Luke finally hurries in, a briefcase in one hand and a thick document in the other. He doesn’t see Alice sitting in her neat little office with the door open as he strides over to Martha.
‘Got caught up down in the cells with a little cretin who thinks he can drive like an idiot, smash into someone’s front fence, get out of the car, abuse the owner of the property then walk free as soon as he’s sobered up!’ He almost throws the document at Martha. ‘Can you sort it?’
‘Right,’ she says calmly, picking it up, ‘but you must ring that Shirley woman within the hour about her land settlement and . . .’ She points to where Alice is sitting at her desk in the room opposite, ‘Alice has arrived.’
‘Alice?’ He turns to where Martha is pointing.
Alice blushes awkwardly and stands up. She can see he has no idea who she is or why she might be sitting in one of his offices.
‘I got the job,’ she begins tentatively. ‘Last week . . .’
‘Oh, God yes!’ Luke grins as it all finally crunches into place. He gives himself a playful punch in the head. ‘Good on you, Alice!’ he says, taking her hand warmly. ‘Great to have you on board. Don’t tell me she’s got you working already?’
‘Yeah,’ Alice smiles back, surprised by a sudden spurt of happiness. She can feel his warmth rolling towards her. Luke and Martha are so . . . friendly and nice. Maybe I will be able to do this.
Alice spends a productive morning answering the phone and learning more of the ropes. Along with the phone, there is the mailing and case filing systems. None of what she has to do is too difficult and she finds herself enjoying the structured world of the office, the lists of clients, the ordered procedures and formalised way of going about things. First this and then that and always in a particular order. Martha’s attention to detail and insistence on accuracy is fierce but she is also very kind and understanding if Alice asks a question or makes a mistake. The phone runs hot, and with each call Alice becomes more confident. At around one o’clock. Martha comes in to congratulate her on her voice and phone manner, wondering if she’d done this kind of work before because she has picked up so much in such a short space of time.
‘No.’ Alice shakes her head, hardly able to speak she is so pleased. ‘I’ve never worked before.’ And to think that her stupid grandmother thought she wouldn’t be able to do it.
‘Off to lunch with you then!’ Martha declares with a big smile. ‘Make sure you take the full hour.’
Alice takes her two cream buns and her banana up to the park bench overlooking the ocean at the end of the street. She begins to eat, staring out happily at the bobbing waves. Who would have thought she would be back here in this town only four months after she’d been so keen to get away? She can hardly believe it herself. When the phone in her pocket rings she is tempted to simply switch it off. Half an hour without phone calls is what she really wants. But when she sees the name in the window she changes her mind.
‘Fawlty!’
‘It’s me. How are you?’
‘Fine. Where are you right now?’ For some reason she really needs to know this.
Eric is on his way back to his college room from the morning’s lectures, and Alice is hit with a small pang as he describes exactly where he is, walking back from the library past the union building, through the sports complex and in through the back of Newman College. There is something lovely about the university grounds on a dull cloudy day, the fronds on the old trees shimmering in the light and wind, and the groups of students walking by, heads down, clutching their books and bags, scarves twisted around their necks. Alice loved that sense of being in a world within a world. Although Eric’s well-heeled parents live is Malvern – a mere tram ride away from the university – his father insisted his only son have the full-on university experience of living in one of the beautiful old neo-Gothic colleges. And so Eric wears an academic gown to dinner every Sunday night, stands silently with the rest of the undergraduates as the head of college, his wife and half-a-dozen other senior people walk in and sit at high table. Grace is said, a bell rings and only when everyone is seated does conversation commence. Eric once told Alice that his father thinks Eric sits up all night in his room arguing philosophy and religion with other serious, like-minded students, and spends his free hours plotting student rebellion in the café. He has no idea that Eric actually spends most of his spare time down in the city in the virtual world of movies and computer games, or alone in his room trying to write film scripts.
