to go into town, but you can have a nice lazy day and hopefully you’ll feel better.’ She stood up. ‘I’m going to the corner shop to get some cigarettes—do you fancy some chocolate?’

I shook my head.

‘Is there anything I can get you?’

And I knew then what to say.

‘Some tampons.’

Twenty-One

‘Hey.’

I couldn’t quite look him in the eye, so instead I glanced at the clock and sort of jolted when I realised the time.

‘I’ve got to get going.’

‘It’s Saturday,’ Hugh reminded me, pulling me back in.

‘I’ve got plans.’

‘Sorry.’ He was immediately apologetic. I mean, it was Saturday, of course I had plans. I went for a shower—well, I didn’t shower, I didn’t want the steam messing up my hair, so I had a wash in the sink and afterwards I did my hair and make-up and dressed in record time.

He’d made me coffee, and toast too, but I just had the coffee.

‘I don’t know if you’ve got plans for tonight,’ Hugh said, ‘but maybe we could go out…’

‘I’d love to,’ I said, because on any other Saturday night of the fifty-two on offer I would have dropped everything, dropped anyone, if I could go out with him, but I had promised my sister a night out.

Now, you should be able to dump your sister for a man like Hugh.

Most sisters would completely understand that a hot date had come up.

Their sister wasn’t Bonny.

And Lex had told me to make a special effort.

‘I just can’t—sorry.’

‘Don’t be sorry,’ Hugh said. ‘I’ll have to come up with something.’

‘Something?’ I wrinkled my nose (the trouble with Botox) and my heart almost stopped as he pulled me towards his full, sexy mouth. ‘I’ll think of somewhere nice to go on Sunday, just us… if you like.’

I did like—very much.

I was rewarded for my accidental coolness with a long, slow kiss and the promise of a date on Sunday night. There was a certain spring in my step as I walked along the street to my bloody appointment with Lisa and a thought occurred to me—I had done what all the glossies had been telling me to. Had looked all in demand and mysterious. It hadn’t been my intention, I just hadn’t had time to come up with a good lie.

I
was
being looked after.

Twenty-Two

Orange.

Lisa’s colour choice for a Saturday morning was orange.

Not russet, not amber, not sienna, nor peach.

From her lips to her toenails she glowed
orange
and dangling between those horrible breasts was an orange beaded necklace that she’d tied into a knot.

Do you know, it was like Big Tits had read a ‘what not to wear’ book and missed the
not
!

I sat there staring in morbid fascination at her choice of clothing as she read Dr Kelsey’s long letter. I had been dying to peek, but Dr Kelsey had sealed the envelope and put her practice stamp over the seal and stapled her business card to the envelope.

Oh, I’d tried holding it up to the light and everything. I was dying to know what had been said about me—if my cervix had been mentioned, if she liked me.

‘So what brings Alice here this morning?’

Here we bloody go.

There was a minute’s silence. I guess I was supposed
to admit now that I was having panic attacks, given I’d had another one, but as the silence dragged on I got angry.

‘I think I’ve been misdiagnosed.’ I watched her eyebrows raise a fraction. ‘I’m having some difficulty with breathing and everyone is insisting that I’m having anxiety attacks, or panic attacks.’ I was on a roll. ‘I haven’t had a chest X-ray. I haven’t had blood tests. I’m just told to come to a psychologist.’

‘But the Valium helps?’

‘Of course it helps—I’m stressed because there’s something physically wrong and everyone’s ignoring that. I’m fine. I’m in a new relationship—’

‘Oh!’ she interrupted. ‘When did that happen?’

‘It’s early days,’ I said. ‘But it’s nice.’ I warmed at the memory of last night, of his kiss this morning, at the promise of tomorrow. ‘He’s staying at the flat.’

I watched a frown flicker over her face as she glanced at my notes.

‘Hugh?’

‘Yes.’

‘He’s only just arrived.’ I gave a tight shrug at her innuendo. ‘And you’re in a
relationship
.’

‘The point is,’ I said, cheeks flaming, ‘that I really don’t think I am having panic attacks. I was asleep when it happened. How can I be panicking when I’m asleep?’

She folded up the letter before answering.

‘There are several types of panic attacks, Alice. There are cued or situationally bound attacks, which are set off by a trigger. Then there are predisposed attacks. They don’t always occur when the trigger is present, though the situation you find yourself in makes one more likely.’

WTF?

‘Then there are spontaneous attacks, with no warning, even when you are sleeping.’

Well, there was no trigger, except… I found myself frowning as I recalled Hugh’s words.

God, I had been so busy enjoying Hugh, I’d not had time to think about what he had told me.

Roz.

Roz!

‘I’ve just found out… I mean
just
found out that one of my close girlfriends is gay.’ She cocked her head to the side. ‘She was there both times,’ I explained. ‘I mean, she’s thirty-four and divorced and has a kid and everything. I had no idea.’

‘Are you homophobic?’

