What Alice Forgot

  She said, "Well, when I first woke up, I was having this dream, and I couldn't tell if it was just a dream or something that really happened. I was swimming, and it was a beautiful summer's morning, and my toenails were all painted different colors. There was somebody else with me and their toenails were painted the same way. Hey, maybe the other person was you? I bet it was you!"

  Elisabeth said, "No, that doesn't mean anything to me. What else?"

  Alice thought about the bouquets of pink balloons bobbing about in the gray sky, but she didn't want to tell Elisabeth about that great tidal wave of grief that kept sweeping her away, and she wasn't all that keen on finding out what it meant.

  Instead she said, "I remember an American lady saying, 'I'm sorry, but there is no heartbeat.'"

  "Oh," said Elisabeth.

  Elisabeth's Homework for Dr. Hodges I admit I found it oddly touching, flattering even, that of all the billions of memories significant enough to float to the surface of Alice's mind, that was one of them.

  Alice has always been good at imitating accents and she did that woman's voice perfectly. The tone and the rhythm were exactly the way I remembered, and for a moment I was back there in that gloomy room, trying to understand. I haven't thought about it in such a long time.

  Imagine, Dr. Hodges, if I could travel back in time to that day and whisper in my ear, "This is only the beginning, honey." Then I'd throw back my head and laugh a demented witchy laugh.

  Actually you don't really like it when I do that sort of black, bitter humor thing, do you? I've noticed that you smile politely and sort of sadly, as if I'm making a fool of myself and you know exactly why, as if I'm a teenager who isn't in control of her own embarrassing emotions.

  Anyway, I didn't want to talk about the American woman to Alice. Obviously. Especially not to Alice. I don't especially want to talk about it with you, either. Or think about it. Or write about it. It just happened. Like everything else.

  Elisabeth smoothed the white blanket next to Alice's leg with the flat of her palm. Her face seemed to harden. She said, "Sorry, that doesn't mean anything to me, either. Not a thing."

  Why did she sound angry? Alice felt as if she'd done something wrong but couldn't work out what; she felt stupidly clumsy, like a child trying to grasp something big and important that the grown-ups weren't telling her.

  Elisabeth met Alice's eyes and gave her a half-smile and looked away again quickly.

  A woman carrying flowers came into the ward, peered hopefully at Alice and Elisabeth, blinked dismissively, and walked past their curtained-off cubicle to the next one. They heard a disembodied voice squeal, "I was just thinking about you!"

  "I should have brought you flowers," murmured Elisabeth.

  Alice said suddenly, "You're married!"

  "Pardon?"

  Alice picked up Elisabeth's left hand. "You've got an engagement ring! It's gorgeous. That's exactly the sort of ring I would have got if we'd got to choose our own ring. Not that I don't love Granny Love's ring, of course."

  Elisabeth said dryly, "You hate and despise Granny Love's ring, Alice."

  "Oh. Did I tell you that? I don't remember telling you that."

  "Years ago, I think you might have had too much to drink, that's why I don't understand why ... well, anyway."

  Alice said, "Well, are you going to keep me in suspense? Who did you marry? Was it that cute town planner?"

  "Dean? No, I didn't marry Dean, and I only went out with him for five minutes. Also, he died. In a scuba diving accident. Tragic. Anyway, I married Ben. You don't remember Ben? He's looking after your children at the moment."

  "Oh, that's nice of him, good," said Alice weakly, and felt sick again, because presumably a good mother would immediately have checked on who was looking after her children. The problem was that it still seemed preposterous that they existed. She pressed a hand to her flat stomach where there was no longer a baby and fought that feeling of vertigo. If she let herself think too much about this, she might start screaming and not be able to stop.

  "Ben," said Alice, focusing on Elisabeth. "So you married someone called Ben." She remembered hearing that snuffly child say "Uncle Ben" on the phone. It was somehow worse when things clicked together, as if everything in the world made sense except for Alice.

  She said, "It's funny, I was thinking earlier that the only Ben I knew was this huge neon-sign designer I met once at Nick's sister's shop. I always remembered that guy because he was so big and slow and silent, it was like a giant grizzly bear had been turned into a man."