‘So how is the wage slave?’ Fawlty’s imperious accent comes down the phoneline like warm treacle. ‘It can’t be good for your health?’
‘Still alive,’ Alice laughs. ‘Did you have French this morning?’
‘Emile was in full flight,’ Fawlty chuckles. ‘When Melissa and Sally started yawning about The Outsider being one big bore he spat the dummy.’
‘What did he say?’
‘That they were destined for dumb wifedom.’
‘They get shitty?’
‘Oh yes!’
Emile was the highly-strung French tutor who had audacious, thickly-accented opinions about everything. Half the class loathed him and the other half, including Alice and Eric, thought he was wonderful.
‘They both walked? Tell me more,’ Alice says greedily, beset with another sudden pang to be back there amongst it all. ‘What did he say?’
‘Oh, you know the way he raises his eyes?’
Alice had met Fawlty on the first day of enrolment, sitting by himself on the top step outside the Babel building, in the sun, smoking a roll-your-own cigarette and reading a thick science-fiction novel. He had flaming red hair, freckles, thick glasses, acne scars, really cheap terrible lace-up shoes and thin white fingers that reminded Alice of chicken feet.
But he looked up and smiled when she sat two steps down from him to eat her lunch (his teeth were okay she noted with relief).
‘You got enough room there?’ he said in this deep, confident English-actor’s voice, which totally threw her off guard.
‘I’m fine, thank you,’ she said huffily, picking up half her big salad, cheese and ham sandwich and biting into it. His easy, couldn’t-give-a-shit attitude was initially confusing. Don’t you realise how very unattractive you are? Okay, I’m fat but in certain lights I am also quite beautiful. Whereas you’ve got seriously bad hair and awful shoes, and no one in a pink fit would call you even normal looking.
‘Couldn’t spare that could you?’ he went on mildly. Alice looked around and nearly keeled over with amazement when she realised he was addressing her.
‘I forgot mine,’ he went on, as though this was quite normal. ‘Left it in my room.’
Is this guy asking for my lunch? Yep, the carrot-topped weirdo was staring at the other half of her sandwich. In the bottom of the clear plastic bag there was also a large chunk of wrapped fruit cake and a big red apple.
‘Well . . .’ Alice hesitated. She didn’t want to give it to him but she didn’t want to not give it to him either. What if he was poor and had no money for food? Wordlessly she handed him the rest of her sandwich.
‘Thanks.’ He unwrapped the sandwich and took a couple of bites. ‘I left my wallet back in college, too.’ He grinned at Alice. ‘But I’ve got ten dollars in change. So I’ll go buy us some coffee to go with the cake, shall I?’
So you’re going to eat my cake too? Alice had been going to save the cake and apple for later but there was something about his unapologetic manner that she found intriguing. ‘Okay,’ she said.
They ate their food in silence for a while then Eric got up. ‘How do you have it?’
‘Two sugars and very hot.’
‘Consider it done.’
Alice frowned as she watched him loping towards the café. God he was thin . . . and so tall. He reminded her of the stick figures she used to draw in kinder.
‘Very hot!’ she called after him sharply, just in case he thought she was a complete sucker.
‘Right.�
� He turned to grin at her and raise one hand in a mini salute. When he came back with two cups of good strong coffee, Eric got out a small knife and a tiny pocket tape measure and proceeded to measure up her cake. Alice watched as he found the exact halfway point before cutting it neatly. He then pulled out a big, brand new chemistry text from his battered bag, placed her coffee and share of the cake on it and handed it to her ceremoniously.
‘Madam.’
‘You’re doing chemistry. Engineering or science?’ She guessed.
‘Engineering/Arts,’ he said. ‘But I’m doing that to please my parents. I’m actually a screenwriter.’
‘A screenwriter?’
‘I finished another script last night,’ he sighed.
‘What’s it about?’
‘A very good question.’ He frowned. ‘I start off with one idea and end up somewhere else. Do it all the time.’
‘What idea did you start off with?’
