Putting Alice Back Together

by Carol Marinelli

  I could feel his dark eyes on my burning cheeks and I shrugged—I hate jokes, I never get them, oh, I pretend to laugh, but I never really get them.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Because she’s given her last blow job!’

  I didn’t really get it. I laughed and said goodnight. I knew what a blow job was, sort of—I hadn’t even kissed a guy. I even told Bonny the joke when I got home but she wasn’t too impressed.

  It was only that night as I lay in bed that I sort of got it, that I realised he was talking about Celeste.

  I lay there feeling grown up—thought about Mandy Edwards and her snog with Scott, thought about Jacinta Reynolds and her fumble with Craig, a boy in lower sixth.

  Gus was twenty-two.

  It made me feel very grown up indeed.

  Four

  I was expecting offices. Nice, bland offices, but as I turned into the street I saw that it was a house, and better still there was a large sign that displayed to all and sundry that I was entering a psychologist’s practice.

  Really. You’d think they’d be more discreet and write ‘Life Coaching’ or something.

  A very bubbly receptionist greeted me and handed me a form to fill in. She told me to take a seat with the other psychopaths and social misfits and that Lisa would call me in soon.

  God, I so did not belong here. There was a couple, sitting in stony silence, who were presumably here for marriage counselling (and from the way he rolled his eyes when she had the audacity to get up and get a drink from the water cooler, I didn’t fancy their chances much). Then there was a huge guy with a face like a bulldog who had probably been sent by the courts for anger management. There was, though, one fairly normal-looking guy, who was reading a magazine. He was rather good looking and he gave me a smile as he caught my eye, but I quickly looked away—I mean, normally I’d have been making conversation by now, but I had some standards, and refused to be chatted up in a psychologist’s waiting room. I mean, God alone knows what he was there for.

  And what would you say when people asked where you met?

  Mind you, I did feel guilty for snubbing him and when I saw him look at me again, I gave him a sort of sympathetic, understanding smile, just in case he was normal and was here for grief counselling. I started on the form and the disclaimers, telling them who my GP was, my job (er… why?) and filling in all the little boxes. I ticked my way merrily through the form—though it was completely unnecessary. What business of theirs was it where I worked? Or if I was at any risk of blood-borne diseases or had heart problems or had been involved in a workplace accident. I was here for a chat, not cardiac surgery. Mind you, I almost ticked ‘No’ to allergies, but quickly moved my pen to the ‘Yes’ box and in the bit below, where I had to elaborate, I wrote: ‘Hazelnuts—cause shortness of breath and lips to swell.’

  And on the bit about current medication I made sure to remind this Lisa why I was here and boldly wrote my order.

  Valium.

  I put Roz down as my emergency contact, even though she had no idea I was here.

  A woman, presumably Lisa, opened the door and gave me a patronising smile as she took my forms, then invited me to follow her.

  On sight I didn’t like her.

  I certainly couldn’t imagine myself relating to her, or her to me. She was a big woman, about sixty, with massive, pendulous breasts. Worse, she wore a really low-cut olive top, so you could see her crêpe chest and cleavage. Add to that a flowing A-line, snot-green skirt, green sandals. And she had accessorised with—in case we hadn’t noticed her colour choice for today—a huge jade necklace.

  There were four seats for me to choose from. No doubt the one I chose would mean something, and I hesitated for a moment, before settling for the one in the middle.

  ‘Excuse all the furniture…’ She gave a pussycat smile. ‘I had a family in before you.’

  Lucky them, then.

  I put down my bag, checked my keys were there, zipped it up and sat back. There was a bowl of sweets on her desk, cola bottles, snakes, wine gums, all my favourites really, and I stared at them instead of her.

  ‘So…’ Lisa finally broke the silence. ‘What brought you here today?’

  I so did not need this. Last night had been a one-off drunken mistake, I’d by now decided, and I’d learnt my lesson—I was never mixing alcohol with Valium again.

  ‘Okay,’ she said to the ensuing silence. ‘Why don’t you tell me about Alice?’ I could feel a really inappropriate smile start to wobble on my lips. I couldn’t believe I was sitting in a psychologist’s office being asked to discuss me in the third person. ‘Alice is English?’