  Elisabeth burst out laughing, and the sound of her laugh (it was a fullthroated, generous laugh that always made you want to say the funny thing again) and the way she tipped back her head made her seem like her proper self again.

  "I don't get it." Alice smiled, ready to get it.

  "That's the Ben I married. I met him at the opening of Dora's shop. We've been married eight years."

  "Really?" Elisabeth married that huge grizzly neon-sign designer? She normally went for terribly witty, successful corporate types, who made Alice feel stupid. "But didn't he have a beard?"

  Surely Elisabeth wouldn't have married someone with a beard. Elisabeth shook with laughter. "Yep, he's still got it."

  "And does he still design neon signs?"

  "Yes, beautiful ones. My favorite is the one for Rob's Ribs and Rumps in Killara. It came in second in the annual Neon Design Awards last year."

  Alice looked at her sharply, but she seemed perfectly serious.

  She said, "So he's my brother-in-law. So I guess I ... know him. I know him pretty well. Does Nick get on with him? Do we all go out together?"

  Elisabeth paused and Alice couldn't read the expression on her face. Then she said, "Years ago, before Ben and I were married, when Madison was a toddler and you were just pregnant with Tom, we got a house together at Jervis Bay one Easter. It was right on Hyams Beach, you know--whitest sand in the world--and the weather was perfect, and Madison was so cute, we were all just in love with her. We played stupid card games like Cheat and one night Nick and Ben got drunk and danced to eighties music. Ben never dances. That might have been the only time I've seen him dance. They were being so stupid! We were just rolling around laughing so much, we woke Madison up and she got out of bed and danced with them in her pj's. Actually, that was a really special holiday. It makes me feel so nostalgic. I haven't thought about it for ages."

  "I don't remember a thing about it," said Alice. It seemed so cruel that she couldn't remember a wonderful holiday, as if some other Alice had got to live her life in her place.

  Elisabeth's tone changed abruptly. "It's amazing you don't remember Ben." There was something almost aggressive in her voice and she was looking sharply at Alice as if daring her to say something. "You saw him just yesterday. He came over to help you with your car. You baked him his favorite banana muffins. You had quite a chat."

  "So," said Alice nervously. "We have a car now?"

  "Mmmm. Yes you do, Alice."

  "And I make banana muffins?"

  Elisabeth smiled. "Low fat. High fiber. But surprisingly delicious."

  Alice's mind jumped about feverishly, this way and that, until she felt dizzy, from those three strange children sitting in a row to banana muffins to a car (she didn't like cars: she liked buses, the ferry; also, she wasn't the best driver) to Elisabeth marrying a neon-sign designer called Ben.

  She seized on a sudden hurtful thought. "Hey! You must have had a wedding without me!" Alice loved weddings. She would never forget a wedding.

  Elisabeth said, "Alice, you were my matron of honor and Madison was flower girl. You had matching dresses the color of a Singapore orchid. You made a funny speech, and you and Nick made a spectacle of yourselves dancing to 'Come On Eileen.' You gave us a blender."

  "Oh." Frustration welled up in her. "But I just can't believe I don't remember any of this. It doesn't even sound familiar!" She stuck her fingers though the holes in the blanket over her le
gs and bunched it together hard with both hands in a silly, childish movement. "There is so much ... stuff!"

  "Hey ... hey, there." Elisabeth rubbed Alice's shoulder a bit too vigorously, as if she were a boxer, and looked around her feverishly for help. "You've got to let me go and find a doctor to talk about this."

  She was a problem solver, Elisabeth. She always wanted to find a solution for you.

  There was a burst of screechy female laughter from the cubicle next to them. "You didn't!" "I did!" Alice and Elisabeth raised their eyebrows at each other in mutual silent distaste and Alice was filled with soothing, sisterly affection.

  She let go of the blanket and managed to put her hands sedately back in her lap. "Please don't go. A nurse will come along and check on me soon and you can talk to her. Just stay here and keep talking to me. I think that will cure me."

  Elisabeth glanced at her watch and said, "I don't know about that," but she sat back in her chair.

