The Alphabet Sisters

by Monica McInerney

  Except Glenn hadn’t been able to see it that way. In his eyes, things had changed forever, and it was all Anna’s fault.

  “I’m not the first man to feel like this, Anna. This happens to lots of marriages after a child trauma like this. I read it on the Web.”

  Her voice had grown icy. “You’ve been researching reasons to back up why you’re having an affair? Why you’re walking out on us?”

  “I’m not walking out on you.”

  “Shall we look up the Web for other ways to put it, then? Key ‘selfish’ and ‘immature’ into a search engine and see what websites turn up?”

  “Anna, you’re not making this easy.”

  She had lost her temper then, hardly knowing what she was saying. “Glenn, I don’t want to make it easy. I want to make it as excruciatingly hard for you as I can.”

  Ellen had heard them fighting, Anna knew that. Ellen also knew Anna and Glenn were sleeping in separate rooms. And that her father wasn’t home every night. Anna wanted to tell Ellen it wasn’t her fault. He still loves you, Ellie; I know he does, she thought. It’s me he doesn’t love anymore. It’s me he blames.

  Perhaps things would have been different if they’d been on steady ground before Ellen was attacked. But the foundations had been eroding for years, gaps and holes slowly appearing. Fights about his work taking up too much time. Snide remarks about her great acting career ending up in sound-recording booths. Even digs about her appearance. She’d put on a few kilos a year or two after they married, nothing too serious, so she’d thought. It had been nice to stop the endless weight watching and calorie counting that came hand in hand with a career as an actress. Until Glenn had brought home gym brochures, made pointed remarks about people letting themselves go.

  “Me?” she’d said, good-humored at first. “Glenn, are you joking? All my clothes still fit, don’t they?” Size ten at that. “I thought you’d like to see me a bit more curvy.”

  He hadn’t smiled. “I just want you to look your best.”

  And that phrase had been the key, she’d discovered. He loved her, wanted her, when she looked her best. But not when her voice-over work increased and the travel between appointments lengthened and she started to get too tired to work out, wear full makeup, work constantly to keep her skin and hair in salon condition. “Glenn, I’m a human being, not a mannequin. Would you stop going on at me all the time?”

  Ellen’s arrival had soothed things on one level. Glenn had shifted his attention onto her, showering his daughter with gifts and love, while he withdrew the same things from Anna. Their fights became less regular, the mood shifting from tension to indifference. They talked about Ellen, through Ellen, because of Ellen. He had been only mildly interested to hear about the fight between her and her sisters—he’d never met Matthew and had never got on with Bett or Carrie. His attention had turned to work, while she kept her days busy with Ellen and the voice-over jobs. Sometimes at night he’d be home in time to put Ellen to bed, have dinner with her, but often enough he would go out again afterward. They were living separate lives under one roof, using guerrilla tactics rather than open warfare.

  Until the day in the park changed things for the worse. The long days in hospital were followed by nights of tension at home.

  “How could you let this happen?”

  “I was on the phone. I didn’t see the dog coming.”

  “You must have.”

  “It’s not my fault, Glenn. You think I wanted this to happen? That I wouldn’t change everything, every single moment of my life, if I could make it not happen to her?”

  The blame seeped into every one of their conversations.

  Glenn turned farther away from her, to his job—and to Julie. Anna was sure of the timing. The late nights working with his PA had started only after Ellen had been attacked. Likewise, the weekends away at supposed conferences, business trips. She even discovered credit card bills for flowers she hadn’t seen and dinners she hadn’t eaten. Every corny step of it …

  “Mum? The list?”

  Anna focused back on Ellen. “Ready when you are. Books?”

  A nod from Ellen.

  “Clothes? Teddies? Puzzles?”

  More nods.

  “Sounds good to me. You have enough for two weeks?”

  Another solemn nod. “Will I be able to help in the motel kitchen again? Even help to clean the rooms?”