  ‘She is,’ my twitching lips answered.

  Well, we skirted around for a bit, I told her I had to leave promptly, that my flatmate was going to the UK and I had to take her to the airport.

  ‘Nicole’s English as well?’ Lisa checked.

  ‘She’s been here five years,’ I said. ‘She’d never leave.’

  Lisa wrote a little note but I couldn’t make out what it was.

  ‘You’ll miss her?’

  ‘I guess,’ I admitted. Though lately we hadn’t been getting on too well. Not that I’d tell Lisa that, so instead I mentioned that Nicole’s cousin Hugh, a doctor, was arriving in a couple of days and staying till he found somewhere near the hospital to live.

  ‘You don’t look too pleased.’

  ‘I like my own company.’ I shrugged. ‘I was looking forward to a few weeks to myself.’

  Actually, that had nothing to do with it.

  Normally I’d be thrilled to have the good doctor to myself, but I’d found out from Nic that he was a redhead—need I say more?

  I know that sounds anti-redhead, but I’m allowed to be, because I am one.

  Think Ronald McDonald meets Shirley Temple.

  I had the kind of hair that stopped old ladies in the street, made them pat it as they chattered away to my mother.

  ‘Beautiful hair. Of course, she’ll hate it later.’

  I hated it already. By the time I was six it regularly reduced me to tears. Hour after hour was spent in front of my mother’s dressing-table mirror trying to brush out the curls. Night after uncomfortable night was spent sleeping with pins speared into my scalp in the hope of producing a straight fringe by morning. And as for the colour! I’d barely hit puberty before I bought my first hair dye and even now a very significant portion of my monthly pay cheque is spent on foils, serum, ceramic straighteners, regular blow-dries and, if I ever save up enough, I’m getting that Brazilian keratin treatment.

  Though I digress, there is a point—my hair is now strawberry blonde and straight. For the first time in my life I’m actually pleased with my hair and I do not need a reminder of the au naturel version of myself walking around the flat.

  Not that Lisa needed to hear that.

  Honestly, it was the most boring, pointless hour of my life.

  Yes, I suppose sometimes I did get a bit homesick.

  Yes, I’d been here for nearly ten years now since my sister Bonny had got married and emigrated.

  ‘But you only initially came to Melbourne for a year?’

  ‘That’s right.’ I nodded. ‘I just loved it, though. I got a good job…’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Working on the classifieds section at the newspaper. Well, it was a good job at the time.’

  ‘And you’re still there?’ She peered at the form I had filled in.

  I felt myself pink up just a little bit. ‘I’m a team manager now and I do web updates.’ I gave a little shrug. ‘It’s not my ideal job, of course…’

  ‘What is your ideal job?’

  ‘I don’t know…’ another shrug ‘… something in music, I suppose. My exam results weren’t great. That was one of the reasons I came in the first place—to have a break and work out what I was going to do.’

  We chatted some more, or rather she dragged information out of me. ‘And are the rest of your
family here?’

  ‘Just Bonny. My mum and Eleanor, she’s the oldest, live back in the UK.’

  ‘And your father?’

  I felt my face redden. I mean, I hadn’t meant to leave him out. ‘He’s in the UK too.’ I waited for her to scribble something down, but she didn’t. ‘They’re divorced. I speak to him and everything… it’s no big deal.’

  ‘When did they divorce?’

  ‘When I was fifteen.’

  Well, it would seem that I had my Valium. She pounced on the fact my parents were divorced. Really, she worried away at it for the rest of the hour. How did I feel when they broke up, had there been rows? I couldn’t convince her that it hadn’t been that bad. I mean, you hear all these terrible tales, but the truth is, Mum let herself go after I came along, Dad met Lucy and left. We still saw him. Every Friday night we stayed over while Mum did a night shift, and then on Saturday lunchtime he took us to the pub for lunch, just as he had done when they were still married. Mum had been upset, of course—depressed, in hindsight—but it really wasn’t that much of a big deal at the time. I told Lisa that as she started jotting down a little family tree and making copious notes.