  Alice shifted herself against the pillows behind her back to get comfortable. She thought about asking more questions about the children in the photo (three!--the number was so unwieldy and impossible) but it was so surreal it was silly, like a movie that was so far-fetched you kept shifting in your seat and trying not to guffaw. It was better to ask about Elisabeth's life.

  Elisabeth had her head bent, scratching at something invisible on her wrist. Alice looked again at the lines that seemed to pull her sister's mouth down into a sad sort of grimace. Was it just age? (Did her own mouth turn down like that, too? Soon she would look. Soon.) But it was more than that; there was a deep, slumping sort of sadness about her. Was she not happy being married to that grizzly-bear man? (Was it possible to love a man with a beard? Childish. Of course it was possible. Even if it was a remarkably bushy beard.)

  As Alice watched, Elisabeth's throat moved as she swallowed convulsively.

  "What are you thinking about?" asked Alice.

  Elisabeth started and looked up. "I don't know, nothing." She swallowed a yawn. "Sorry. I'm just tired. I only got a couple of hours' sleep last night."

  "Ah," said Alice. She didn't need an explanation. She and Elisabeth had both suffered from bouts of terrible insomnia all their lives. They had inherited it from their mother. After their dad died, Alice and Elisabeth would often stay up right through the night with their mother, sitting in their dressing gowns in a row on the couch, watching videos and drinking cocoa, and then they'd sleep the next day away, while sunlight streamed through the muffled, sleeping house.

  "How has my insomnia been lately?" asked Alice.

  "I don't know actually. I don't know if you still get it."

  "You don't know?" Alice was baffled. They always kept each other up to date with their insomnia battles. "But don't we--don't we talk?"

  "Of course we talk, but I guess you're pretty busy, with the kids and everything, so our conversations are maybe a bit rushed."

  "Busy," repeated Alice. She didn't like the sound of that at all. She had always had a slight mistrust of busy people; the sort of people who described themselves as "Flat-out! Frantic!" What was the hurry? Why didn't they slow down? Just what exactly were they so busy doing?

  "Well," she said, and felt unaccountably awkward. It felt like things weren't exactly right between herself and Elisabeth. There seemed to be a sort of stilted, friendly politeness, as if they were good friends who didn't see each other so often anymore.

  She would ask Nick about it. It was one of the best things about him; he liked to talk about people, study them, and work them out. He was interested in the complexities of relationships. Also, he loved Elisabeth, and when he made fun of her, or complained about her (because she could at times be profoundly annoying), he did it in just the right brotherly way so that Alice didn't feel she had to defend her.

  Alice looked at Elisabeth's beautifully cut cream suit (both their wardrobes seemed to have improved in 2008) and said, "Are you still working at the catalogue place? The Treasure Chest?"

  Elisabeth had a job writing the text for a huge monthly mail-order catalogue called The Treasure Chest. She had to find clever, persuasive things to say about hundreds and hundreds of products, anything from bananaflavored lip gloss to an instant egg poacher to a waterproof radio you could play in the shower. She got a lot of free stuff to give away, which was nice, and every month when the catalogue came out, everyone in the family read out their favorite lines to Elisabeth. Frannie kept every issue of The Treasure Chest on proud display and made her friends read it when they came to visit.

  "Oh, that feels like such a long time ago," said Elisabeth. She looked at Alice and shook her head slightly, as if she'd never seen anything quite like it. "You're like a time traveler. You really are."

  "So I guess you don't work there anymore?" Alice felt irritable. This was going to get tiring if everyone looked at her with awe each time she asked a simple question. How much could have changed in ten years? It seemed like everything.

  "The Treasure Chest is a website now," said Elisabeth. "And I stopped working there about six years ago. I worked for an agency for about four years, and then two years ago I started running these training seminars on how to write direct mail. Or junk mail, as most people would call it. They're quite--well, they're quite successful, actually, as strange as that may seem. Anyway, it pays the bills. I was running one today when I got the call from Jane about you."

  "So it's your own business?"

  "Yes."

  "Wow! That's so impressive. You're a success story. I always knew you would be a success story. Can I come along and watch you?"

  "Come along and watch? Watch me?" Elisabeth snorted.