‘A rich middle-aged woman who wants to transform her life,’ he smiled wryly at Alice, ‘based on my mother.’
‘Your mother is rich?’
‘Yes,’ he said simply, ‘very.’
‘But I thought you were poor!’ Alice wasn’t joking. ‘It was the only reason I gave you my lunch. You looked kind of shabby and bedraggled, like a down-and-out hobo, and I thought, well . . . he probably needs it more than I do.’
Eric’s mouth fell open. He looked down at his clothing incredulously. ‘Does all this really say down-and-out hobo?’
‘Yep.’
‘My god, I thought I looked . . . cool!’
‘Sorry,’ Alice laughed. ‘Especially the shoes!’
‘They don’t cut it?’
‘No.’
‘Shit!’ Eric gave a deep mortified sigh, then reached out to read her name on the outside flap of her bag of books. ‘So it’s Alice, is it?’ He sighed again. ‘You know I’ve always wanted to meet an Alice. Alice in Wonderland is my favourite book.’
‘You’ve got no idea how many people say that to me,’ Alice sniffed impatiently. ‘So bloody tedious!’ She figured that she was allowed to be honest. After all, she’d just given the guy her lunch.
‘Really?’ He was laughing at her now, and cutting her apple in half.
When it was time to go to their separate lectures they were both pleased to learn they’d be in the same French tute later in the day.
She misses Fawlty now. It had been nice to have such a nutty friend.
‘So when am I coming?’
‘Whenever you want.’ Alice issued the invitation when she left university, not thinking he’d take her up on it, because it was impossible to think of Eric out of the city. He once admitted that he’d never been on school camp, and considered the elaborate excuses he’d made up each year from Grade Six onwards one of the finest creative achievements of his life. ‘Any weekend you like,’ she says weakly, ‘but don’t forget . . . there is my grandmother.’
‘Ah yes, the grandmother,’ Eric chuckles.
‘Fawlty, I know you think I’m exaggerating,’ Alice says, ‘but believe me, she is not fun in any way, shape or form, and more than that she’ll hate you.’
‘Why?’
‘She doesn’t need reasons.’ Alice stops. ‘She’ll have you wanting to slit your wrists within the hour.’
‘Far out!’ Eric sounds delighted.
‘Well, don’t say you weren’t warned,’ Alice sighs. ‘What about the first weekend next month, then?’
‘Great!’ Eric hesitates. ‘Oh, Alice, any chance of meeting . . . your father?’
‘What?’
‘Your daddy-o . . .’
‘He lives in Darwin!’
‘Sorry, you told me that,’ Eric laughs. ‘I forgot.’
‘Why do you want to meet him?’
‘Well,’ Eric murmurs softly, ‘he sounds like a weirdo.’
‘So, why . . . ?’
‘I want to see for myself.’
‘For what purpose?’
‘He sounds like a character I could use.’
‘A character?’ Alice frowns. ‘Oh, you mean for your script? Well I suppose he is . . . a character,’ she sighs grimly, ‘but he’s about 3000 kilometres away right now.’
‘Point taken.’
‘So, I’ll call you soon and we’ll arrange something.’
‘You’re on.’
Alice peels her banana slowly, thinking about her father and what it would be like to see him again. The last time was not long after her mother’s funeral. Mal hadn’t contacted Alice when Lillian died. Nor did he come to the funeral. Weeks later he turned up at the door of her grandmother’s house. Alice had been excited to see him. But he only gave her a quick hug.
‘She’s my daughter,’ Mal said to Phyllis, ‘and I want her. We’re going back up north today.’
Alice’s grandmother didn’t say anything. She walked past him down the steps to where Shaz, the girlfriend, was waiting in the Thunderbird. The old lady seemed to draw herself up into someone much bigger and taller as she looked from one to the other.
‘Alice is my granddaughter,’ she said stonily.
‘That bitch turned her against me,’ Mal burst out vehemently. But there was something missing in his voice. Some element of confidence was gone. Mal seemed more reduced, somehow, as each moment passed.
