The Afterlife of Alice Watkins 1

by Matilda Scotney

  “I won’t be gone for long, and I’m here now,” he whispered, his lips moving over her neck and her shoulder.

  What was she supposed to do? His embrace was urgent, persuasive, but did she want this? Are her hormones meant to get triggered about now? Would she even know if they did? Her only information had been gleaned from silly romantic stories in magazines and novels, so she copied the heroines and slid her arms around his waist and over his back. Encouraged, his mouth moved to hers and she tried to kiss him back as best she knew how, but when his tongue probed deeper than the inside of her top lip, Alice found it startling and intrusive and had to steel herself not to pull away.

  “You only get back what you put in.”-Alice’s mother.

  Mother probably hadn’t specifically meant something like this. Ted had always maintained she was frigid. Perhaps if she tried harder with Patrick, she would feel something more than…appreciation? Friendship? Companionship?

  She closed her eyes, trying to focus on any positive feelings. How nice he smelled, his back hard and muscular beneath his shirt. He pushed her hair from her shoulder and kissed the other side of her neck. Well, that’s a pleasant enough sensation, she decided after a moment, reminding herself to be positive and stop analysing. She tried jogging a response by evoking an image of seeing him naked that day at the pool. He had muscles and a smooth, hairless chest and he looked nice, she reasoned. What if she tried moving her hands around to his chest and up to the back of his neck?

  She got it right, for him at least. Once more, his mouth came down on hers, harder this time and he slid his hands down to grip her bottom, pulling her against him. For the first time since Ted, Alice felt the full length of a man against her and it was too much. She took a deep breath and reached behind to take his hands away, old guilt rushing up, mixed with appalling shame she had let it get this far.

  “Is that a no?” Patrick stepped back, surprised, his breathing ragged.

  “Yes, no. I mean, yes it’s a no.”

  She shouldn’t have led him on. She gazed at the floor, embarrassed, but he lifted her face, perhaps to find out why the apparent change of heart, but she pulled away and stood, miserable and returned her gaze downwards. He placed both his hands on her shoulders and bent down a little to peer at her, prompting her to look at him. But she remained silent.

  “For a moment, I thought it was a yes,” he spoke with gentleness, he’d been too eager, the last thing he wanted was to scare her away.

  “Patrick,” Alice said, fidgeting with her hands and ignoring his efforts to get her to look at him. “You are the most handsome and confident man I have ever met, and I am so confused. Where I come from, people don’t do these things unless they’re married.”

  He smoothed out a strand of her hair.

  “That can be arranged.”

  “Patrick!”

  Her surprise made her look up, unbelievably, he was serious.

  “We’ve only known each other two weeks!! Ted and I were engaged for a whole year!!”

  He took his hand away.

  “Who’s Ted?”

  There, she had spoken without thinking and not told the truth about having to be married to have sex, it was just a lame excuse. So now she must explain herself if she could.

  “Are you aware—did Dr Grossmith tell you I believe I’m Alice Watkins and not Alexis Langley?”

  “His report speaks of a transitional personality confusion disorder, he isn’t dismissive, but he doesn’t think it will be permanent either. The name, Alice Watkins isn’t mentioned at all, so I would have to say, no, I’m not aware.”

  “Well, Alice Watkins—me, I have been married, I—she, had children, Patrick I’m sorry, I’m in a muddle, it’s hard to explain,” she put her hands to her face and closed her eyes. “I remember my husband dying and every detail of that life, even the grandchildren, birthdays, anniversaries. It’s so clear, I can hardly believe it’s not my history. Alexis Langley…she’s a stranger to me, I know nothing of science or spaceships or the world. In fact, I know very little about anything at all. In many ways, I still think like Alice Watkins.”

  “But there’s no doubt you are Alexis Langley,” Patrick could be a pragmatist when needed, “and before you were preserved, you were a biochemist. These memories of this other woman can’t be explained. Dr Grossmith is of the opinion they will fade.”