‘Of course I’m not!’ I was appalled. ‘My best friend happens to be gay.’ (Okay, yes, normally I
do
hate it when people say that, but in my case it happens to be true.) ‘I’m the
least
homophobic person I know.’ (Okay, I do have issues with Dan being gay, but that’s because I fancy him rotten and it’s not bloody fair.) ‘It’s just…’ I flailed for an explanation. ‘She should have told me.’

‘Perhaps she felt she couldn’t.’

‘Well, she should have. I mean, we go out together, people probably think we’re a couple.’ I was appalled, just appalled. My face was burning as I sat there and realisation hit—no wonder I hadn’t been pulling lately. ‘People might think that I’m gay.’

‘And that worries you?’ Lisa said. ‘What other people think?’

I could not stand this.

Adrenaline coursed through my muscles and I wanted to shoot out of the stupid middle seat and walk right out.

She pissed me off.

What did she know? She was just some fat housewife who had a psychology degree—she probably got it online, or she studied years ago when things were different. She had no idea what it was like out there and, PC or not, hitting the bars with a screaming lezza could not be helping my chances.

She just sat and watched me, judged me, thought she knew me…

And then a worrying thought struck—maybe she was gay.

Oh, God, maybe I’d offended her, maybe Day-Glo orange was a… But, no, she’d been wearing green.

Red and yellow and blue and green, purple and orange and blue.

She dressed like a fucking rainbow.

She was making a statement.

‘I’m not gay, Alice.’ She broke into my thoughts, read them actually—yikes. ‘Even if I were gay, even if it appalled you, it still wouldn’t offend me, because this counselling session is about you.’

Well, we chatted about Roz for a bit and she rather quickly (carelessly perhaps) dismissed my theory that my subconscious had been telling me there was something amiss with Roz.

‘Tell me about Bonny.’

‘Bonny?’ What the hell did Bonny have to do with all this? We were supposed to be talking about me!

And I really didn’t know what to say about Bonny—I mean, where do I start?

Bonny and Lex, as you know, married and moved to Australia. Well, their eldest, Conner, was popped into crèche while Bonny accepted a promotion as Nurse Unit Manager. And then after a few years, tears and IVF, Declan happened. And naturally he was popped happily into crèche too—only her figure didn’t snap back so quickly this time. In fact, it never snapped back because exactly one year after Declan’s birth along came Hamish and Angus, the twins. Bonny gave up work to become a full-time, completely disillusioned, utterly useless housewife.

She never got out, so Lex had paid for Bonny and me to go to a hotel and have beauty treatments and champagne and
everything
.

And it was just a bit late to back out.

And, anyway, I owed them rather a lot of money, which Bonny was politely not mentioning, though I’m sure she wouldn’t hesitate to if I pulled out now. (Now do you see why I couldn’t cancel her for Hugh?)

Not that I told Lisa all that.

‘She’s a housewife, she’s got four children, and she used to be a nurse.’

‘Like your mum?’

‘I suppose.’

‘And do you see her a lot?’

‘A lot,’ I said, to show her I had normal, healthy, family relationships. ‘In fact, I’m going out with her tonight. Lex, her husband, is treating us to a night out in a luxury hotel, for Bonny’s birthday.’

It annoyed me that she wrote something down; it really annoyed me that she didn’t smile or say, ‘That’s nice.’ Instead she frowned.

‘What?’ I demanded to her smug, self-knowing face.

‘Nothing,’ Lisa said, jotting away on her pad. ‘Do you ever look after the children? With four children, a night in a hotel with her husband…’

‘Lex wants her to have a night out with me!’ Stupid cow, I felt like saying, what did she know? ‘Bonny hardly gets out; she’s really low at the moment…’ I swallowed hard, and I swear if she said ‘like your mum was’ I would not have been responsible for my actions, so instead I breathed it out and said in a much calmer voice, ‘I get on great with Bonny. That’s why we’re going out… there’s nothing wrong with their marriage.’

‘I never said there was.’

‘Well, you implied,’ I said. ‘And you’re wrong. Lex and Bonny…’ I didn’t finish. I was sick of her, sick of her writing her little notes and drawing some deep and meaningful conclusion from every innocuous comment.

What the fuck did Bonny and Lex have to do with all this?

And then, when I just sat there, when we were only half an hour in and clearly getting nowhere, she closed her pad. ‘Have you thought of a life coach?’

I shrugged.

‘Only it’s different from psychology—it’s about moving forward, instead of examining yourself, examining the past.’

‘You think that would be better for me?’ I liked that idea, actually. Someone to remind me to do things, someone to force me into action, to achieve.

‘No.’ She stared at me.

‘Why not?’

So she told me.

‘You’re very controlled, Alice. You always look nice, you have your routines, you’re very ordered.’

‘Routines?’ What the hell was she talking about? I yearned for routines and I certainly wasn’t ordered—she should take a look at the flat.