Putting Alice Back Together

The two great discoveries that changed CAROL MARINELLI’s life were the Sat Nav and writing. Born with no sense of direction, Carol spent way too long poring over maps, missing turns, getting utterly and completely lost and hoping that she’d get there in the end—which she invariably did, but usually flustered and late. The arrival of Irish Sean into her life changed many things. She soon learnt that if she just carried right on sooner or later he’d re-navigate and she’d reach her destination.

Carol also spent way too long poring over application forms—she’s been a typist, a nurse, a fruit-picker, a backpacker, and has also applied to be a policewoman and to study midwifery, psychology… the list goes on. They all appealed—just not enough. Since the age of eighteen she’s dabbled with writing, but it was a rather sporadic effort at first—then finally she decided to take it more seriously. The biggest thrill in Carol’s writing life (and it still is to this day) was typing, for the first time, the words “The End”. For so many years there had been chapters and outlines and endless stop-starts, but having a full story, from start to middle to end, gave her a rush she had never expected. Of course it was rejected, but she’d got the bug and kept going till she was accepted.

These days she takes an awful lot of fish oil, and keeps a pen and paper by her bed, in her bag, in the kitchen, in the car. She loves that she can talk to friends at length about the people who pop into her head and not get looked at too strangely for it. Being published, sitting down to write every day—finally she found direction and a whole lot of new friends. A whole new way of life, really. Now, no matter what life throws, when she pushes the button for home the answer is always the same: at the end of the day, sit down and write.

Find out more about Carol at www.carolmarinelli.com

Putting

Alice Back Together

Carol Marinelli

For Sam, Alex and Lucinda with love always xxxx

Acknowledgements

Mostly I have loved writing this story, but there are times I have just wanted to walk away—actually, a few times I did walk away, so there are loads of people to thank for helping me to keep going till I felt Alice’s story had been told.

First of all I want to thank my children (not that I ever want them to read my work)—I have to confess that it worries me a little that they think it’s perfectly normal to have a mum crying and laughing at the computer keyboard and that they have all, over the years, individually asked how Alice is doing!!

I have a brilliant friend, Helen Browne. There is no way I would have finished without her—not only does she help with the ups and downs and logistics of my life, but she also has an amazing ability to keep her eyes from glazing over as I bombard her with my plot and to nod in all the right places—better still, she tells me the bits that she doesn’t like (brave woman indeed)!

I want to thank the wonderful team at MIRA for taking Alice’s story on, especially Kimberley Young and Jenny Hutton, who have pushed me to make it the best that it can be and who have been so patient.

Thanks, too, to my mum and my sisters Anne and Helen, who put up with my long phone calls. I have the best mum and despite the distance we are so close and she comes over and is a huge support. A special thanks to Anne and my gorgeous niece Hannah, who came all the way over to Australia from the UK when I needed it the most.

I have a wonderful group of friends, they go by the name Maytoners—we push each other and support each other, well, they do me and I hope I give the same back—they all know who they are, but I cannot not mention Anne Gracie, who read a shaky draft of this book at a time when she really had every reason not to and then took the time to contact me and give me words of encouragement—it meant an awful lot. Nor can I leave out Marion Lennox, who lent me a very patient ear as I worked out where Alice’s pregnancy was going.

I would like to thank Stuart MacDonald for his enthusiasm—he is a wonderful friend and an endless source of wisdom. Thanks, too, to Shane Burns, a gifted musician and all around nice guy and also thank you to Annemarie and John for breakfasts, lunches and love and also to Raelene and Leanne too.

Yasmin Boland has been wonderful—not only letting Alice read from her fantastic book Cosmic Love, but also providing me with insightful, wonderful horoscopes every day at www.moonology.com

Then there’s Sarah Morgan, a brilliant writer and an amazing friend. If there is one advantage to living on the other side of the world, then it has to be the time difference with e-mail. I can pour out my worries at night—when the book has stalled, when things catch up, when life feels hard—and then wake up the next day and it is as if the fairies have been and I have a reply filled with love and support and an awful lot of laughs.

