Putting Alice Back Together

by Carol Marinelli

  I just wanted to go to bed.

  Except when I got there I couldn’t sleep.

  I never can when I’ve played the piano—I mean really played—because it reminds me how much I miss it. I know I’ve got a piano and I can play it as often as I like, but I miss stretching myself, I miss learning. It should have been my career and instead I was stuck in poxy classifieds with my brain shrinking by the hour as I took down details of births, marriages and deaths and typed up funeral notices.

  ‘People will always die.’ Roz had grinned when I’d told her my concerns about work. ‘Anyway, you won’t always be there. You’re too smart, Alice.’ Always she nagged me—she was thirty-four, and if she could do it then so could I.

  Ah, but Roz had a massive divorce settlement.

  I had massive debts.

  And anyway I could never imagine taking lessons again.

  I could hear Roz snoring from the sofa. My stomach was hurting, cramping actually, and I know I sound like I’ve got Münchausen syndrome or something, what with my mad dash to Emergency and everything, but I’m as healthy as an ox really—well, apart from my limited upper-body strength. Really I’ve only been to hospital five times in my entire life, three of them for my breathing. I have a lot of sick days from work but that’s only because they’re there. But I do struggle with my periods. My first one I had a seizure! That was another trip in an ambulance.

  As if getting your first period in the middle of cookery lesson isn’t bad enough. I went to the school nurse and she gave me this massive pad. Well, I wore it, but at lunchtime me and my friend Louise went to town and into the chemist for tampons. I felt all pale and shaky and I can’t remember anything other than that, but according to Louise I screamed and then had a convulsion and wet my pants right in the middle of Boots. It happened occasionally with a first period apparently, the doctor had explained to my frantic mother. It didn’t mean I was epileptic, so long as I didn’t have another one, which I didn’t. My mum was really nice to me around my periods after that and always watched out for me a bit more.

  She was a bit obsessed with them, actually.

  I got up to the bathroom but I didn’t have my period. This had been happening a lot lately, so I rummaged in the cupboard for some tampons (I’d rather risk toxic shock syndrome than wear a pad—see, I don’t have Münchausen syndrome). But as I went to throw away the wrapper, I changed my mind. It seemed different with Hugh here, so I bunched the wrapper in my hand and tossed it in my bedroom bin.

  Still I couldn’t sleep.

  Roz and her bloody questions.

  I hated that stupid game; I wished we’d never played it, wished I’d gone to bed when I intended to as I was never going to get to sleep now, because every time I closed my eyes, I remembered.

  Fifteen

  His hand was inside my bra and I was still playing, though I don’t know how.

  I was still playing and his palms were soft and warm on my skin.

  ‘God, Alice,’ he breathed, his head burrowing under my hair and kissing my neck. ‘What the hell are you doing to me?’ I didn’t know. I was still playing the bloody tune, chord after chord. I could feel one hand move to my knee and I opened my legs, felt it climbing up, and for a minute I thought I’d wet myself, my panties were soaked. I could see his fingers creeping inside, saw him push my knickers, saw the red flare of my bush and I hated my pubic hair, hated it, but I wasn’t looking at it now. Stunned I looked at where his finger was stroking. I didn’t even know I had a clitoris but there it was—sticking out like a tiny penis—and it was so exquisitely tender. I wanted to push his hand off, it hurt it was so raw, but at the same time I liked it. My bum was sort of shaking on the seat. I could see my knees opening and trembling, but my eyes were on his fingers, watching with morbid fascination as he slipped them deep inside me, the palm of his hand now on my clitoris.

  ‘Stay there.’

  I could feel his cock on my back, his other hand wasn’t on my breast now, but I knew where it was, knew he was stroking himself, and I felt sick, excited but sick. For a second I thought of Celeste and knew it was wrong, but then something else took over. I felt it; it was exciting; I felt myself all warm down below, and I didn’t think about Celeste but instead all the girls who had teased me for being a nerd, and how Louise would hate that I’d done it first if she knew.

  ‘Alice.’ His mouth was off the back of my neck and then he turned me around on the piano stool and I stared at his cock. He was stroking it up and down and I heard the crash of the keys as I leant backward.

