I shrugged.
‘Only it’s different from psychology—it’s about moving forward, instead of examining yourself, examining the past.’
‘You think that would be better for me?’ I liked that idea, actually. Someone to remind me to do things, someone to force me into action, to achieve.
‘No.’ She stared at me.
‘Why not?’
So she told me.
‘You’re very controlled, Alice. You always look nice, you have your routines, you’re very ordered.’
‘Routines?’ What the hell was she talking about? I yearned for routines and I certainly wasn’t ordered—she should take a look at the flat.
‘Your keys always go into the same place in your bag. You check your make-up before you leave, you—’
‘I’m just neat,’ I said tartly.
She said nothing, because she had no idea.
Controlled and ordered indeed.
She should see me after a few wines.
She should have seen me last night with Hugh.
She had no idea what she was talking about.
‘You never take a sweet,’ Lisa said. ‘I mean you look at them often, only you never take one.’
‘I thought they were for the children,’ I said.
‘They’re for anyone.’ She smiled. ‘Help yourself.’
‘I don’t want one.’
‘That’s fine.’
‘No,’ I argued. ‘Clearly it’s not. God!’ I shrilled out the word but she just sat there. ‘You’ll be writing down “Eating disorder” now because I don’t take one of your sweets.’
‘I’m not writing anything, Alice. You asked for my opinion, my observation, as to why I think you need to be here, and I’m giving it.’
‘And if I eat a sweet, will you change your opinion?’ I challenged. ‘If I suddenly cram the whole jar in my mouth, will you strike off that I’m controlled?’
‘Strike off?’ She frowned. ‘I’m not taking notes now.’
‘But you will.’ Did she think I was stupid? ‘Well, will it change it?’ I stared at the jar. I stared at a week’s allowance of carbs, and if it just shut her up, I would have swallowed them all.
‘I’ll have a word with the receptionist.’ Lisa smiled. ‘Maybe you should come weekly for now.’
‘Weekly?’ I laughed; I just sat there and laughed. ‘I have to see you weekly now because I didn’t eat a stupid sweet.’
‘You don’t have to see me at all, Alice, that’s entirely up to you.’ She stood up, took me out to Reception and had a word with her happy receptionist who, lucky me, found a slot for next Thursday.
Well, I wasn’t going.
I just wouldn’t turn up.
I got to my car and I was furious, so bloody furious that I unzipped my bag and punched a couple of tablets out of the blister pack—so much for psychology. And I stuck two fingers up at her window just in case she was watching.
Stupid fat cow!
Twenty-Three
‘Where the hell were you?’
Bonny fell on my neck as I climbed out of the car. I was ten minutes late—but then again she didn’t get out much.
I walked into her house, which was brimming with strollers and Portacots and babies and toddlers, and there in the middle was Lex.
I am assured it’s normal to have a crush on your brother-in-law. I mean, biologically, Bonny and I have the same genes—we are probably destined to be attracted to the same sort of bloke.
‘Hi, Alice!’
‘Hi, Lex.’
It was a bit uncomfortable. We always were, but this was different, I could sort of feel there had been a row.
Another one.
The trouble was, as much as I had defended them to Lisa, I was worried.
Bonny was huge. She started off as the perfect mother, jogging each morning before work, mashing organic pumpkin and insisting the crèche feed Conner her prepared meals. Now the place was littered with fast food. There were kids and toys and nappies and mess and dishes and plates and bottles everywhere.
It’s as if their house (that looked fine from the outside) had been built on landfill, and it was spewing up through the floorboards.
Mind you, I could understand Bonny’s lethargy, because frankly I wouldn’t have known where to start.
And then there was Lex.
Lying in front of the telly, feeding a baby (not sure which one), unshaven, pissed off with his lot and terribly, terribly sexy.
I had this terrible conflict of feelings because I love Bonny so, but frankly, if I were Lex, I’d be pissed off with her too.
Bonny should be an anagram for lethargic.
She hadn’t worked a nursing shift since she’d found out about the twins.