Anyway, these are my thank yous—they really are heartfelt, but first, last and always my love and thanks goes to my children.

Prologue

Little Alice

‘That’s the Munchkins sorted.’ Mrs Evans smiled. ‘Now we can move on to casting the main parts.’ Everyone was nudging, all sitting cross-legged on the gym floor—a mix of eager and dejected faces, because anyone left after this would be in the chorus. ‘The Wicked Witch of the West…’ Mrs Evans announced, and I held my breath. If I wasn’t going to be Dorothy I didn’t actually mind being her, but I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead as Debbie Carter got the part.

‘The Lion…’ I knew this next lot of roles would go to the boys.

It was between Louise and me—she was so pretty and blonde she’d be lovely as the good fairy.

I knew I was good at drama. I knew I had a role and that there were only two girl ones left—and with my curly hair I wouldn’t make a nice neat calm fairy. And given that my hair was red too…

I was going to be Dorothy!

Jonathon Phillips actually walked like the Tin Man as he stood up.

‘Choose me, choose me…’ I had my fingers crossed under my little fat shaking knees. I was trying to pretend I didn’t care, that the lovely gingham dress and ruby shoes didn’t matter so, except they did. I made my wish at the wrong second, though. Everyone was cheering. Louise was patting me on the back and Mrs Evans was grinning widely as, red in the face, I stood up and crashed my way through all the crossed knees.

I was Alice Lydia Jameson—the Scarecrow.

One

‘How could she not know?’ Roz snorted.

Hugh was at the table, filling in tax forms.

Roz and I were watching the news when a story came on about some woman who hadn’t known she was pregnant and had flushed it down the loo…

‘For God’s sake.’ Roz, lovely Roz, who was usually non-judgmental, was so opinionated and scathing as she said it again. ‘How could she not know? How can she say that she didn’t even know?’

And I gave a half-laugh, topped up my wine and carried on watching the news. But my face was burning, just as it did during a love scene at the movies when I felt as if the whole cinema was watching me and gauging my reaction; just as it did when Dr Kelsey asked all those questions.

I couldn’t hear the scratch of Hugh’s pen any more and I was sure he was watching me.

I just felt as if he knew.

‘Of course she knew!’ Roz insisted, even though I wasn’t arguing, and I wanted to turn around and correct her. I wanted to tell her to shut the fuck up, but instead I took a swig of wine and almost missed my mouth, my hand was shaking so much. She turned her attention to him. ‘What do you think, Hugh?’

Only I didn’t want to hear what Hugh thought.

I didn’t want his educated opinion.

Do you know, every time some poor cow flushes a baby down the loo, or it turns up in a rubbish dump, or she arrives in Emergency with abdo pain and produces a babe, or pops a foetus into her hand luggage and tries to head for home, the comments are the same—she must have known.

No.

No.

No.

She didn’t know.

She couldn’t know.

Because once she did, then it was real.

I didn’t need Hugh’s opinion and I didn’t need Roz’s either.

I could see how it happened.

I knew how it happened.

Because, Once Upon a Time, it had happened to me.

Two

Alice

It’s not something you can just blurt out, though.

I mean, when do you slip that little gem into the conversation?

You can’t.

Ever.

Not to anyone.

You just learn to live with it.

To run from it.

To live your life around it.

There’s so much that hinges on silence.

I don’t really know where to start.

If I go back even just a few weeks, it wasn’t something at the forefront of my mind. Really, I didn’t think about it at all, or I did everything I could not to—I was too busy being normal. I had a job, a fantastic wardrobe, brilliant friends, massive credit-card debt, all the usual stuff. Okay, I had a few problems, but don’t we all? I spent a lot of my lunch breaks in the self-help section at the bookshop, looking for the book, the answer, the reason. I’d tried Reiki, hypnosis, Indian scalp massage…

Forgive me if it’s jumbled at first, I suppose I was too.

Nic was leaving for the UK; her cousin Hugh was coming to stay at the flat. There was a small leaving do for her, which I was a bit late getting to—see, I was just busy being normal.

