"As soon as you start, the sick feeling will go away," he said to Olivia.
"Promise?" Olivia looked up at him trustingly.
"Cross my heart and hope to be killed by a rabid dog."
Olivia rolled her eyes. "You're so silly, Dad." She slid down from the chair and marched down the aisle toward the stage, her tulle skirt bobbing. Alice's heart twisted. She was so little. So alone.
"Have you seen this routine?" whispered Nick, as he adjusted the focus on a tiny silver camera.
"No. Have you?"
"No." They watched as Olivia climbed the stairs of the stage. Nick said, "I actually feel a bit sick myself."
"Me too," said Alice.
Oliva stood in the center of the stage with her head bowed and her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes closed.
Alice massaged her stomach. She could feel the tension emanating from Nick.
The music started. Olivia slowly opened one eye, then the other. She yawned enormously, wriggled and squirmed. She was a caterpillar sleepily emerging from its cocoon. She looked over her shoulder, pretended to catch sight of a wing and her mouth dropped comically.
The audience laughed.
They laughed.
Alice's daughter was funny! Publicly funny!
Olivia looked over her other shoulder and staggered with delight. She was a butterfly! She fluttered this way and that, trying out her new wings, falling over at first and then finally getting the hang of it.
It was true that she probably wasn't quite in time with the music, and some of her dance moves were, well, unusual, but her facial expressions were priceless. In Alice's opinion, and she felt she was being quite objective, there had never been a funnier, cuter performance of a butterfly.
By the time the music had stopped Alice was suffused with pride, her face aching from smiling so much. She looked about at the audience and saw that people were smiling and clapping, clearly charmed, although they were perhaps holding themselves back so as not to make the other performers feel bad (why not a standing ovation, for example?), and she was shocked to see a woman in the middle of checking her mobile phone. How could she have dragged her eyes away from the stage?
"She's a comic genius," she whispered to Nick.
Nick lowered the camera, and his face, when he turned to look at her, was filled with identical awe and pleasure.
"Mum. I helped her a bit," said Madison tentatively.
"Did you?" Alice put her arm around Madison's shoulder and pulled her close. She lowered her voice. "I bet you helped her a lot. You're a great big sister. Just like your Auntie Libby was to me."
Madison looked amazed for a second, and then she smiled that exquisite smile that transformed her face.
"How did I get such talented children?" said Alice, and her voice shook. Why had Madison looked so surprised?
"Comes from their father," said Nick.
Olivia came dancing back down the aisle and sat up on the chair next to Nick, grinning self-consciously. "Was I good? Was I excellent?"
"You were the best!" said Nick. "Everybody is saying we may as well just pack up our bags and go, now that Olivia Love has performed."
"Silly," giggled Olivia.
They sat through another four acts, including a comedy act by someone's middle-aged daughter that was so incredibly unfunny it was sort of funny, and a little boy who lost his nerve and got stage fright halfway through reciting a Banjo Paterson poem until his grandfather came unsteadily up onstage and held his hand, and they read it together, which made Alice cry.
Frannie walked up to the microphone again. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, this has been such a special night and in a moment you can enjoy supper, but we have just one final act for you and I hope you'll forgive me, but it's another one of my own family members. Please put your hands together for Barb and Roger performing the salsa!"
The stage went dark. A single spotlight revealed Alice's mother and Nick's father in full Latin costumes, standing completely still. Roger had one knee thrust between Barb's legs, his arm around her waist. Barb was leaning back, exposing her neck. Roger's head was bowed toward hers, his face dramatic, frowning tremendously.
Nick made a sound like something was stuck in his throat. Ella made a sympathetic choking sound back.
"Grandma and Grandpa look like people on TV," said Tom happily. "They look famous."
"They do not," said Madison.
"They do so."
"Shhhh," said Alice and Nick together.
The music started and their parents began to move. They were good in a horrendous sort of way. Swiveling their hips proficiently. Moving in and out of each other's arms. It was just so mortifyingly sexual--and in front of all these old people!