  ‘I won’t put it in.’ He was kneeling right between my legs now, stroking it against me, right against me. There was a trickle of silver running down, and he was making deep, breathy noises. His eyes were all sort of glazed, and all I could think was that I was doing this to him—that he really wanted me, that I must somehow be beautiful. He was right at my entrance now, my knickers the barrier, and he was pushing, stroking against them, just a little way in, and I wanted it all.

  ‘We mustn’t.’ For a second he stopped, and I thought it must have been something I’d done, that maybe I wasn’t sexy enough, pretty enough, that my boobs weren’t as big as Celeste’s.

  I pulled down my knickers.

  And he pushed his fingers inside, he was sliding them in and out, and his thumb was on my clitoris. My legs were apart and he was kneeling up. His hands weren’t doing it to me now, instead he was stroking his cock against me, and I wanted it in. I wanted him to take me there, I wanted to watch, I wanted to see it. It was the most scary, beautiful thing. He pulled me down to the floor and I remember bumping my head on the stool. I remember crying out a bit, because it hurt, but he didn’t say anything, didn’t check if I was okay.

  We were on the floor—I can remember his legs in between mine, his mouth on my tits, and he bit me so hard I cried out, but he wasn’t listening. I could see his erection and I was scared. His jeans were down. This bloody angry thing was aimed at me and I wanted it to stop, but I wanted it to go on—knew that to lose it to a teacher meant I was sexy. He was heavy on me, his full weight on me, his knees pushing my thighs apart. One hand pushed and parted at my bush and sort of guided his cock, then he was in me and I knew the first time hurt, but this really hurt. He wasn’t kissing me, he was just grinding inside me and it hurt so much I thought I was going to be sick. It was like every bit of hatred he possessed was being served up inside me. Every row he’d had with Celeste was being terminated with each painful thrust.

  ‘You got your period again?’ I can still see Mum delivering my laundry to my room. ‘We should go and see Dr Hanson if it happens again.’

  I bled for two days. I was so fucking torn I bled for two days. But all I could think about was when I’d see him again.

  All I could think about was what he was thinking of me.

  Sixteen

  God, I needed a drink.

  I could hear Roz coughing on the sofa as I padded past. Walking into the kitchen, just about to flick the light on, I realised that it already was on. I jumped out of my skin as I saw him at the kitchen table, chatting into his mobile phone.

  ‘Sorry.’ I went to go, but he’d ended the call.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘I didn’t realise you were here… on the phone…’ My heart was still hammering in my chest. All I wanted was a drink, but I couldn’t now, couldn’t because it was two a.m. and what the hell would he think? ‘I just wanted a drink.’

  I headed to the tap and poured myself a glass of water, as if that was what I had meant to do. It was nice, actually. I gulped it down in one go and I filled the glass again.

  ‘It’s the middle of the day in England.’ He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a beer, and I didn’t get it. I didn’t get why it was okay for him to have a beer and not me. At least I couldn’t unless he suggested it. ‘Want one?’

  I shook my head, gave a casual shrug as if I was doing him a favour. ‘I’ll have a small wine with you.’

&
nbsp; There weren’t any clean glasses left so I found a mug, which was good, because hopefully he didn’t see how far I filled it.

  ‘Have you been crying?’

  ‘No.’

  Had I been? I could feel the damp on my face, eyes that felt swollen when I blinked, and I realised then that I must have been. That I must look a right bloody sight.

  Bloody Roz—why did she have to have come? We were all awkward again.

  ‘Jesus!’ It was the first time I’d heard him snap, but when his phone bleeped a text he hissed the word out and he turned the phone off. ‘We’re supposed to be taking a break and she texts or rings every five fucking minutes.’ Embarrassed, he sort of gave a half-smile of apology.

  ‘Why are you taking a break?’ I took a large gulp of wine.

  ‘To work out what we want—well, I know what Gemma wants…’ he took a gulp of beer ‘… and given we’ve been going out eight years, it’s fair enough, I guess.’

  ‘Marriage?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘And that’s not for you?’

