What Alice Forgot

Alice watched the Mini in the rain and knew that Gina would be singing along lustily to Elvis.

That tree looks like it’s going to fall right over, said Madison.

Alice looked up.

It was the liquid amber on the corner. Beautiful in the autumn. It was rocking back and forth, making a horrible creaking sound.

It won’t fall.

It fell.

It was so fast and violent and unexpected. Like a dear friend suddenly punching you in the face. Like some cruel god had done it on purpose. To be nasty. Picked up the tree and slammed it across the Mini in a fit of temper. The sound was tremendous. An explosion of terrifying sound. Alice’s foot jammed on the brake. Her arm flew sideways protectively across Madison’s chest, as if to save her from the tree. Madison screamed—Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!

And then silence, except for the sound of the rain. The beeps for the oneo’clock news came on the radio.

There was a massive tree trunk lying on the road in front of them. Gina’s little red Mini looked like a squashed tin can.

A woman came running out from her house. She stopped when she saw the tree, her hands pressed to her mouth.

Alice pulled over to the side of the road. She put the hazard lights on. Stay here, she said to Madison. She opened the car door and ran. She was still wearing her shorts and T-shirt from the gym. She slipped and fell, hard on one knee, stood up and kept running, her arms flailed uselessly at the air, trying to pull back time to just two minutes ago.

“Get her a blanket. She’s shivering.”

Nick didn’t come to the funeral. He didn’t come to the funeral.

He didn’t come to the funeral.

The school principal was at the funeral. Mr. Gordon. Dominick. He said, I’m so sorry, Alice. I know you were such close friends. And he hugged her. She cried into his shirt. He stood close by her while they released pink balloons into the gray sky.

She didn’t know how to live her life without Gina. She was part of her daily routine. Gym. Coffee. Taking the kids to swimming lessons. Personal training. Minding each other’s kids. Movie nights. Laughing at stupid things. Sure she knew lots and lots of other mums at the school, but not like Gina. She was her one true friend now that Nick was too busy with work.

All the joy had gone.

Everything seemed pointless. Each morning in the shower she cried, her forehead against the bathroom tiles, the shampoo sliding into her eyes.

She fought with Nick. Sometimes she deliberately picked fights because it was a good distraction from the grief. She had to stop herself from hitting him. She wanted to scratch and bite and hurt him.

Nick said one day, I think I should move out. She said, I think you should, too. And she thought, As soon as he goes, I’ll phone Gina. Gina will help me.

The nastiness seemed to begin so quickly and easily, as if they’d always hated each other, and here at last was their opportunity to stop pretending and let each other know how they really felt. Nick wanted the children to be with him fifty percent of the time. It was a joke. How could he possibly take care of them on his own with the hours he worked? It would be so disruptive for them. He didn’t even really want them. He just wanted to reduce the amount of maintenance he would have to pay. Luckily, she remembered that her old work friend Jane had become a family lawyer. Jane was going to take him on.

Four months after Nick moved out, Dominick asked her out on a date. They went for a bushwalk in the National Park and got caught in the rain. He was easy and kind and unaffected. He didn’t know the right restaurants. He liked unpretentious cafés. They talked a lot about the school. He respected her opinions. He seemed so much more real than Nick.

They had made love for the first time just the other night at his place. The children were with her mother.

(The night before she hit her head.)

It was beautiful.

Well, okay, it was awkward. (For example, he seemed to think he should lick her toes. Where had he got such an idea? It tickled unbearably, and she accidentally kicked him in the nose.)

But still, it had been so, so lovely to have a man appreciating her body again. Right down to her toes.

Dominick was the right sort of man for her. Nick had been a mistake. How can you pick the right man when you’re in your twenties and stupid?

The grief started to ease a little. It was still there, but it wasn’t an impossible weight crushing her chest. She kept herself very busy.

She stopped by at Dino’s one afternoon for a coffee and found a small crowd of solemn-faced people surrounding a woman having some sort of attack on the footpath. Even Dino was out there. Alice went to avert her eyes—it seemed like the poor woman might be mentally ill—when she saw to her horror that it was her sister. It was Elisabeth, and when Dino told her what had happened, her first feeling was shame. How could she not have seen that it had got so bad? As she was explaining to Dino what Elisabeth had been going through, she felt a growing anger at herself. It was like she’d just come to accept Elisabeth’s miscarriages as part of life. She’d led Elisabeth to her car and left her sitting in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, and then she’d gone back and managed to soothe the mother of the child Elisabeth had apparently tried to kidnap. (It was Judy Clarke. Judy had a son in Madison’s class.) On the way home Elisabeth said, “Thanks,” and nothing else.

Well, enough was enough. This endless cycle of miscarriages had to stop. They were just beating their heads against a brick wall, and Elisabeth was losing her mind. Alice had lost her best friend and her marriage had fallen apart but she was still getting on with things. Someone needed to talk sense to Elisabeth. As soon as she got home, Alice got on the Internet to research adoption. Last Thursday she made a fresh batch of banana muffins and then she rang up Ben and told him she was having trouble with her car. He said he’d be right over.

“I wonder if we should call a doctor?”

“No,” said Alice out loud, her eyes shut. “I’m all right. Just give me a minute.”

Now she was remembering the past week. It was as if she’d been permanently drunk. She was mortified.

She hadn’t had time for breakfast the morning of the spin class with Jane, and actually, now she thought about it, she hadn’t even had any water, which was stupid, no wonder she’d fainted. Her last memory was pedaling hard, sweat dripping, listing off in her head everything she had to do for Mega Meringue Day, only half listening to Narelle (the annoying instructor: Spin Crazy Girl) going on about “the finish line” and “the semi-trailer holding you up.” Instead, she was watching the television screen playing soundlessly above Narelle’s head. There was a commercial on that always irked Alice, featuring a woman looking flirtatiously at the camera while licking a glob of cream cheese off the tip of her finger (she looked a bit like Jackie Holloway) and Alice was feeling sick at the very thought of eating cream cheese.