‘You’ve met Christopher,’ Nicole said, as she made the introductions, and though I’d heard her moan about her boss often enough, we’d never actually met, which Christopher quickly pointed out.

‘Actually, no.’ His voice had that bitchy upper-class ring to it and I wasn’t sure if he was English, as Nicole and I are, or if he’d been privately schooled here in Australia. As he shook my hand he held on for just a fraction too long. ‘I’d certainly remember.’ He smiled that capped smile and I returned it, but only briefly. I mean, he was way past forty, for God’s sake—I was so not flirting with him.

‘Where’s Dan?’ Nicole asked.

‘He’s working.’ Christopher’s eyes were still on me as I made Dan’s apologies, but there was no real need—I could see the relief on Nic’s face when I told her that Dan couldn’t make it.

‘And Roz?’

‘She’ll be here soon,’ I said, and I knew Nicole wished that Roz wasn’t coming—Nicole hates her friends and colleagues being together. She jumps out of her skin if we meet someone we know out shopping or at a bar. It is as if she’s terrified they might find out she actually has a life outside law—that she isn’t always this poised and groomed.

That she can actually talk about something other than work.

Oh, God, you should have heard them. It was Nic’s leaving do. Well, she’s not leaving—Nicole’s been in Melbourne for five years and she’s taking six weeks’ annual leave to catch up with her family and new boyfriend, who she met while he was on holiday here. But, instead of enjoying the party, they’re talking about some sub-clause in some clause or something. And for all their money, they were mean. No one offered to buy a drink. They just sipped on their tasteful choices and I knew it was going to be a long, mind-numbingly boring night or worse, as I saw a couple of them glancing at their watches, it was going to be a short, complete fizzler of a night, which would kill Nicole.

Why did I feel that it was my problem?

That I had to make conversation, do something to entertain—that it was up to me to salvage the night from being a disaster?

Because Nicole’s my best friend, I guess.

I went to the bar and looked at the wine list. My pay should have gone in and though I knew I couldn’t afford it, I ordered two of the second cheapest bottles of sparkling wine and ten glasses.

‘I’ll take care of that.’ Christopher made his way over and I felt a mixture of annoyance and relief as he changed my order and took out his credit card. ‘You’re Nicole’s flatmate?’

‘That’s right.’ I felt a bit awkward, obliged to stay and talk to him now that he was paying for the drinks.

‘You’re English too?’ he checked as he waited to sign the bill and, instead of noticing his blond hair or blue eyes, I saw the fan of lines around his eyes and the acne scars on his jaw.

‘I am.’

‘Nicole never said.’

I gave him a very brief smile, thanked him for the wine and made my way back to the group. Normally, there would have been a quick reminisce, or a moment taken to find out where the other was from, how long they’ve been over, that sort of thing, but he’d got that sharky look, like a real estate agent sensing a deal, so I headed back to the table and took a seat on the sofa furthest away from him.

Nicole seemed to have developed a tic—her head kept twitching in the direction of the toilets and once the champagne had arrived and we’d all wished her well for her trip back home, I excused myself and headed over there. Maybe fifteen seconds later Nic flew in.

‘Where the hell were you?’

‘I had to go back to the flat and get changed.’

‘Any messages?’ she asked, and I shook my head as I touched up my lipstick. Peering into the mirror, I could see a good quarter of an inch of ginger roots, so I fiddled with my parting to mess it up a little and made a mental note to see Karan. ‘Thank God, you’re here,’ Nic carried on, and even if she didn’t want Roz and Dan along, clearly she was relying on me. ‘It’s been awful. They’re all just sitting there. Any minute now they’ll go.’

‘Nobody’s going,’ I soothed. ‘Let’s just get out there and have a good time.’

‘Alice, you have to do something…’

See—it was my problem. As much as Nic didn’t want her worlds colliding, I was supposed to be the entertainment. I was the one who had to ensure that everyone had a brilliant time. I just didn’t get why it always fell to me.

‘Come on,’ I said. ‘We can’t have a party in here.’

