What Alice Forgot

“So do you still love Dad?” said Madison. There was a slight tremor in her voice. She sounded much younger.

“Alice,” said Nick warningly, at the same time as Alice said, “Yes, of course I do.”

“Can Daddy come home, then?” Olivia looked up, elated. “And sleep in his own bed again!”

“Okay, time for a change of subject,” said Nick. He avoided Alice’s eyes.

“They’d fight too much,” said Tom.

“What do we fight about?” asked Alice, greedy for facts.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Tom irritably. “You said that’s why you couldn’t live together anymore. Because you fight too much. Even though I still have to live with my stupid sisters and we fight all the time. So it wasn’t even logical.”

“You fight about Gina,” said Madison.

“Don’t talk about Gina!” said Olivia. “It makes me sad. It’s an absolute tragedy.”

“R.I.P. ,” said Tom. “That’s what you say when you talk about someone who has died. It means rest in peace. You have to say it whenever you hear their name.”

“Why did we fight about Gina?” asked Alice.

“R.I.P.!” cried Tom, as if he were saying “snap!”

“So, the Aquatic Center was a lot of fun,” said Nick. “Wasn’t it, kids?”

“Well,” said Madison. “I think Dad thought you liked Gina better than him.”

“R.I.P.!” shouted Tom and Olivia.

“Oh shut up!” said Madison. “Someone dying is not funny!”

Alice looked at Nick. His face looked red and raw, like windburn. She couldn’t tell whether it meant he was angry or embarrassed. Goodness. Had she had some sort of torrid lesbian affair with Gina?

“You fight about the American Expense a lot,” said Tom.

“American Express,” said Madison.

“American Expense works for me.” Nick lifted his wineglass in a mocking sort of salute but he still didn’t look at Alice.

“Once you had a really extremely big fight about me,” said Olivia with satisfaction.

“Why?” asked Alice.

“Oh, you remember.” Olivia looked wary. “That day. At the beach.”

“For the twenty-billionth time, she doesn’t remember!” said Tom.

“Olivia got lost,” said Madison. “The police came. You were crying.” She gave Alice a malicious look. “Like this: ‘Olivia! Olivia! My daughter! Where is my daughter?’” She buried her face in her hands and pretended to sob dramatically.

“Did I?” Alice felt ridiculously hurt by Madison’s act.

“Just in case you’re wondering,” said Madison, “Olivia is your favorite child.”

“Your mother doesn’t have favorites,” said Nick.

Did she? She hoped not.

“When I was pregnant with you, Madison,” said Alice, “your Dad and I called you the Sultana. Did you know that? Because you were as tiny as a sultana.”

“You never told me that.” Madison looked doubtful.

“What did you call me?” asked Olivia.

“Really? I never told you that?” said Alice.

Madison turned to Nick. “Is that true? Did you call me the Sultana?”

“Your Dad spoke to you through a toilet roll on my tummy,” said Alice. “He said, ‘Ahoy there, Sultana! It’s me! Your father!’ ”

Madison smiled. Alice stared. It was the most exquisite smile she had ever seen. She felt a shot of love so powerful, it hurt her chest.

She looked down at her plate and a memory dropped straight into her head.

She was in a car filled with gold, filmy light. There was a smell of salt and seaweed. Her neck hurt. She turned around to check the baby. Miracle. She was asleep. Fat pink cheeks. Long lashes. Her head lolling against the side of the car seat. As Alice watched, a bar of light fell across her face. Her eyes fluttered open and she yawned and stretched sleepily. Then she caught sight of Alice and her whole face lit up with a huge, surprised grin, as if to say, “Hey! I can’t believe it! You’re here, too!” There was a sudden loud, rumbling snore from the driver’s seat and the baby looked startled. “It’s okay,” said Alice. “It’s just Daddy.”

“The baby wouldn’t sleep.” Alice looked at Nick. “She wouldn’t sleep unless we were driving.”

Nick kept shoveling food into his mouth and looked straight ahead.

Alice stared at Madison and blinked. The angry, strange little girl at the table was the baby. The giggling baby in the car was the Sultana.

“We drove all through the night,” said Alice to Madison. “Every time we stopped you screamed.”

“I know,” said Madison. She was sullen again. “And you drove me all the way to Manly and you stopped in the car park and you and Daddy and me all fell asleep in the car, and then you took me on the beach and I rolled over for the first time. Whatever.”

“Yes!” said Alice excitedly—she remembered. “The baby rolled over on the picnic rug! We got takeaway coffees from that place with the blue awning. And toasted ham-and-cheese sandwiches.”

It felt like yesterday and it felt like a million years ago.

“I slept through the night when I was eight weeks old,” said Olivia. “Didn’t I, Mum? I was a gold-star sleeper.”

“Just—shhhh,” said Alice, holding up her hand, trying to focus. She could see that morning so clearly. The baby’s striped suit. Nick’s unshaven face and red eyes. A seagull white and squawky against a very blue sky. They were so tired, they were light-headed. The blessed feeling of the caffeine hitting her bloodstream. They were parents. They were filled with the wonder and the horror, the bliss and the exhaustion of being parents.

“Mummy,” whined Olivia.

If she remembered that day, she should be able to feel her way back to when Madison was born. And she should be able to feel her way forward to the day that Nick packed his bags and left.

“Mummy,” said Olivia again. Oh, please be QUIET. She groped about in the dark but there was nothing else.

All she had was that morning.

“But Nick,” she began.

“What?” he said grimly, irritably. He really didn’t like her. It wasn’t just that he didn’t love her anymore. He didn’t even like her.