  ‘I’m not against it. I just…’ He gave a helpless shrug. ‘You’re not seeing anyone?’ he checked, because it was already complicated.

  ‘Not at the moment.’ (I didn’t tell him not for about a year.)

  ‘Have you ever been serious about anyone?’

  ‘I’m not serious about anything!’ It was one of the lines I used regularly, made me sound sort of happily single, I thought, but Hugh didn’t smile.

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ He frowned at my swollen eyes. ‘You’re okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Because if you want to talk…’

  ‘Then I’ll book in for a consultation.’ I stood up and filled up my mug. I didn’t care at that moment what he bloody thought—unconsciousness was my only aim. ‘‘Night.’

  He was standing too.

  ‘Alice…’

  I didn’t want to talk, so I didn’t. I just ignored him and walked to my room, but then I’d forgotten my mug of wine so I turned back for it, but I got Hugh instead.

  I sort of landed on his chest and just stood there, because he didn’t let me past. He held me, and I didn’t cry, but I was crying inside. My head felt like a war zone; I didn’t want to go to bed and think, I wanted to close my eyes and just forget.

  Forget.

  And his mouth let me do that. He kissed me, and the weight of his mouth was sheer relief. It was a slow, lazy kiss and his fingers were in my hair and his tongue stroking mine and it felt so good to forget.

  Just so very good.

  Seventeen

  I was horribly untogether when I woke up the next day. Roz was still crashed on the sofa and even though I didn’t have to be in to work till twelve I had somewhere I needed to be.

  Two paracetamol didn’t make a dent in my headache, add to that cramping pain even though I still didn’t have my period, and my stomach was jumping as bit by bit I recalled the events of the previous night.

  Truth or dare.

  Me crying in the kitchen.

  I grabbed a skirt and top and some clean undies and then staggered to the bathroom. I put on a cap and had a shower and spent ages on my make-up, trying to transform the cadaver in the mirror into a healthy, glowing thing who hadn’t made a complete fool of herself and wasn’t jangling with a hangover.

  And then I remembered.

  We’d kissed.

  I doubled over in embarrassment and thank God the tap was running because otherwise he’d have thought I had Tourette’s I was cursing so much.

  Had I kissed him or had he kissed me first?

  Shit!

  I had no idea how to face him.

  Had he had to peel me off him?

  I turned off the tap and it all sounded quiet outside so I dashed to the kitchen. My handbag was there and I punched out a couple of Valium, the last two actually, washing them down with a very gratefully received glass of water as I boiled the kettle.

  There was one benefit of feeling and looking like death, a cramping uterus and 10 mg of Valium on an empty stomach, I was still so pale fifteen minutes later that I didn’t blush when he walked in the kitchen. I was trying to find my keys and purse to put in my bag so I could beat a hasty retreat.

  In fact, the only person blushing was Hugh.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ He came right out and said it. ‘If I was out of line last night, if I forced myself on you…’ I didn’t really hear the rest. There was a roaring sound of relief in my ears as he went on about being a bit confused about Gemma, how he’d never come here with the intention of meeting someone, how he’d had a bit to drink and, well, look, he liked me and…

  A martyred look I’d perfected came to the fore then.

  ‘It’s fine. We’d both had too much to drink.’

  ‘Look,’ Hugh said. ‘I’m going away for a couple of days, it’s been planned…’

  ‘That will be nice,’ I said, sure he was lying.

  ‘Just for a couple of days, catching up with some friends of Gemma’s and mine, and I…’ His voice trailed off for a moment. ‘Look, about Gemma…’

  ‘Hugh!’ I glanced up from trying to wedge my purse into my bag. ‘It’s no big deal.’

  ‘But it is.’ There was this note in his voice that made me start. ‘And I haven’t had too much to drink now.’

  And he kissed me again. A different kiss, a kiss that was deep and slow and deliberate, a grown-up kiss that meant business.