  She and Ellen had been back to the motel twice in the past three years, timing their two-week visits for when Carrie and Matthew were away on holiday. Ellen had enjoyed every minute, trailing behind Lola most of the time. “Of course you can. Your grandmother would love a hand, I bet.”

  “I really like it there.”

  “Do you? Why?” Anna waited for her to say something about being in the country, being with her grandparents and Lola again.

  “It’s peaceful.”

  “Peaceful?”

  Ellen shuffled a little, wouldn’t look at her. “No one picks on me there.”

  Anna’s breath caught. A seven-year-old shouldn’t be looking for peace. Shouldn’t be looking forward to going to stay at her grandparents’ because no one would be picking on her. But it was true, Anna knew that. Life in Sydney had been hard for Ellen since the attack. Yesterday’s remark in the supermarket hadn’t been the first. Her friends at school had changed toward her, too, already at an age where appearance mattered. She crouched down and brushed her daughter’s hair away from her face, looking straight into her eyes. “Has it been that bad?”

  There was a little pause, the smallest of nods and then Ellen started to cry, noiselessly. Anna took her into her arms and held her tight, feeling her daughter’s body shuddering against hers. “Ellie, it’s all right, it’s fine, it’s all right,” she said over and over again. Ellen’s tears didn’t stop. As Anna rocked back and forth, soothing her, kissing the top of her head, another part of her mind switched into decision-making mode.

  Could they stay on after Lola’s birthday party? For a month or two? Longer, even? Since the attack Ellen had become fearful of everything, wetting the bed occasionally, nervous of school, of new people. But perhaps she wouldn’t feel like that back in the motel, with family all around. There were good schools in the Valley these days. Could she even school Ellen herself? Of course, her work could be a problem. She doubted there’d be much demand for a voice-over artist in the Clare Valley. But perhaps she could rearrange her schedule, fly up to Sydney for a day or two a week. Or stop work altogether for a while, living off the money that Glenn, regularly, guiltily, was putting into her bank account. As for coping with seeing Carrie and Matthew every day, well, she’d face that when she had to.

  Ellen’s sobs had now turned into breathy gulps. Anna kissed her daughter’s head again and held her tight for another moment, soothing her. “It’s all right, sweetheart. It’ll be all right.”

  Her voice against her mother’s shoulder was muffled. “I just get scared here sometimes.”

  That was all Anna needed. She stood up, lifting Ellen onto her hip as if she was a toddler. “I’ve got a good idea, then.” Holding her tight with one arm, she reached up into the wardrobe with the other and pulled out a bigger suitcase.

  “Ellie, fill that one as well, will you? We might stay away a bit longer than two weeks.”

  In the ladies’ powder room of the Valley View Motel, Carrie Quinlan stood staring at her reflection in the full-length mirrors.

  She cleared her throat. “Bett and Anna, there’s something you should know before you get here. Matthew and I have separated. And I’m not going to go into the reasons but, yes, I think it’s for good.”

  No, too apologetic. And maybe it would be better if she broke the news to them one by one. “Anna, I want you to know something important. Matthew and I have decided to separate.”

  Not bad. But then Anna would be the easiest to tell. Carrie took a breath. “Bett, I don’t want you to gloat, but I’ve got some news for you.”

  For a sec
ond it was as if both her sisters were standing in front of her. She pictured their reaction to her news, and her temper flared. She glared at her own reflection and spoke in a fierce voice. “Yes, I think it is for good. And no, it doesn’t prove you right, and it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have married him in the first place. It just happened.”

  She was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Carrie?”

  Carrie blushed, embarrassed. How long had her mother been outside? She didn’t answer, stood stock-still. She’d locked the door and put up the bright yellow “Sorry, I’m temporarily closed for cleaning!” sign, but it obviously hadn’t been enough.

  Another brisk knock. “Carrie, did I hear you talking to yourself in there? Can you come and give me a hand moving these tables? We’ve got a group of Landcare people in tonight.”