Her house was a pigsty.
Her clothes were a mess, covered in baby sick, and her hair was just a lank, greasy mess that she had scraped back into a ponytail.
I wanted to shake her.
I swear sometimes I wanted to shake her.
‘Where’s his dummy?’ Lex stood up and stared at the pile of magazines that hid the coffee table. His trackpants were too big, thanks to my sister’s meticulous washing, his T-shirt too small thanks to the same—and he was like a bull, this gorgeous, sexy man. I wanted to shake Bonny, who was clipping her toenails somewhere in the corner of the living room.
‘Where he dropped it last,’ Bonny said in this sarcastic voice, without even looking up.
Look, I get it. I get that she is working. I get that four children are a lot of work, but—what the fuck does she do?
Lex was making up bottles, loading the washing machine and working 80 hours a week, and on his precious weekend off he was looking after the kids and paying for us to go away.
And it was Lex, when she finally emerged half an hour later, in black pants that were way too tight and a black blouse that could have used a good iron, wearing a splash of red lipstick that was way too much for an unmade-up face, who pulled her into his arms, telling her to have a good time.
‘He doesn’t get it.’ Bonny stared out of the taxi window. ‘It’s easy for him. I’ve sterilised the bottles, and made sure there are loads of nappies and…’
‘He’s a nice guy, Bonny.’
‘Yeah, a nice guy who bought me a year’s gym membership for my birthday.’ I saw a flash of tears in her eyes and I felt a glimmer of guilt, because when I was coming up with gift ideas, if I’d had the money, I’d have bought her a gym membership—not just for her weight, but for the crèche, for the fun, for her to get away from the house and the playgroups and to be herself again. Then I felt a bubble of panic—true panic because Lex and Bonny can’t be in trouble.
I honestly couldn’t stand it if Lex and Bonny were in trouble.
They can’t be.
They just can’t.
He’d booked us into the Langham—a stunning hotel on the river—so nice that we actually sat down at a lovely polished desk to check in. Bonny handed over her gold Amex, courtesy of Lex. I truly don’t know why she has to be so down on him.
Still, her spirits lifted when we got to the room. It had two windows, city and river views, two massive beds and one bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket, which Bonny soon dealt with. She pulled another bottle from her case and shoved it in the ice—and then she smiled and so did I.
You see, when she’s being Bonny, she’s probably the funniest person I know.
Half a bottle of champagne (each) later, we were in our swimming costumes, wrapped in fluffy white dressing gowns and heading down to the spa for our beauty treatments. Our appointments weren’t till three so we sat in a vast spa, where, unfortunately, champagne glasses weren’t allowed. I knew she felt awkward, peeling off her dressing gown, and though I looked away, I could see why. She had put on loads of weight, I mean loads. Bonny has always been curvy, but she has a confidence that could carry it, that makes it look fantastic. Or rather she’d had this confidence—she didn’t any more.
‘I
must go on a diet.’ She closed her eyes in relief as the water covered her body. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing—just lay in the lovely water, feeling it splash over my body. Apart from a couple of serious swimmers in the lap pool, we had the place to ourselves. ‘Can you imagine going to the gym looking like this?’
‘I can’t imagine going to the gym, full stop,’ I said, relieved that Bonny opened her eyes and giggled, but then her face was serious.
‘He’ll have an affair. I mean, look at him, Alice—and he travels all the time. I know the girls hang on his every word. He’ll leave me. I’ll be stuck here away from Mum…’
‘He won’t.’ I sounded assured but my own panic was rising. ‘He loves you,’ I insisted.
‘How can he when I’m such a miserable cow? I don’t know what’s wrong… I mean, I just smooch around all day, hating that he’s at work and I’m stuck home. I’m like Mum, aren’t I?’