  ‘Look, I’m not here about that.’ And I supposed, if I wanted the prescription, I was going to have to tell her. ‘I had an anxiety attack.’ My cheeks were flaming as I cringed at the memory of Olivia’s leaving do last week. Everyone gathering around, offering me water, paramedics, being strapped to a stretcher and taken down in the lifts and out onto the street. ‘Really, I’m not even sure that it was an anxiety attack—the doctors at the hospital thought it might be an allergic reaction.’ She frowned. ‘I had a similar thing when I was seven and I ate hazelnuts.’ But still she just sat there. ‘The medicine they gave me at the hospital really helped, though.’

  ‘The Valium?’

  ‘Yes.’ I gave a little swallow. ‘I’m worried it might happen again, but if I had some Valium, just till I get the allergy tests done…’

  ‘You could just avoid hazelnuts!’ I swear her eyes crinkled. Honestly, I felt as if she was laughing at me, which she couldn’t be, of course.

  But then she did.

  She laughed.

  I couldn’t believe it. She didn’t sit there and roar, but she gave a little laugh that made her shoulders go up. The type you do when you say something amusing, only this wasn’t funny.

  I’d get her struck off.

  If she didn’t give me my script.

  ‘Okay.’ She glanced at her watch and managed to contain herself enough for another little scribble on her pad. ‘If you can make an appointment again for about two weeks’ time. Now, don’t be surprised if you feel a bit unsettled over the next couple of days—we’ve touched on some sensitive areas.’

  Which was news to me.

  ‘But what about…?’ I gave a nervous swallow as she stood. ‘The doctor said I should see a psychologist if I needed more Valium. He was only comfortable giving me ten.’

  ‘That’s very sensible.’

  God, she wasn’t making this easy—I wasn’t asking her to buy them, just to write the bloody script.

  I decided to go for direct. ‘Do you think you could write me up for some?’

  ‘I don’t prescribe medication.’

  What the hell? My ears were ringing from her words as she droned on. I’d been through all of this, all of this, and she still refused to write me up for drugs—what did she suggest then? Was she some sort of alternative psychologist, was she going to suggest meditation? ‘I’m happy to write a note for your GP explaining that you are seeing me.’

  ‘But the doctor at the hospital said I should come and see you.’ I could hear my voice rising. I’d taken my last Valium yesterday and I had none left.

  None.

  ‘The doctor was recommending counselling, Alice. Your GP, if she does feel you need medication, is likely to suggest the same.’ She read my stunned expression and twisted the knife. ‘Even if I thought you needed it, I’m not qualified to prescribe medication.’

  Well, what was the bloody point of that? I huffed, as I paid and left.

  I was late for Nic. I’d wasted an hour talking about a stupid divorce that had happened more than a decade ago, and she’d charged me one hundred and twenty dollars for the pleasure. I hadn’t even got a script—let alone a single bloody insight.

  I was not best pleased, I can tell you.

  Five

  I hate airports.

  You know at the beginning of Love Actually where Hugh (Grant, not the ginger one that’s coming to stay) says you just have to go to the Arrivals at Heathrow to witness love, or something along those lines?

  Well, there’s a flip side to that.

  Departures.

  If there is a hell, then for me it will be Departures at an international airport.

  I won’t be shovelling coal for eternity into a furnace. Instead, one by one I’ll have to say goodbye to everyone I love and watch them disappear. It will be constant, it will be perpetual, and once I’ve said goodbye to everyone, just when I think I’ve got through it—it will start over again.

  That’s my hell.

  And contrary to Arrivals, after which you drive home with your loved ones and you can’t stop talking because there’s so much to catch up on, so much to say, the drive to Departures is a nightmare.

  Every time.

  Nicole was furious with me because I didn’t get back till ten to six and she wouldn’t let it drop.

  ‘I wasn’t late!’ I could see the picture of an aeroplane on the road signs for those who can’t read or can’t speak English. I needed to change lanes or we’d miss the turn-off, and I actually thought about it—honestly, that would have given her something to moan about. ‘You said we had to leave by six and we did!’