After five agonizing minutes of dancing, Roger stopped at the microphone while Barb danced around him, flicking up the sides of her skirt and stamping her feet provocatively. Alice could feel an attack of giggles about to sweep over her. What on earth are you doing, Mum?
"Folks!" said Roger in his best plummy radio-announcer voice. The spotlight lit up the beads of sweat on his yellow-tanned forehead. "You may have heard that my lovely wife and I will be offering salsa-dance lessons every second Tuesday. It's great exercise, and a lot of fun to boot! Now, anybody can do the salsa, and to prove it, I want to invite two people out of the audience who have never salsa-danced before up onto the stage. Let's see now ..."
The spotlight began bouncing around the audience. Alice watched the light, hoping Roger had the sense to choose a couple who could actually walk.
The spotlight stopped on Alice and Nick and they both held up their hands to shield their eyes.
"Yes, those two blinking like rabbits in the headlights look like the perfect victims, don't you think, Barb?" said Roger.
Olivia, Tom, and Madison jumped from their seats like lottery winners. They began pulling at their parents' arms, shrieking, "Yes, yes! Mum and Dad dance! Come on!"
"No, no! Pick somebody else!" Alice swatted away their hands in a panic. She never, ever volunteered for this sort of thing.
"I think they'd be perfect, Roger," said Barb from the stage, with a big game-show-hostess smile.
"I'm going to kill them," said Nick quietly. Then he yelled, "Sorry! Bad back!"
The old people weren't buying that. They were the ones with arthritis.
"Bad back, my foot!" cried out an old lady.
"Have a go, you mug!"
"Don't be party poopers!"
"Don't worry, the sick feeling will go away, Daddy," said Olivia sweetly.
"Dance, dance, dance!" shouted the old people, stamping their feet with surprising energy.
Nick sighed and stood up. He looked down at Alice. "Let's just get it over with."
They walked up onto the stage, Alice pulling self-consciously at her skirt, worried it was riding up at the back. Frannie shrugged from her place in the front row and held up her hands in a "nothing to do with me" gesture.
"Facing each other, please," said Roger.
Roger stood behind Nick and Barb stood behind Alice. Their parents maneuvered them so that Alice's hand was on Nick's shoulder, his around her waist.
"Closer now," boomed Roger. "Don't be shy. Now look into each other's eyes."
Alice looked miserably up at Nick. His face was blankly polite, as if they were two strangers who had been pulled out of the audience. This was excruciating.
"Come on now, are you a man or a mouse?" Roger clapped his son on the shoulder. "The man has got to take charge! You're the leader. She's the follower!"
Nick's nostril twitched, which meant he was highly irritated.
In a sudden movement, he put his hand on Alice's lower back and pulled her close to him, frowning masterfully in an over-the-top imitation of his father.
The audience erupted.
"I think we've got a natural here, folks!" said Roger. His eyes met Alice's and seemed to be sending her some sort of kindly message. He was a pompous old twit, but he meant
well.
"Okay, light on your toes!" said Barb, demonstrating to Nick. "And forward on your right foot, back with your left foot, rock back onto your right foot, step back with your left foot. Shift your weight to your left foot, step back with your right foot. That's it! That's it!"
"And let's get those hips moving!" cried Roger.
Alice and Nick didn't dance much in public. Alice was always too self-conscious, and Nick wasn't fussed either way, but sometimes at home, if they'd had wine with dinner and they had the right sort of CD on while they were packing the dishwasher, they danced in the kitchen. A silly, hamming-it-up dance. It was always Alice who initiated it, because actually, she quite liked to dance, and actually, she wasn't bad.
She began to move her hips in imitation of her mother, while trying to keep the top half of her body still. The crowd roared its approval and she heard a child, probably Olivia, shout, "Go, Mummy!" Nick laughed. He was stepping on her toes. Barb and Roger were grinning like Cheshire cats. She could hear their children shouting out from the audience.
There was still chemistry. She could feel it in their hands. She could see it in his eyes. Even if it was just a memory of chemistry. There was still something. Alice's head was dizzy with hope.
The music stopped. "See! Anyone can learn to salsa!" cried Roger as Nick dropped his hands from her waist and turned away.