‘You’re nothing like Mum,’ I said, because, though I loved my mum, she really had given up—whereas Bonny, sometimes when she smiles, sometimes when she puts on eyeliner and lipstick and puts on her Pink CD and sashays around the living room, shaking her boobs and bum, she’s the sexiest woman I know. And from the smile on Lex’s face when the old Bonny occasionally surfaces, she’s still the sexiest woman he knows too. ‘Anyway, Lex is nothing like Dad.’
Lisa had been right, I conceded, there did not need to be a trigger, because as I lay in the lovely warm water, seemingly relaxed, seemingly without a care, tiny fragments of pictures were joining up, like bees collecting into a swarm, a mass moving and darkening. I sat up suddenly then, opened my eyes and looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, stared at the spectacular Melbourne skyline and felt the panic subside. After thirty minutes or so we were called in for our treatments.
I hate massages—honestly—and I knew Bonny was looking forward to stripping off and being pounded about as much as me, but we’d had a look at the price list and it was so expensive it would have been just wrong to wag off.
So I lay there, head down, having my expensive spray tan pummelled off me, and murmuring ‘Lovely’ when she wafted oils under my nose and made me choose which one I preferred.
They all smelt the same, but I said the second one.
I just desperately wanted it over.
Still, it would be worth it for Hugh—the masseuse had promised my skin would feel like silk afterwards, and really, as much as I was having fun with Bonny, it was such lousy timing. I mean, it was all very well playing it cool, but it was Saturday night, for God’s sake. It was all so new and so… I mean, I hadn’t even told Bonny. I didn’t know what to tell Bonny and it seemed a shame to rub things in her face when she was clearly so worried about Lex.
They had to be fine.
I couldn’t stand it if they broke up—I honestly didn’t think I could stand it.
Would he tell her?
I felt my head tighten.
What if he told her?
What if he threw it back at her?
‘Are you okay?’ the masseuse asked.
‘Fine.’
‘Only you suddenly tensed.’
‘I’m fine,’ I insisted, wishing her two-hundred-dollar-an-hour hands actually worked, wishing the poxy smell of lavender actually soothed. But as I lay there head down, trying to will my muscles to relax, trying not to answer my own questions, I felt as if a light bulb was exploding in my head.
Twenty-Four
The second time I asked Mum to buy tampons I knew I had to do something about it—knew I had to find out.
I had gone to a chemist on the way back from school, and face burning, trying not to look at the shop assistant, I had bought a test along with hair serum, shampoo and conditioner and some make-up. I spent a fortune trying to cover up the test in the basket, but of course she saw it and asked if I would like to speak with the pharmacist.
I mumbled something about it not being for me and dashed out with my purchases. I went to the loos in the shopping centre and dipped the little stick into my stream of wee and, all this crap about waiting two minutes, it took ten seconds and there was this thick purple cross. No matter which way I turned it or read the instructions, it meant that I was pregnant.
I rang Gus.
‘Just stop pestering me, Alice.’
‘I’m pregnant.’ He’d been about to hang up when I blurted out the words and I felt the fear and anger and shock and disgust in his silence.
‘Please meet me—Mum thinks I’ve got a lesson—seven at the park. If not, I’ll come to the house.’
‘Stay away from Celeste.’
‘Then meet me, Gus. I don’t know what to do.’
I knew when he saw me again it would be okay.
I knew, because that was the reason he’d felt he had to stay away.
Yes, Celeste was pregnant, but these things happened. Dad had fallen in love with someone else and had left us for her, and, yes, it had hurt, but these things happened.
Celeste would get over it.
I went to the hairdresser’s and got a blow-dry. I put on jeans, then changed my mind and put on a skirt because it would be easier if Gus wanted to do it again, and I rubbed my skin in Bonny’s body lotion.
‘Where are you going all done up?’ Mum asked as I headed out of the door.
‘My piano lesson.’ My face was on fire. ‘Gus said to dress as I would for my exam.’
‘Well, less make-up,’ Mum said, and so I wiped off the lipstick and then got to the corner and took out the stupid velvet bow and added more lipstick and undid my blouse.
I waited for ever on the park bench. I knew that he’d come and he did.