  “They haven’t faded yet, not completely anyway,” Alice mumbled.

  Well, Patrick thought, serve him right for not reading the full report. If he had, he would have been better prepared, though her story explains why she prefers being called Alice to Alexis. Maybe speaking of this Alice Watkins might give them both some perspective.

  “Did Alice Watkins love her husband?” he risked a question.

  “As it happened, Patrick, I hated him,” Alice decided under the circumstances, honesty would be the best policy. “I’ve only come to realise that fact lately. I had a miserable existence with him. The children were the only good things to have come from the marriage.”

  “Why did she marry him?” And children? It was difficult to imagine her in such a situation.

  “Because her mother—my mother, told me to.”

  “You aren’t old enough to have had children and grandchildren and if you’re widowed, you are free to marry again.”

  “That’s the point, Patrick. I don’t even look like Alice Watkins, part of me thinks as Principal Hardy and Dr Grossmith, that I can’t possibly be her. She’s 64, white-haired and wrinkled,” she pointed to the image definer, “that tells a different story.”

  He thinks I’m batty. Alice’s misery increased with each passing moment.

  “Your physical appearance proves this theory of yours to be wrong, Alice.”

  He reached out to take her hand, intertwining their fingers. She welcomed the gesture, for she couldn’t bear to part on bad terms.

  “I know,” she sighed. “Like everyone, you’re right, but I have her memories and morals somehow instilled in me and they are hard to dismiss.” Alice had to concede that on her appearance alone, all notions about being Alice Watkins should be thrown out the window. “Outwardly, I’m Alexis Langley, even I accept that, but looking like one person and experiencing the feelings of another has its crippling moments.”

  “How do you know you’re not experiencing Alexis Langley? Perhaps what you perceive as the moral stance of Alice Watkins belongs in fact, to her? It may be that your mind has created a history for itself until the amnesia passes, it’s possible you’re behaving exactly as Alexis Langley behaves.” Patrick remembered his father grappling with memory issues for a few months following his accident.

  “I’m trying to accept all assurances that in time, things will become clear but Patrick, you must see I’m not ready to have a relationship. I haven’t even got a relationship with myself yet.”

  Patrick stood in silence. Alice half expected him to turn on his heel and slam the door shut behind him. It would have been understandable, but she misjudged him, giving her another reason to feel ashamed because instead of walking out, he smiled and tenderly stroked her face.

  “You are wise, Alice. Wiser than I have been, but I’m not planning on giving up. If I rushed you, I’m sorry. In a few months, I’ll be leaving Earth and I’ll be away for two years. Would that be long enough, to learn who you are, so you can teach me about yourself when I get back? We can spend time together before I leave.”

  He pulled her close again, and she let him kiss her, to make things alright.

  Alone again, Alice sat on the bed, her emotions in a complete jumble over what had passed between them. No-one had ever made a pass at her, well not at Alice Watkins. It never entered her head that such a momentous event would ever occur and now it had, with someone she liked and respected, she’d said no, not willing yet to experiment with this body.

  The window was wide open, the moon high in the sky and its reflection bobbed about in the lake like a big gold ball, but her thought
s stayed with Patrick. So kind and attentive and such a dear. She touched her mouth, the sensation of his tongue against hers; had she truly not liked it? And, her shyness aside, seeing his beautiful body as he ran into the pool, surely something should have stirred? But she couldn’t deny the truth that each time he kissed her, she felt nothing.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Patrick couldn’t sleep after the exchange with Alice, his restlessness compounded by the inescapable memory of her in those tiny grey panties. He’d never imagined old women’s underwear would be so erotic. And his shirt, several sizes too large, tied around her thighs and then later, in her suite, feeling her so close to him, her body responding to his for those brief moments before she called a halt. Even the serious nature of the conversation when she rejected him hadn’t diminished his desire for her.