  ‘We’ll talk when I get back.’ I wanted to count each fleck in his eyes. I gazed at each one in turn, as his mouth patiently waited, while his arms held me. And then selfishness won—because I kissed him. Because, whether or not I was good enough, or good for him, still I wanted him. I got a glimpse, almost as if I were floating outside my body and watching couples the world over kissing each other goodbye at breakfast, a sort of vision of a normality that I really ached for. The picture had never seemed right before, the picture had only ever had me in it, and a man, just a man, but I could see it clearly now, because this picture contained Hugh.

  ‘I’m going to talk to Gemma.’

  And I almost floated out—I mean, for the first time in my life I was winning, and then a little white box fell out of my overloaded bag and I felt my throat squeeze closed as Hugh bent down and picked it up.

  ‘Valium?’ I could see that shrewd psychiatric brain tighten a fraction as he weighed me up.

  ‘Yeah.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘Remember I wasn’t well before you came? I had an allergic reaction.’

  ‘And they gave you Valium?’

  ‘And steroids. It was pretty scary…’ I shrugged. ‘I’ve got to have some tests to find out what I’m allergic to. I just got worked up when I couldn’t breathe—I haven’t taken any.’

  I dropped the white packet he was holding back in my bag; fully knowing the blister pack was empty.

  Fully knowing that I had to do something about it—a week in and I was down to zero.

  Which was why, even though I was on a late at the paper today, I was up at eight to get to the doctor’s by nine.

  Dr Kelsey is, I suppose, my family doctor. Well, she’s Bonny’s doctor and when I got flu when I first arrived in Melbourne, Bonny took me to her. She’s a nice lady, and worth the trek for certain things. It took me living here for a year though to work out that I didn’t have to see her. Doctors are a bit like McDonald’s here: there are massive bulk-billing clinics, and you can walk into any one and see any doctor. I did that for things like a sore throat or when I needed a sick note for work, but for this I figured I had more standing with Dr Kelsey and she would know I wasn’t after drugs or anything. Well, I’d never asked for any before and I also wanted to talk to her about the horrible cramping.

  She was lovely—as I said, she’s a nice lady—except she didn’t want to give me Valium, and she suggested I go on the Pill, but wouldn’t give me a script for contraceptives without doing a smear.

  I had tried to lie and sa
y I had my period, but I’d already put my foot in it by saying that I’d had cramping with no bleeding, so I had to sit and go through the Valium thing knowing what was coming next.

  ‘You’re not sure that it was a panic attack?’ She peered over her glasses at me. ‘But you want me to prescribe Valium?’

  ‘They’ve helped.’ I swallowed. I didn’t want it to be a panic attack. I had been sent home with twenty from the hospital and I’d used them all. I don’t know how they worked. I wasn’t even sure that they did, but this morning I had been jangling with nerves and hangover and I had taken my last, and by the time Hugh had joined me in the kitchen I had felt better.

  Had been able to chat to him normally.

  As if I was normal—which I was, of course.

  ‘I have been feeling anxious lately,’ I grudgingly admitted, and I was back in the kitchen suddenly, standing over us, watching us kiss. Then I was peering into the bathroom, to that pale unmade-up face and the chaos behind the locked door, aware suddenly of the sheer effort that had gone into that small moment, that it was getting harder and harder somehow to be normal. I looked at Dr Kelsey’s face, could see her waiting for me to continue, only I truly didn’t know what to say. ‘I tried talking to a psychologist but it didn’t help.’

  ‘Who did you see?’

  So I told her about Lisa and the pointless hour we had spent. ‘The hospital said that if I came to see you… they wrote a letter.’ I was rummaging in my bag, trying to find the blasted thing, but I couldn’t. ‘I had a letter!’ I could hear the note of desperation in my voice and I tried to check it. My hands were shaking as I pulled apart the contents of my bag.

  ‘Alice,’ Dr Kelsey said, ‘I believe you. I’ve been your doctor for years now and I know you don’t make a habit of asking for this type of thing.’ She scanned through my notes. ‘Let’s get the Pap smear done and then we’ll have a little chat.’

  Joy and double joy.

  I hate having Pap smears. I had one with Dr Kelsey six years ago but she asked too many questions. My last two have been at one of those lovely anonymous places, but I’ve been putting this one off, and Dr Kelsey isn’t taking any excuses.