‘It’s up to you, Alice,’ her grandmother said gravely. Alice loved her father, but she didn’t want to live with him because that meant living with Shaz (who didn’t like Alice one little bit) and all those dogs. It also meant horrible food, drunken brawls, not getting to school on time, and the rest of it. So she shook her head.
Alice stood with her grandmother on the top step and watched him slowly turn around and head back to the Thunderbird. He got in, slammed the door and, without a wave or a smile, spun it around, backed out of the driveway and was on his way.
‘Good riddance,’ her grandmother muttered as she turned away.
That had been the last time she’d seen her father.
Alice watches the seagulls dip and soar in the wind. One of them hovers, wings outstretched, allowing itself to be buffeted about without moving its wings. Do birds enjoy what they do? There didn’t seem any other purpose.
Mal wasn’t a bad person. He could be unexpectedly kind and generous – she’d seen it often. And there were things he loved, like clay-bird shooting, racing cars and fishing and of course his precious Thunderbird. Alice can’t think of much else except . . . her mother. Mal had adored his wife, Lillian, but he didn’t know how to show it in any way that made sense. In fact, when she thinks back to her early life, together on the little farm, it seemed as though he resented the fact that he loved her so much and became intent on paying her out for this perceived weakness in his own character.
When Alice and her mother first moved away from the farm and into town, she worried about him out there by himself. Would he remember to feed the dogs and collect the eggs? Who would cook his tea and wash the dishes? Missing her dad was like heartburn back then. It would rise up from deep down in her, hot and unexpectedly bitter, and she’d have to swallow it because her mother didn’t want to know. It wasn’t true that he didn’t care about them she used to think angrily. When her mother had said she wanted to grow vegetables he’d dug up the garden for her and brought in special dirt that would make them grow. Her mother had hugged him when he’d put up a little fence to keep out stray animals. She said, You’re a good man, Mal. And when Alice had wanted a fairy costume like Melissa Todd in Grade Three – one of those fancy lace-and-netting numbers with sparkles on the bodice – her mother had said, No darling, it is too ridiculous, but her father had laughed and said they’d go and buy one that afternoon. And they did too! Pink with little white flowers sprinkled all over it. And her father had whistled when she put it on at home.
From now on it’s, ‘Your Royal Highness Princess Alice’. He’d kept it up all day. Would Princess Alice like ice-cream on her potatoes? Even her
mother had laughed.
Does she miss him now? If asked she always says, Of course, but the truth is, she doesn’t much. It’s enough to get a phone call about nothing every now and again, a card around her birthday and some silly little present suitable for someone half her age at Christmas (if she’s lucky). If she does miss him, then it’s tucked away in a place so deep inside that she doesn’t have to think about it often, if at all.
Lunch finished, Alice gets up and walks slowly back to the office. Some things are just too hard to work out. Better not to dwell on them. Better to just try and look forward.
‘Do you know Tom?’ Luke asks proudly. ‘My son.’
Alice looks up and doesn’t know what to say because suddenly panic is jolting through her. This was the thing she’d forgotten! Forgotten? Or shoved out of her head the way you’d shove a dead rat into the bin if you found it behind the fridge? Luke’s son was the friend, her cousin Jonty’s best mate. And here he is! A chill goes through her. How handsome he is with all that curly dark hair and how utterly unlike his heavy, world-weary, middle-aged father. How could she have blocked him out?
They nod to each other and murmur hello but time has suddenly contracted and it is all sitting there between them: the afternoons when Alice came home from school to find Tom and Jonty sitting with her mother at the table, talking and laughing. When Alice came in it all stopped, somehow. The three of them pretended that it hadn’t, but she felt the way the puff went out of the air when she walked in. She wasn’t part of whatever they had going. They were all wishing she’d go up to the front room and do her own thing. She didn’t belong down there in the kitchen with them.
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