  He got out of bed, pulled his shirt over his head, hopped into his slacks and went in search of a drink. At this hour, he knew where to find one.

  Statesman Mellor was sitting in the big hall. Glasses and a bottle of the finest Scotch on a table at his side, he motioned for Patrick to join him.

  “Drink?”

  “Yes, thank you, Mellor.”

  “I saw you leave the suites earlier,” Mellor said. “Teaching our little fledgling how to fly?”

  “Hardly.”

  Patrick took the drink and took the seat opposite Statesman Mellor.

  “As she points out, we’ve only known each other a couple of weeks.”

  “That makes a difference to her?”

  “It does, and I will respect that, seeing as I got roundly rejected. She says in her time sexual freedom is bound up in commitment, marriage namely. To cap it all, she’s unsure about who she is and her place in our society.”

  “Well, she’s important to you and she’s made many friends here in such a short time. Alice is a likeable girl.”

  “That’s true, Mellor, but there are times when she makes comments, then doesn’t remember what she said, or she may remember events from the past that can’t possibly be the way things happened. It all only adds up to a sentence here and there, but I find it perplexing.”

  “Well, I can testify to that.”

  “Testify to what?”

  “Her memory of events. The other night as is my usual practice, I was seated here. Alice came down those stairs and, without a word,” he pointed to the main staircase, “entered the library and played the piano, at first, I thought nothing of it.”

  “Played the piano? I don’t understand. She claims she knows nothing about music. Wait—she made that claim and then commented on a piece played at a chamber concert on the ship. I thought it odd at the time.”

  “Well,” Statesman Mellor continued, “after an hour of listening to a precise and well-executed performance, I went in and there she was, in her night clothes.”

  “Night clothes? That doesn’t sound like Alice.”

  “Nevertheless, in her nightclothes and barefoot, I may add, playing Rachmaninov, followed by Beethoven, then Chopin and a fine rendition of To a Wild Rose. I am a pianist myself. I know well-played when I hear it.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “You’re not alone there, she doesn’t believe it either. When I saw her the next day, she had no recollection. I told her I spoke to her at length about the pieces she played and how very well-exercised she was in the classical composers, but she was utterly at a loss to explain herself and marginally uncomfortable I even mentioned it.”

  “Surely music would be intrinsic, Mellor, like artistic ability. How can she not remember?”

  “I can’t answer that, Patrick, I’ve not been briefed on the full details of her revival.”

  Statesman Mellor leaned forward, there were times even intrepid young principality ship officers need fatherly counsel.

  “Patrick, do yourself a favour. Let her take her time. She’s right, two weeks isn’t long and let’s be realistic, where women are concerned, you have a short attention span.”

  Statesman Mellor had known Patrick since he and his family arrived at the Tabernacle following his father’s accident and had always felt a special affinity to the younger Patrick, but faced with a thoughtful silence, wondered if his opinion had been unwelcome. Patrick merely shook his head slowly.

  “Not this time, Statesman. Not this time.” He stood. “Thank you for the drink, Statesman Mellor, I’m leaving to visit my family in the morning, but I’ll be back at the Tabernacle for the cotillion.”

  Mellor grinned and saluted him with his glass. He’d heard it all, many times. Patrick was a wolf. A likeable wolf, but a wolf nonetheless.

  Patrick ordered a one-man shuttle and, jumping into the pilot’s seat, placed a call to his mother, then sped towards the city. He’d planned to give Alice something to remember him by tonight, but it wasn’t meant to be. So, he’d thought of something else to give her instead.

  As usual, when the blinds rose, Alice checked her nightclothes to establish that if she had gone walkabout during the night, she had not gone naked. Assured of her decency, she wandered into the bathroom. Bath or shower she said to herself. Decisions, decisions, then stepped into the shower. Patrick had to leave first thing and she didn’t want to miss him, wanting to be certain their conversation the night before hadn’t diminished their friendship. Still damp from the shower and pulling on her bathrobe, she barely covered herself when Patrick stuck his head around the door unannounced.