  Landcare-schmandcare. It was all right for them, talking to each other until the cows came home about soil levels and salinity. If only pH levels were all she had to worry about, instead of a marriage breakup, the imminent arrival of her sisters, Lola’s ridiculous birthday party.…

  “Carrie?” The door handle rattled. “Are you all right?”

  Oh, perfectly all right. Couldn’t be better. One final glare, a smoothing of her hair, and she unlocked the door. “Sorry, Mum. I’m coming.”

  She stepped out just as her mother finished brushing specks of dust off the large banana plant by the front door. As petite as Carrie, Geraldine Quinlan was dressed in her usual trim skirt, crisp shirt, and sensible shoes. Her hair was as no-nonsense as the rest of her—short, dark, neat.

  She gave her daughter a speculative look. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine, Mum. Thanks.”

  “Are you sure?” There was a little pause. “You’re not sick, are you? Feeling nauseous or anything …”

  “No, it’s not that,” Carrie said, coloring. Several months back, before the final big fight with Matthew, her mother had caught her reading pregnancy magazines at the reception desk. She hadn’t said anything, but there had been a quick exchange of smiles.

  Geraldine gave her a similar smile now. “That’s a shame.”

  “Mmm,” Carrie said, trying to sound upbeat. If her mother only knew how nonexistent that possibility was these days. She gave a fake laugh. “No, the only thing making me feel sick these days is the idea of Lola’s birthday party.”

  “You’re not alone there.” Geraldine’s lips tightened. “It would have been nice to have been given some warning about it before she sent out all those invitations. I tried to explain to her that events like this need proper organization, that neither you nor Jim and I can just drop everything. But of course that was like water off a duck’s back.”

  “I bet it was.” Carrie had actually been talking about the idea of Anna and Bett coming back making her feel sick, not the party itself. But Geraldine had never had any time for those sorts of conversations. She had been very firm about it from the start. “You are grown women, and it is up to the three of you to sort this out in your own good time.” Matthew’s thoughts on her mother came to mind. “That’s just the way she is, Carrie. Anyway, you’d hate it if she was the fussy, nosy type of mother, you know that.”

  She tuned back in, trying to look sympathetic as Geraldine outlined the latest episode of her silent war with Lola. It seemed she had caught Lola using the office computer to print up some sort of flyer. “I’ve asked her not to do it, but she just ignores me. She goes through paper like nothing else, and never thinks to order more to replace it. I had to print out last week’s menus on colored paper, because she’d used all the white paper for a new batch of birthday invitations or some such thing.”

  “She’d try the patience of a saint,” Carrie agreed, unconsciously echoing one of Lola’s own Irish sayings. The difficulty was Carrie could see both sides. Lola could indeed be the most annoying, interfering, meddling old woman on the planet, and Geraldine in turn was sometimes the most inflexible, single-minded, humorless woman in Australia, as Lola had once put it so succinctly. Carrie dragged out another fake laugh. “Still, I suppose it’s not every day she turns eighty.”

  “No, thank God.” Geraldine glanced at her wristwatch, a functional one bought purely for timekeeping, not decorative purposes. “So, can you come and help me move these tables? Your dad’s not back from the wholesaler’s yet, otherwise I’d ask him. I also want to go through the casual staff rosters with you. And I wouldn’t mind your help with the new computer program, either, if you don’t mind. I still can’t make head nor tail of it.”

  “Of course.” This was more like it. Back onto work matters, not the precarious rocky shores of emotions and feelings. Carrie felt much better as she followed her mother into the function room.

  Chapter Three

  In the forecourt of the Valley View Motel one week later, Len the local butcher slammed the door of his delivery van. Short, plump, and with a bald pink head, he often joked that he wasn’t unlike one of his tasty homemade sausages himself.

  “All set for old Mrs. Quinlan’s hooley tonight, Jim? Sure you don’t want me to DJ again?” He started speaking in a bad American accent. “ ‘You’re listening to Len’s Mobile Disco, spinning the hottest new tracks for young and old.’ ”

  Jim Quinlan remembered the last time Len had DJed at a motel function. He’d had to refund half the room booking fee when the twenty-one-year-old and her parents complained. Len had been unrepentant. “Islands in the Stream” was a classic, a beautiful song, he’d insisted. Not seven times in one night, though. “Not this time, Len. No thanks. You just come along as our guest and enjoy yourself.”