  "Oh. I guess I've already done that, have I?"

  Elisabeth said, "No, Alice, you've never shown the slightest interest in coming along to one of my seminars." Her voice had that sharp edge again.

  "Oh," said Alice, confused. "That seems ... well, I wonder why not?"

  Elisabeth sighed. "You're just really busy, Alice. That's all."

  There was that "busy" word again.

  "And also, I think you find my whole choice of career maybe a bit--tacky."

  "Tacky? I said that? I said that about you? I would never say that!" Alice was horrified. Had she turned into a nasty person who judged people by their choice of a career? She'd always been proud of Elisabeth. She was the smart one, the one who was going places, while Alice stayed safely put.

  Elisabeth said, "No, no, you never actually said that. You probably don't even think it. Just forget I said that."

  Maybe, thought Alice fearfully, the other Alice who has been living my life for the last ten years isn't very nice.

  Alice said, "Well, what about me? What do I do for a job?"

  Alice had worked as an administrative assistant in the pay office at ABR. She didn't love it or hate it, it was just a job. She wasn't especially interested in a career. "You're such a domestic goddess. You're like a 1950s housewife," Elisabeth had once said to her, when Alice admitted that she'd just spent the most blissful day gardening, making new curtains for the kitchen, and baking a chocolate cake for Nick.

  "You don't work." Elisabeth gave her an inscrutable look.

  "Oh, well, that sounds good!" said Alice happily.

  "You're very busy, though." What was it with that word? "You do a lot of stuff at the school."

  "The school? What school?"

  "The children's school."

  Oh. Them. The three scary little strangers.

  "Frannie," said Alice suddenly. "What about Frannie? She hasn't--got sick or anything, has she?" She didn't want to even say the word "died."

  "She's fine," said Elisabeth. "Full of beans."

  The silver mobile phone sitting on the cabinet next to Alice's bed burst into life.

  "It must be Nick at last!" Alice lunged for the phone.

  "Oh!" Elisabeth jumped to her feet. "Let me talk to him first!"

  "No way." Alice held the phone away from her, irritated. "Why?" Wit
hout waiting for an answer, she pressed the green button and held the phone to her ear.

  "Hello?"

  "Yeah, hi, it's me." It was Nick; Alice felt blissful relief running straight through her bloodstream like a shot of brandy.

  "What's happened?" His voice was deeper, rougher than usual, as if he had a cold. "Is it one of the kids?"

  So Nick knew about "the kids," too. Everyone knew about the kids.

  Elisabeth was jumping up and down, waving her arms about, gesturing for the phone. Alice poked her tongue out at her.

  "No, it's me," said Alice. There was so much to tell him, she didn't know where to start. "I fell over at the, ah, gym, with Jane Turner, and hit my head. I was unconscious. They had to call an ambulance--oh, and I was sick in the lift all over this guy's shoes, so embarrassing! And wait till I tell you about this bike-riding class! So funny. Hey, you're in Portugal, I can't believe you're in Portugal, what's it like?"

  There was so much to tell him, she felt like she hadn't seen him in years. When he got back from Portugal, they would have to go out for dinner at that Mexican restaurant they liked and talk, talk, talk. They would have margaritas; she could drink again, now that she wasn't pregnant anymore. Oh, she yearned to be in that restaurant with him right now, sitting in a dark corner booth, his thumb caressing her palm.

  There was silence on the other end of the phone. He must be in shock.

  "But I'm not badly hurt!" Alice reassured him. "It's not serious. I'll be fine! I feel fine!"

  He said, "Then why the fuck did I need to call you?"

  Alice felt her head snap back as if she'd been hit. Nick had never, ever spoken to her like that before, not even when they were fighting. He was meant to fix the nightmare, not make it worse.

  "Nick?" There was a tremor in her voice. She was going to be so mad with him later about this; her feelings were extremely hurt. "What's the matter?"

  "Is there some sort of strategy to all this? Because I'm not getting it, and to be frank, I don't have time for it. You don't want to change any of the arrangements for the weekend, do you? Is that what it's about? Or, for Christ's sake, tell me it's not something to do with Christmas Day again. Is it?"