  “Patrick. You could have knocked.”

  “I know that, but if you had been naked, you wouldn’t have let me in.”

  He closed the door behind him, not waiting for an invitation to enter.

  “Of course, I wouldn’t. I still haven’t, you invited yourself.”

  “Exactly. Alice, I’m about to leave, the shuttle will be here any moment. I wanted to be sure that our conversation last night hadn’t made any difference to, well, us.”

  She smiled. Only moments ago, she was thinking the same thing.

  “No, Patrick, we’re still friends.”

  He put his arms around her and she heard him sigh.

  “Well, you know I’d like more, but I’ve promised not to rush you. I wanted you to have this before I left.” He let her go and held out a slender, white, silken case, tied with a red ribbon.

  She took it and looked up at him.

  “Patrick, I...”

  “Open it,” he said, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “It reminded me of you.”

  Alice pulled the ribbon away and opened the case. Nestled against a background of rich crimson velvet, lay strands of the most delicate and tiniest pearls Alice had ever seen. Patrick turned her to face the image definer and took the necklace from its box to fasten it around her neck. He kissed her shoulder as he fastened the clasp, then took a step back, assured of the reception of his gift.

  Alice had never received a gift so exquisite. Three strands of tiny pearls hung from the clasp, their lustre matched only by the brilliance of the teardrop-shaped emerald, suspended in a frame of diamonds.

  What can anyone say when they receive a gift such as this? Alice touched the emerald and turned to look up at Patrick. She couldn’t speak, and tears pricked behind her eyes.

  “I—I don’t know what to say,” her voice wavered. “I want to say beautiful, but it doesn’t go far enough.”

  Patrick brushed her hair away from her neck, exposing more of the pearls.

  “Alice, a pearl is the most natural and perfect creation of nature, but even pearls and emeralds cannot express how lovely you are, or how precious.”

  He took her hand in his and held it against him, smoothing her cheek with his other hand. Overcome, she stood and allowed him to draw her into his embrace. She saw their reflection in the image definer. They looked like the perfect couple.

  “I’ll return soon and visit you at…” his voice trailed off when he caught sight of the portrait on the wall behind her.

  “That’s you.”


  “Sarah, the steward did it for me,” Alice looked up at the picture.

  “She’s caught you exactly. I love the mouth and chin. Proud. Hopeful and determined.”

  “You see things others don’t.”

  “Do I? Maybe, I’m closer to you than the others.”

  And after brushing her lips with his, he was gone.

  Alice sat at her dressing table and ran her fingers lightly over the necklace. Patrick had chosen well. The pendant cleverly brought out the subtleties of her skin and eyes, and for him to bring her such a wonderful gift after her refusal last night, only highlighted his sincerity and affection. Perhaps her feelings for him would change over time, and though it wasn’t her intention to hurt him, her whole life had been spent pleasing other people, doing what they insisted.

  Alice unclasped the necklace and placed it carefully in its box. Patrick was special, and he was dear to her, but wishing she loved him wouldn’t make it happen.

  Alice found Principal Katya at breakfast and she sat down with a courteous, “Good morning, Principal Katya,” before picking up the teapot and pouring them both tea.

  “Good morning, Alice, Patrick left to visit his family, I hear. He didn’t wake me to say goodbye.”

  “I saw him, he stopped by on his way to the shuttle.”

  Principal Katya eyed her young companion, trying to detect any shadow of disappointment because she seemed different this morning.

  “He is taken with you.”

  Alice felt a flush of shyness, she finished her task of pouring tea and tried to speak casually of her relationship with Patrick.

  “He thinks he is too, Principal Katya, he’s a dear friend, but we scarcely know each other.”

  Principal Katya agreed and let the matter drop.

  “Are you ready to meet your new family, Alice?” she asked. “Mary will arrive in two days and you will start your new life.”