I didn’t know what to expect. I knew what I hoped for, for him to take me in his arms, to tell me we would sort something out—that Celeste and he were over, something, anything, I don’t know, but he had to have an answer.
He gave me nothing.
‘You’ll have to sort it out.’ He didn’t even look at me. ‘I so don’t need this.’
‘You think I need this? I’ve got my exams…’
‘I leave for Australia on Friday, Alice.’ Only then did he look at me, dark, angry and accusing. ‘We have to leave now or it will be too late for Celeste to fly…’
‘I’m having your baby.’
‘You!’ He just stared aghast. ‘You with a baby? You stupid fucking cow—how would you cope with a baby? You’ll have to get rid of it.’
‘I can’t…’ I begged. I didn’t know, I didn’t know what to do, who to speak to, our old family doctor, how could I? I just didn’t know. Yes, there were numbers in the phone book but every time I rang them I froze and hung up.
‘Just sort it out, Alice.’ His face was white, like putty. ‘I don’t even know it’s mine.’
‘There’s only been you!’ I had snot pouring down my nose, I was crying and sobbing. ‘You know that…’
‘We had a shag on the floor—you led me on,’ he raged. ‘Don’t tell me I’m the only one.’ He was savage then, told me I’d never cope with a baby.
Only he said it a bit harsher than that.
That it was unthinkable—me as a mother.
He even laughed at that.
An abortion would be kinder to the baby.
You get the gist.
I could give it nothing.
I was nothing.
And then I watched him leave. I just stood there and watched him leave.
And if he could walk away, if he could deny its existence, then so could I.
And so I did.
In the background I knew that I was—I even made plans. I had always dressed neatly, but I started to wear big sloppy T-shirts long before I had a bump, so that people were used to it for when I did. I also, even though I was studying for my exams, went for an interview for a job in a burger place, even though Mum was furious, but I knew I would get bigger, and that gave me a good reason to be putting on weight and a good reason to be out of the house.
&
nbsp; So, yes, I sort of knew, but I hoped it would go away, that I’d wake up and I’d be bleeding, or that it would just die and be absorbed. I never let myself actually think that I’d have it and what I’d do with it if I did.
I simply refused to think.
Twenty-Five
The massage took longer than expected, and by the time we got to the hair and beauty salon we were way over our appointment times. I had my hair washed and sat watching my finger- and toenails turning the most glorious shade of coral—and having my eyebrows waxed and eyelashes and brows dyed. Then make-up was applied as the hairdresser dried Bonny’s hair, and then it was her turn to go and get the finishing touches as I slid into the seat.
The hairdresser rubbed some serum into it. I was really feeling nice and relaxed and then the hairdresser picked up and attached that stupid diffuser thing and I stopped her. ‘No, I want it straight.’
She frowned down. ‘There’s too much product in it for it to be straight.’ She’d weighted it down with thick waxy product. I hadn’t been paying attention and realised that she’d been intending to leave it curly.
‘There isn’t really time…’ She was waving the diffuser over me and I wanted to rip it out of her hands.
‘Make time!’ I glared. If I’ve learnt one thing in this life, don’t pretend you’re happy with a hairdresser when you’re not. Kick and scream and cry if you have to—and I was about to—she could shagging well wash the product out and start again. I didn’t care if my make-up was done and it was already six p.m. I was not going out with curly hair.
But then Bonny chimed up, ‘It looks great, Alice, and anyway we don’t have time.’
It was no big deal to her, she didn’t realise I never went curly, and I wouldn’t have that night, but Bonny was laughing as she chatted to the beautician. Bonny was actually laughing and having fun and we had a table booked in an hour. I couldn’t bring her down. I had tears in my eyes as I stared at my fuzzy hair.
‘It looks fantastic!’ the hairdresser said firmly. ‘Look.’ She was pulling the long ringlets out through her fingers, arranging them around my face—and she’d actually done a bloody good job, it was just that I hated it so.
Putting Alice Back Together Page 12