  ‘You’re so bloody selfish sometimes, Alice. You didn’t even answer my texts. Could you not just have come home? What was so important?’

  ‘I got stuck at work.’

  I heard her snort and I turned and glared at her, which wasn’t a good idea, given I was going at a hundred down the freeway. ‘What? Just because I’m not some hotshot lawyer, I can’t be busy at work?’

  ‘Alice!’ Nicole was shrinking back in her seat and I turned my attention back to the road, but I was so angry I could spit. Just because I didn’t work in some top-notch job she assumed I couldn’t possibly know busy.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me Paul rang last night?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know what, Alice?’ I didn’t want to know, but she told me anyway. ‘I think you’re jealous. I think you’re jealous of me and Paul.’

  It was me snorting then.

  I couldn’t stand Paul.

  I mean, I could not bear him.

  He was the most arrogant man I’d ever met.

  And he’s stupid.

  I’ve nothing against stupid people—but stupid people who think that they’re clever just set my teeth on edge. Never mind Nicole’s a lawyer, he’s opening a coffee shop. It’s all he talks about. From the day I met him till the day he—thankfully—went back to the UK, it’s all he spoke about.

  He’s going to have a loyalty card for his customers. For every ten coffees they get a free one and—wait for it—on their birthdays, if they have their driver’s licence with them and can prove that it is their birthday, well, they’ll get a free one on that day too. Oh, and he’s got this really good idea about providing the daily papers and current magazines for his customers. I kept waiting for the punch line. I kept waiting for him to walk into any other coffee shop in any other street and have a complete breakdown because someone had stolen his idea. Honestly, I have sat there cross-eyed listening to him droning on and on so many times.

  And Nic thought I was jealous.

  ‘You’ve done everything you can to dissuade me from going.’

  ‘I’m driving you to the airport,’ I pointed out.

  We were at the turn-off and I felt like pulling over and dumpin
g her stuff on the side of the road and letting her walk.

  ‘You knew I was worried that he hadn’t called, you knew I was panicking he was having second thoughts whether he wanted me to come, and you didn’t even tell me he’d called. You didn’t even write it down.’

  ‘I forgot, okay?’ We were at the short-term car parking and I wound down my window to press the button.

  ‘Use your credit card,’ Nic said. This, from a woman who pays her monthly balance in full and sometimes a little extra too on the day her statement comes. ‘It’ll be easier for you getting out.’

  Not with my credit card. I pushed the button and took a ticket and I heard her irritated sigh because I hadn’t taken her advice.

  I couldn’t stand this.

  She was going.

  In an hour or so she’d be gone and I didn’t want it to end on a row.

  ‘I just…’ We were through the barrier and going up the levels. ‘He rang just as I was dashing out. I knew you were waiting and I couldn’t find a pen—I just forgot, okay? I’m sorry.’ The place was packed and we drove around but ended up going up another level and I knew I hadn’t mollified her.

  I didn’t want her to leave on a row.

  I didn’t want her to leave on a row because it would make it easier for her to never come back.

  ‘I’m not jealous, Nicole.’ I found a parking spot, it was narrow and it would be hell getting out, but I squeezed in. ‘I’m just…’

  ‘Just what, Alice? Go on, just say it.’

  How, though?

  ‘Just what, Alice?’ She insisted to my rigid face. ‘Come on, if you’ve got something to say then I want to hear it.’

  ‘I’m worried about you.’ I turned and looked her square in the eye and she stared right back. ‘Remember how badly you took it when Dean broke up with you?’

  ‘Paul’s nothing like Dean.’

  ‘Off course he’s not,’ I said quickly, and then paused for a moment. ‘But he does live on the other side of the world. I’m just worried how you’re going to be if it all ends.’

  ‘It might not end,’ Nicole said firmly, ‘and if it does then I’ll deal with it. You don’t have to worry about me, Alice. I’m not like I was when Dean broke up with me. I know I was a mess, I know I must have been a pain to live with and how great you were and everything, but that was years ago.’