Elisabeth's Homework for Jeremy We were driving to the Family Talent Night when I had a sudden craving for television.
House was on. I needed to see Dr. House being nasty and sarcastic while he diagnosed impossible medical conditions. What would Dr. House say about me? I wish you were more like Dr. House, Jeremy. You're so nice and polite. It's annoying. Niceness doesn't cure anyone. Why don't you just bring me face-to-face with a few home truths?
"You're infertile. Get over it," House would sneer, brandishing his cane, and I'd be shocked and invigorated.
"Can we turn around?" I told Ben.
He didn't try to change my mind. He is being very gentle and careful at the moment. The adoption application forms have disappeared from the kitchen counter. He's put them away. Temporarily. I can see the idea still shining in his eyes. He still has hope. Which is exactly the problem. I cannot afford any more hope.
I rang him after I got the blood-test results and when I went to speak, I found no words came out of my mouth, and when he didn't say anything, I knew he was trying not to cry. You can always tell when he's trying not to cry. Like he's fighting off something invisible trying to take over his head.
"We'll be okay," he finally said.
No we won't, I thought. "Yes," I said.
I almost told him the truth.
Actually, no I didn't. Not even close.
After House I watched Medium, and then Boston Legal and then Cheaters! That's the show where they spy on real people cheating on their spouses and then confront them with television cameras. It's seedy and gray and trashy. We sure do live in a seedy, gray, trashy world, Jeremy.
It's possible my mental health is poorly at the moment.
The show was over and the adults were standing around, drinking tea and coffee from paper cups and balancing pikelets on serviettes in the palms of their hands.
A huge gang of grandchildren and great-grandchildren were whooping with joy, racing on wheelchairs down the front of the hall.
"Should they be playing on those?" Alice asked Frannie, trying to be a responsible grown-up, as she saw Madison pushing a chair with Olivia and Tom squished in side by side, their legs stuck straight out in front of them.
"Of course not," sighed Frannie. "But I think it might be one of our residents running the race." She pointed to the white-haired man she'd been arguing with earlier who was wearing the shiny polka-dot waistcoat. He was racing along in a wheelchair, spinning the wheels with his hands, yelling, "You can't catch me!"
Frannie's lips twitched. "He's eighty-five going on five." She paused. "Actually, I might just take some photos for the newsletter." She hurried off. Nick, Alice, and Ella were left together.
"Well, that was quite a performance." Ella was carrying Billy, who had his thumb in his mouth, his head draped over her shoulder. She squinted over his head at Nick and Alice as if they were scientific specimens. "That was the last thing I expected to see."
"Just wanted to show Dad up," said Nick. He picked up a scone and put the whole thing in his mouth.
"Are you hungry?" asked Alice. She scanned the tables. "Do you want a sandwich? They've got curried egg." Nick liked curried egg sandwiches.
He cleared his throat uncomfortably and glanced at Ella. "No, that's okay, thanks."
Ella was now openly staring.
"So how come you're the only one of the sisters here tonight, Ella?" asked Alice. Normally the Flakes traveled in a pack.
"Well, to be frank, Alice," said Ella, "they sort of refuse to be in the same room as you."
Alice flinched. "Goodness." She wasn't used to provoking such violent reactions in people, although, then again, she didn't mind the idea of having such power over the Flakes. It was sort of delicious.
"Ella," remonstrated Nick.
"I'm just saying it like it is," said Ella. "I'm trying to stay neutral. Of course, it would help if you gave back Granny Love's ring, Alice."
"Oh! That reminds me." Alice unzipped her handbag, pulled out a jewelry box. "I brought it to give to you tonight. Here it is."
Nick took the ring slowly. "Thank you." He held the jewelry case in his palm as if he didn't know what to do with it and finally stuffed it into the pocket of his suit jacket.
"Well, if it's that easy," said Ella, "maybe I should bring up another few issues, like, I don't know, the financial situation."
"Ella, this is really none of your business," said Nick.
"And why are you being such a cow over the custody?"
"Ella, this is not acceptable," said Nick.
"Moo," said Alice.
Ella and Nick stared.
