Putting Alice Back Together

by Carol Marinelli

  It was all about manifesting, right?

  Thirteen

  I loved our mornings together.

  We’d chat over coffee. I’d make an omelette sometimes, and we’d share it.

  We read each other’s horoscopes and sometimes I could feel him watching me, but when I turned around or looked up, he just carried on talking.

  But, most of all, I loved our evenings.

  About a week later I’d just got home and had had one of those days. I’d been jittery at work because, that morning, he’d left his wallet on the kitchen bench and I’d had a little peek and seen a picture of Gemma. I had felt as if Hugh and I were on the brink of something, but when I saw that photo—well, she was gorgeous. Tiny, dainty, blonde, like a little pretty elf, sort of gamine—just fucking gorgeous. Roz wasn’t on, so there was no one I could really talk to, not that I’d admitted to her that I fancied him. I was pretty sure that Roz liked him for herself.

  Anyway, I got back and even though I’d been stressing all day it was just so nice to step in the flat and sense him. The air tasted different that evening; I felt I was home. You know, that ‘honey, I’m home’ thing you see on television, that’s how it felt—because he was pleased to see me and I was pleased to be home.

  To him.

  He opened a bottle of wine—we were watching some quiz show and, it sounds silly, we were competing against each other. There was an imaginary buzzer on the coffee table and our hands kept meeting.

  We were flirting.

  Real, innocent flirting and we were laughing too, but then The Elf rang and Hugh took it in his room.

  He was gone for ages. I could hear his low voice, but not what he was saying, though I could tell it was tense and, call me barking, but I had this sense it was to do with me. Not that he was discussing me. I can’t explain it. I felt I was to do with his unease and when he came out the frivolity of before was gone and I was sure I was right.

  ‘What are you up to tomorrow?’ I asked, all light and breezy, because he was cramming in some sightseeing before he started his job.

  ‘I might look at some flats.’

  ‘Nic’s not back for ages.’ I tried to keep my voice light.

  I could see the gold flecks in his green eyes and something that had been shifting shifted again. We were having a very ordinary conversation but there was a vital undertone that I wasn’t sure if I was imagining.

  ‘There’s no rush.’

  He just looked at me.

  Still I stared.

  ‘Nicole said Gemma was coming out…’ See how maturely and sensibly I approached it. I kept my voice light, as if we were discussing whether he was looking for a flat for them both, but there was another conversation taking place.

  ‘Nic just assumed…’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘Nic’s family are great and everything, but they don’t…’ He was gauging my loyalties and I knew where they lay.

  ‘I don’t discuss everything with Nicole.’

  ‘Gemma and I have been having some problems.’ I didn’t jump in, I didn’t fill the gap, I just sat there. ‘Eight years is a long time…’ Hugh said, and I could only nod—eight weeks was my all-time record. ‘I came here to sort out my head.’ I opened my mouth to make a little light comment about a busman’s holiday, but for once I didn’t mess up and stayed silent. ‘I didn’t come here for anything other than to sort out where Gemma and I are going.’ And then he said it.

  Confirmed it.

  ‘I think it might be better if I moved out.’

  And do you know what I did? For the first time I was thinking of someone other than me, because, instead of making a joke, instead of telling him to stay, after a moment’s thought, I nodded.

  ‘What are you on tomorrow?’ It was his turn to be all casual.

  ‘I’ve got a day off,’ I said. ‘I’m supposed to be doing a course but it was cancelled.’ This, I will admit, was a complete and utter lie. Yes, I know I’m broke and I don’t have any sick days left, but I was confused—I was confused, because I wanted him to stay though I knew he ought to go, but I wanted my chance as well. The universe had sent him to me, but I had to be proactive, I had to do my bit too.

  So, yes, I lied.

  His eyes never left my face. ‘Do you want to do something tomorrow?’