  “It’s going to be some party, by all accounts. The two older girls still coming home for it?”

  “That’s right.” Jim wondered, not for the first time, if his family’s daily activities were actually being broadcast directly to television sets around the Valley. Fifteen years they’d been here, and he was still amazed at how news traveled. He made a point of looking at his watch. “They’re due any minute, actually. So if you can give me the invoice …”

  Len gave a throaty laugh. “The Alphabet Sisters together again. What I’d give to be a fly on the wall at that first meeting.”

  Jim kept his face expressionless. It seemed the entire population of the Valley was hoping to be a fly on the wall at this reunion of his three daughters. One spray of an extra-strong pesticide and a good percentage of them would be lying on the floor, legs wriggling. It was a comforting thought. “Good to know my family’s providing so much entertainment, Len. I would have thought you’d have plenty of other things to keep you busy.”

  Len was unabashed. “Girls will be girls, won’t they, Jim? I know my two can be tearing each other’s eyes out one moment, giggling over a bottle of wine the next. When we first had two daughters, I was a bit upset, don’t mind telling you that. I wanted boys, sons, to play footy with. Now, I love it. The dramas! No need to watch soapies with them around the place.”

  Jim knew Len’s daughters well. As gossipy as their father, what they didn’t know about people they made up. Well, let them make up what they liked about Anna, Bett, and Carrie. The gossip would blow over soon enough, once something else happened in the town to grab everyone’s attention. He’d actually admitted to Geraldine he was glad Lola had done what she’d done, bringing the girls back together like this. They’d both felt a twinge of guilt that they hadn’t thought of it themselves. But when did they get time to sort out things like that? And neither of them had ever wanted to be the interfering kind of parent.

  The phone rang, the sound echoing across the forecourt. Jim knew Geraldine was at the reception desk and would answer it, but Len didn’t. He leaned over and took the invoice out of the butcher’s hand himself. “Better run, Len. See you tonight. And thanks for the meat.”

  Geraldine winked over at her husband as he came in through the front door, rolling his eyes. Len drove them both up the wall, but his meat was first rate, and he deliv
ered to their door. Holding the phone against her ear with one hand, she took the invoice from Jim with the other, mouthed a thanks, and kept talking, even as she carefully filed the piece of paper in the “Bills to be paid” folder to the left of the computer. From the bar she heard the sound of Jim picking up the plastic bin of empty bottles, ready for a trip to the recycling depot.

  She concentrated on keeping the warm, friendly tone to her voice. “That’s no problem at all, Mr. Lawrence. And you’re still happy with that room? Very good. Thank you very much.”

  This Richard Lawrence in room two was turning out to be the perfect guest, she thought as she hung up. Extending his stay week by week, keeping to himself, and so polite. Such a charming English accent, too. Geraldine was mildly curious what he was up to—some sort of writing project, she’d gathered, after seeing the computer and the piles of paper spread around his room when she delivered his breakfast or cleaned his room—but she wouldn’t dream of asking him for any details about it. Not like some other people in this motel …

  She made a note in the bookings register and then, using two fingers, carefully typed the same information into the computer on the desk beside her. Carrie had been very persuasive, insisting that it really was very efficient and that of course Geraldine would be able to master it. One day, perhaps. She tentatively pressed Save and gave a satisfied sigh, just as a blue station wagon pulled up outside.

  A casually dressed man with dark hair leaped out of the driver’s seat, reached into the back for a pile of newspapers, then took the steps, two at a time, and came inside. “Mrs. Quinlan? Your copies of the Valley Times, hot off the press. Will I leave them here?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He wasn’t the usual newspaper delivery man, but he did look vaguely familiar. Then again, so did half the townspeople when you’d lived in a place this long. “Where’s Pat?”