Alice recited, "Who says 'moo'? A cow says 'moo'!" She smiled. "Sorry. It just came into my head when you said 'cow.' "
Billy lifted his head from Ella's shoulder, removed his thumb from his mouth, and said, "Moo!" He grinned appreciatively at Alice before replacing his thumb and putting his head back down on Ella's shoulder again. Ella and Nick seemed lost for words.
"I guess it must come from a book we used to read the children," said Alice.
It had been happening a lot. Strange words and phrases and lines from songs kept appearing in her head. It seemed that those ten years' worth of memories had been stuffed in a too-small cupboard at the back of her mind, and every now and then a fragment of nonsense would escape.
Any second now that cupboard door was going to burst open and her head was going to overflow with memories of grief and joy and who knew what else. She didn't know if she was looking forward to that moment or not.
"I dropped something the other day," said Alice, "and I said, 'Oh my dosh.' And it just sounded so familiar. Oh my dosh."
"Olivia used to say it when she was little," said Nick. He smiled. "We all said it for a while. Oh my dosh. I'd forgotten that. Oh my dosh."
"Am I missing something here?" said Ella.
"Maybe it's time you got Billy home to bed," said Nick.
"Right," said Ella. "Fine. I'll see you on Sunday." She kissed Nick on the cheek.
"Sunday?"
"Mother's Day? Lunch with Mum? She said you were coming."
"Oh, right. Yes, of course."
How did Nick handle his social life without Alice? That was her job, telling Nick what he was meant to be doing on the weekend. He must be missing things all over the place.
"Bye, Alice," said Ella, without making a move to kiss her. The only person in 2008 who didn't seem intent on plastering her with kisses. She paused. "Thanks for giving back the ring. It means a lot to our family."
In other words, You are not our family any longer.
"No problem," said Alice. Y
ou're perfectly welcome to that horrendous ring.
When Ella had gone, Nick looked at Alice and said, "Still haven't got your memory back, then?"
"Not quite. Any minute now."
"How are you coping with the children?"
"Fine," said Alice. No need to mention her daily failures with lost permission notes, unwashed school uniforms, and forgotten homework, or how she didn't know what to do when they fought with each other over the computer or the PlayStation. "They're lovely. We made lovely children."
"I know we did," said Nick, and his face seemed to collapse. "I know we did." He paused, as if not sure whether he should speak, and then said, "That's why the thought of only seeing them on weekends kills me."
"Oh, that," said Alice. "Well, if we don't get back together, then of course we should do the fifty-fifty thing. One week for you. One week for me. Why not?"
"You don't mean that," said Nick.
"Of course I do," said Alice. "I'll sign something!"
"Fine," said Nick. "I'll get my lawyer to draft something. I'll have it couriered over to you tomorrow."
"No problem."
"Once you get your memory back, you're going to change your mind," said Nick. He laughed harshly. "And you're not going to want to get back together, I'd put money on that."
"Twenty bucks," said Alice, holding out her hand.
Nick shook her hand. "Done."
She still loved the feel of his hand holding hers. Wouldn't her body tell her if she hated him?
"I found out it was Gina's husband who kissed the woman in the laundry," said Alice. "Not you."
"Oh yes, the infamous laundry incident." Nick smiled at an old lady with a walking stick in one hand attempting to hand around a sagging plate of sandwiches. "Oh, all right, you twisted my arm!" He took a sandwich. Alice noted it was curried egg.
"What did you mean when you said you found it interesting that I thought that was you?" asked Alice, taking a sandwich herself to save it from sliding onto the floor.
"Because I was always saying to you, 'I'm not Mike Boyle,'" said Nick. Even with his mouth full of sandwich, she could hear the leftover anger in his voice. "You identified so strongly with Gina, it was as if it was happening to you. I said to you, 'But it wasn't me.' You got so caught up in that 'all men are bastards' thing."
"I'm sorry," said Alice. Her sandwich was ham and mustard, and the taste of mustard was reminding her of something. This constant feeling of fleeting memories was like having a mosquito buzzing in your ear when you're asleep, and you know that when you turn out the light, it will have vanished, until you lie back down, close your eyes, and then ... bzzzzzzz.