What Alice Forgot

“But does Nick think—” Alice was overwhelmed with hurt. “Does he think I’m not a good mother?” And was she a good mother?

Elisabeth lifted her chin and her eyes flashed like the old Elisabeth. “Well, if he thinks that, he’s wrong, and we’ll have a million witnesses ready to stand up in court and say otherwise. You’re a great mother. Don’t worry. He’s not going to win. He hasn’t got a chance. I don’t know what he’s trying to prove. It’s just a power game for him, I think.”

It was confusing because although it gave Alice pleasure to see Elisabeth angry on her behalf, at the same time she felt automatic loyalty for Nick. Elisabeth had always adored Nick. If Alice and Nick ever had an argument, Elisabeth took Nick’s side. He was a “catch,” she said.

Elisabeth was getting herself worked up. “I mean, it’s just so stupid. He doesn’t know the first thing about looking after them. He doesn’t cook. I doubt he’s ever used the washing machine. He’s always traveling, anyway. He’s just so—”

Alice held up her hand to make her stop. She said, “I expect it’s just that he can’t stand the idea of being a part-time dad like his own father. He used to hate it when Roger came to take him and his sisters out. He said Roger always tried too hard, you can just imagine, and it was awkward and strange, and the girls squabbled and took advantage of his credit card. Whenever we go out to a restaurant and Nick sees a man alone with his children, he always says, ‘Divorced dad,’ and shudders. I mean—that’s what he did. Ten years ago.”

She tried to get control of her voice. “He wanted to be there every night for his children, and hear about what they did at school, and make breakfast with them on the weekend. He talked about that a lot. It was like he was going to make up for his own childhood, and I loved it when he talked like that because it was making up for our childhood, too, and not having our dad around. He had such lovely, romantic ideas about how we’d be a family. Well, we both did. I can’t believe—I can’t believe—”

She couldn’t talk anymore. Elisabeth came over and sat on the couch beside her. She hugged her awkwardly. “Maybe,” she said tentatively. “Maybe this memory loss is sort of a good thing because it will help you see things more objectively without your mind being cluttered with everything that’s happened over the last ten years. And once you get your memory back, you’ll still have a different perspective and you and Nick will be able to work things out without all the fighting.”

“What if it never comes back?”

“Oh, of course it will come back. You’re already remembering bits and pieces,” said Elisabeth.

“Maybe my old self has been sent from the past to stop the divorce,” said Alice only half flippantly. “Maybe I won’t get my memory back until I’ve done that.”

“Possibly!” said Elisabeth too brightly. Then she paused and said, “Dominick seemed nice. Really nice.”

Alice thought of how she’d let Dominick kiss her on this very couch and felt suffused with guilt. She said, “He is perfectly nice. He’s just not Nick.”

“No. He’s very different from Nick.”

Now, what exactly did that mean? Should she be offended on Nick’s behalf? Anyway, she wasn’t going to have a conversation comparing their pros and cons, as if they were competing boyfriends. Nick was her husband. She changed the subject instead. She said, “Well, speaking of men, I liked Ben.”

“It’s funny to hear you talk about him as if you’ve only just met him.”

“What did Ben mean when he said he’d been thinking about our discussion the other day?” Alice knew there was something controversial about this topic; it was time to get to the bottom of whatever this thing was between her and Elisabeth.

“Ummm.” Elisabeth yawned and stretched. “Do you want a glass of water?”

“No thanks.”

“I’m really thirsty.” She stood up and went into the kitchen. Alice watched her go and wondered if she was pretending not to have heard her.

She came back with the glass of water and sat back down on the single couch in front of Alice.

“It’s late,” she said.

“Libby.”

Elisabeth sighed. “On Thursday—the day before your accident—Ben came over to help you with some problem you were having with your car. Except apparently there wasn’t really a problem at all. It was a little setup.”

Good grief. What had she done? Alice sat up straight. She could feel her face flushing. Surely she hadn’t made a move on her sister’s husband? (For one thing, the man was freakishly large.) Had breaking up with Nick sent her over the edge?

“You gave him banana muffins straight out of the oven. He loves your banana muffins.”

Oh my Lord.

“With lots of butter. I never let him have butter. He’s got high cholesterol, you know. I mean, you’re the health-conscious one.”

She’d seduced her brother-in-law with butter. Alice’s heart pounded.

“And then you gave him your little speech.”

“Little speech?” said Alice faintly.

“Yes, your little speech about why we should stop IVF and adopt. You had brochures. Application forms. Website addresses. You’d done all this research.”

Alice couldn’t get her head around it for a few seconds. Her mind had been filled with horrific images of herself going upstairs to “freshen up” and appearing in red lingerie.

“Adoption,” she repeated confusedly.

“Yes. You think we should pop over to a Third World country like Angelina and Brad and help ourselves to a cute orphan.”

“That was very presumptuous of me,” said Alice sternly, weak with relief that she hadn’t tried to seduce Ben. “Meddlesome. Nosey!”

Then again, she thought, wasn’t adoption actually a pretty good idea?

“Well,” said Elisabeth. “I was angry. When Ben came home and told me, I rang you and we got into a big argument about it. You think it’s time we ‘faced reality.’”

“Did I really say that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I guess you meant well. It’s just that you made me feel as if you thought I was stupid. As if you would never have let things get so far. As if you would never be so messy as to keep having miscarriage after miscarriage. As if, I don’t know, as if I’ve been overly emotional about the whole thing.”