  ‘I’m not flat-hunting!’ In hindsight that was inadvertently brilliant, because I sounded more decisive than needy (which I felt). I was decisive, though, because if he thought I was going to choose a nice bedroom and bathroom for bloody Gemma to enjoy with him…

  ‘We could just go out,’ Hugh said, and I nodded and I was nervous because I had the feeling tomorrow was a test. ‘What do you like doing?’

  We knew so little about each other.

  Now, I don’t really think going out on the pull, or getting pissed and reading horoscopes or spending hours on YouTube were the answers that he wanted. I felt myself colour up a bit, because what did I like doing?

  It was like an application form where you had to list your hobbies.

  What do I do on my days off?

  What should I put?

  No way was I going swimming, not with my hair, and anyway I don’t know if I can swim—it’s been years, decades, in fact. I nearly said hockey because I liked watching that in the Olympics, but would he be a fanatic and I’d find myself padded up and chasing a ball? My dangerous mind even flicked to the luge…

  Oh, God, what do I like doing?

  My eyes darted to what was behind him. ‘The piano.’ I swallowed, because I was precariously close to saying archery. ‘And reading,’ I added, because everyone puts that—I just hoped he wouldn’t ask what.

  But he must have liked my answers, because he didn’t say he’d let me know in the next couple of weeks, he just smiled and said he’d think of something for us to do.

  I lay in bed all night, fretting as to what.

  Fourteen

  Hugh hired bikes!

  You know that saying: ‘It’s like riding a bike, you never forget’?

  I’d never learnt in the first place.

  I never got past training wheels.

  ‘You’ve got limited upper-body strength?’ He stopped and looked at me.

  I had been explaining to him as I wobbled along and tried to stay up that I really had no centre of balance. I mean really had no centre of balance. And when we decided, fairly quickly, that a bike ride along the Yarra, perhaps, after all, wasn’t the best activity (he’d kept insisting I’d be fine once I was on, that you never forget) I threw in too my other disability. I told him about my limited upper-body strength, just in case he took me to an indoor rock-climbing centre next. I’d honestly forgotten he was a doctor, and he seemed worried, like I’d had a mini-stroke in the past or had mild cerebral palsy or something.

  ‘God, Alice, I’m sorry—you should have said. What happened?’

  And then I had had to tell him that it was a self-diagnosis. ‘Well, I could never get up the ropes at the gym at school.’ We were pushing our bikes back. ‘I can’t blow-dry the back of my hair…’ He started laughing.

  Not like Lisa who was laughing at me—he was just laughing and so was I. We got a full refund because we’d only been on our bikes ten minutes, but I hadn’t failed. If anything, we were getting on better.

  And better.

  We went to St Kilda to the lovely bitty shops and I found these miniature Russian dolls. They were tiny, made of tin or something, the biggest no bigger than my thumbnail. Every time we opened them, there was another tiny one, and then another, all reds and yellows and greens.

  They were divine.

  We were facing each other, looking down at the palm of my hand, and our heads touched.

  If I put my hand up now, I can feel where our heads touched.

  I remember that moment.

  I remember it a lot.

  Our heads connected for a second and it was alchemic; it was as if our minds kissed hello.

  I just have to touch my head, just t
here at that very spot and I can, whenever I want to, relive that moment.

  So many times I do.

  ‘Get them,’ Hugh said, and I would have, except that little bit of tin cost more than a hundred dollars, and though that usually wouldn’t have stopped me, I wasn’t about to have my card declined in front of him.

  I put them back.

  ‘Nope.’ I gave him a smile. ‘Gotta stop the impulse spending.’

  We had lunch.

  Out on the pavement and I can’t remember what we ate, I just remember being happy. Actually, I can remember: I had Caesar salad because it was the lowest carb thing I could find. We drank water and I do remember not giving it a thought.

  I was just thirsty.

  And happy.

  He went to the loo and I chatted to a girl at the next table, just chatted away. Hugh was gone for ages and I was glad I hadn’t demanded Dan from the universe, because I would have been worried about how long he was taking.

  Do I go on about the universe too much? I don’t know, but what I do know is that something was looking out for me, helping me to be my best, not to fuck this up as I usually do. You see, we walked on the beach; we went for another coffee and by that time it was evening and we went home and he gave me a present.

  Those Russian dolls.

  I held them in my palm, and it was the nicest thing he could have done for me.

  They are absolutely my favourite thing and I’ve just stopped to look at them now. I’ve just stopped to take them apart and then put them all back together again and I can still feel the wonder I felt on that day.

  He was the only man who had bought something for me, I mean something truly special. Something beautiful, something thoughtful, something just for me.

  And I hadn’t even slept with him.

  I would have.

  It would have been the natural conclusion to our lovely day and he’d have probably loathed himself because of Gemma and thought a bit less of me in the morning, but, whether you believe it or not, I am sure that I was being looked after.

  ‘Where is he?’ Hugh had gone for Thai and I thought he had forgotten his key, but it was Roz standing there when I opened the door. Her face was bright red, her eyes piggy from crying and she was armed with a bottle of bourbon and some wine.

  ‘He’s gone to get some take-away.’ I was tired suddenly—I didn’t want misery’s company tonight. I know that usually I’d have been delighted she’d popped over and I didn’t want to do to Roz what Nicole and Dan and so many others had done to me—but Hugh and I were so new and so fragile and today was so important. But I could tell she’d been crying.

  ‘I thought you had Lizzie staying.’ I took the wine. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘It’s good for you,’ Roz said. ‘It’s organic and tannin-free and it’s the same alcohol content—just in case that’s what you’re allergic to.’

  ‘So where’s Lizzie?’ I asked, knowing it was the real reason she was here.

  I was weary from it, but I sat and listened as Roz blubbered her way through the story.

  ‘Two days!’ Roz sobbed. ‘We couldn’t even last two days—she’s supposed to be staying with me for the holidays and she’s already back at her dad’s.’

  ‘What was the argument about?’ I still didn’t get it. I mean, Roz, well, she’s just so kind and nice I couldn’t actually imagine her arguing with anyone.

  ‘She hates me for breaking up the marriage. She only came because she wanted me to spend money on her—which I did. I took her shopping but she left me in a coffee bar and said she’d meet me in a couple of hours and then we got home and…’ Roz was crying so hard she couldn’t finish for a moment. ‘She said she was ashamed to be seen with me, that she hated me.’

  Lizzie needed a good slap if you asked me, not that I said that, but I did tell Roz she needed to stand up to her more.

  ‘I tried that.’ Roz gulped her bourbon. ‘I told her that she wasn’t to speak to me like that, that if she couldn’t respect me in my own home then she could go back to her father’s. And now she has…’

  I’d just got her to the gulping stage when Hugh came back. We shared a quick yikes look as he saw me sitting on the sofa cuddling a blubbering Roz, and he was just about to retreat when Roz saw him.

  ‘Don’t go on my account, Hugh,’ she gulped. ‘Stay and have drink; we were going to watch a movie.’

  Actually, no, we weren’t! Roz always brings the same two movies in the hope I’ll watch them—Run Fat Boy Run and Meet The Fockers—honestly, I swear I will talk to her one day.

  And they would have sat unwatched, as they had for the past few months, except Hugh’s eyes lit up when he saw the two DVDs on the coffee table that just turned out to be his favourites.

  ‘Are you sure I won’t be interrupting?’ Hugh checked.

  ‘Please,’ I mouthed, and he gave a half-smile. ‘Roz has had a row with her daughter,’ I explained, as he served up the curry.

  ‘Lizzie?’ Hugh said and I was surprised that he knew. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Roz—sixteen’s a shit age.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Grab a glass,’ I said. ‘It’s organic and tannin free.’

  ‘I’ll stick with my duty free.’

  Okay, the movie was funny. They were both funny and it was kind of like the old days, not quite a full house but three of us, not in any rush, and I finished off the disgusting organic, preservative-free wine (actually, it wasn’t that bad—I just felt it ought to be). We were working our way down Hugh’s duty free when Roz suggested I play the piano, as she often does when she’s had a drink.

  ‘Play,’ Roz urged, as I tinkered around, and I sensed Hugh’s interest. Was I going to break into ‘Chopsticks’ or ‘Row, Row, Row Your Boat’ and disappoint?

  Normally, when it’s people other than Roz, I play something silly, the oldies but goodies. When it’s just Roz, though, well, she’s so encouraging that I try other things. I like Mika and I try to work out his songs by ear, and even though Hugh was there, unbelievably that was what I did.

  I started playing ‘Grace Kelly’. I love the beginning: there’s this restless energy to it that makes my stomach go tight.

  He’s like musical cocaine to me—there’s a rush that comes with the sounds he makes. The range of his voice makes me quiver. Well, I played the intro and then I looked at Roz and she was grinning and so I played it again and then…

  Even though Hugh was there, we did what we do when it’s just us.

  Roz got to be Grace Kelly, while I played and sang.

  It sounds silly, but I just hammer that song.

  I feel like I am galloping at breakneck speed along the beach.

  Maybe I was showing off at first. Maybe I was flirting and showing Hugh a different side, but only for a few seconds—you can’t be lost in music and show off. When you are lost, it is so exhilarating that there isn’t room for anything else.

  Roz could shatter a glass at a hundred paces but she was singing now as if she’d hadn’t been crying, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, and I was just flying—all the colours were vivid as I sang them. My voice is good and I was on a high as I sang. When it ended, Roz got off the stool, as dizzy and as euphoric as if she was getting off the waltzers at the fair. I fiddled around for a bit and with Roz urging me on I played a couple of pieces from my exam repertoire. I forgot about Roz and, for the first time since I’d found him in my kitchen that morning, I completely forgot about Hugh.

  The piano does that to me.

  When I was a teenager, I used to love the mornings that Mum and Bonny were both on early shifts and I’d have the house to myself for an hour before school. I could just play uninterrupted for an extra precious hour.

  I’d have played from the moment I got in from school till Mum told me to go to bed if I could have got away with it, that was how much I needed it—but now, rather than sustaining me, it drains me.

  After half an hour I’d had enough and I would have, wh
ich is rare for me, been quite happy to go to bed. I felt depleted, but Roz was still begging for diversion from her fight with Lizzie and she suggested we play spin the bottle, which was just stupid, but we were all a bit pissed and Roz can really nag.

  It was our own version and there was a lot of daring at first.

  A tequila shot or three and then Roz dared Hugh to take off his top. She was giggling like a schoolgirl around him. I’m sure she fancies him—but he just laughed and did it.

  And then it was my turn and I wasn’t sure if my bra was ready for inspection so when the bottle spun my way instead of saying Dare I said Truth.

  ‘How old were you when you lost it?’ Roz asked.

  I could feel them stare at me, knew they were waiting for me to wriggle out of it, but I didn’t. I told the truth.

  ‘Seventeen.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’ve answered the question.’ I spun the bottle and it landed on Roz. ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Seventeen,’ Roz said.

  ‘And?’ Hugh asked, but Roz used my line. ‘I answered the question.’ She spun again and it landed on me.

  ‘And?’ Roz asked.

  ‘He was just a guy.’ I didn’t like this game. ‘Someone…’

  ‘And what was it like?’

  ‘Nice, I guess.’ My face was bright red. ‘It was on his living-room floor…’ I spun the bottle really fast and it landed on Hugh.

  ‘How old were you?’ Roz asked, and for the first time I saw Hugh blush.

  ‘Twenty.’ Hugh winced. ‘As you can imagine, there was a lot of wrist action—you try being ginger with glasses.’ For a second our eyes caught and I realised that neither of us were enjoying this. Only Roz was like a dog with a bone.

  ‘What’s your darkest secret?’ Roz asked when the bottle landed on me.

  The answer was easy.

  ‘My credit cards.’

  I was lying, apparently.

  The bottle said that I was lying because it wobbled, and I laughed and did the right thing and had another shot of tequila, but I hated this game.

  I fucking hated this game.