‘Don’t let me drink too much,’ Nicole begged, and that made me smile. Nicole practically gave up drinking the day she met Paul. She used to love a night out, or a night in with a couple of bottles. Now she was constantly putting her hand over her drink, terrified you might fill it.

‘And please, Alice, be nice to Christopher.’

‘He’s awful.’

‘I know.’ Nicole cringed. ‘But please, just be nice.’

‘I am being nice.’

‘You just gave him the brush-off.’

‘I didn’t.’

I hadn’t!

Okay, I hadn’t engaged in conversation. I hadn’t asked when he was next going back to the Mother Ship and if he could get me some clothes from Next and some of that amazing moisturiser from Boots, but I hadn’t given him the brush-off.

Or had I?

‘He’s a sleaze,’ I pointed out, because he absolutely was. ‘Did someone take an ice pick to his face thirty years ago?’

‘Alice, please,’ Nicole begged, even though she laughed. ‘He’s been a right bastard since he found out I was going back to see Paul. He knows I might…’

And I felt my throat tighten as her voice trailed off. Nicole had never admitted it, but I knew, I knew that she was thinking of moving back to England—she had just confirmed it. I couldn’t believe she’d give everything up for Paul but, then, that’s what she does with men, over and over.

God, Nic knew how to pick them.

Nic always thought she was in love.

Always insisted that this was the one.

Until he dumped her, hit her, or his wife found out.

Nicole’s love life was like a really bad soap opera. Every weeknight at six-thirty she flew through the flat door with the latest instalment and, even though you knew how it was going to end, knew it was heading for disaster, still you found yourself watching from behind your fingers, scarcely able to believe someone could really be so stupid where men were concerned.

And she was surely heading for disaster.

Big time.

Which meant, yet again, yours truly would be left to pick up the pieces.

‘Christopher was a manager at the London office,’ Nic said, but I just added another layer of lip-gloss. ‘He knows everyone there. I don’t want to leave on a bad note.’

‘You’re not leaving, though—you’re going for a holiday.’ I gave her a smile. ‘It’s going to be a great night—just relax and enjoy it.’

‘The thing is, Alice…’

I just didn’t want to hear it here—I mean, it was supposed to be her party. ‘Come on,’ I said instead. ‘We’d better get back out there.’

The champagne hadn’t buoyed the mood and I knew it was going to be hard work. We were all sitting on low sofas and I told a couple of funny, indiscreet stories about the newspaper where I work—and I don’t know how I do it, Nicole doesn’t either, but the mood was suddenly lifting. People started to open up, to loosen up and then Jason—or was it James?—shocked everyone by admitting that his wife had left him at the weekend and Christopher, well, he had the gift too, because he laughed and said, ‘That’s a reason for more champagne,’ and called the waiter over. I could see Nicole beaming, relief starting to flood in, because her leaving night was going to be a success.

‘There’s Roz…’ I waved out of the window to where Roz was sucking down the last of her cigarette and Roz waved back and carried on puffing away.

She just didn’t get it.

I smoked sometimes, but it’s so unfashionable these days, you didn’t do it at places like this. If you did, you went right away from the window and doused yourself in perfume and sucked mints before you came inside. But not Roz. She came to the door blowing out the last of her smoke, and she was so out of place there that for an appalling moment I thought the doorman was about to refuse her. I called out her name loud enough for him to hear and, realising she was with the posh, champagne-drinking lawyers, he let her in.

‘Christ!’ Christopher soon showed his bastard colours. ‘Who the hell is that?’

‘Roz,’ I answered tartly. ‘She’s a friend of ours, she works with me at the paper, she’s studying accounting…’ My voice trailed off, because he wasn’t actually interested in Roz.

His reaction was a familiar one—he’d dismissed her instantly.

Before she’d even walked through the door.

She was in cargo pants and a sloppy T-shirt and sandals that were about to snap from lugging her bulk around and she’d put on more weight. Her divorce had just come through, all her old friends and even her daughter had turned against her, and though she insisted that she was happy that her marriage was over, every day she seemed to go under a little bit more. She was really letting herself go.

Dan didn’t like her. He said she brought me down and he couldn’t stand the way that she looked. Yes, elegant and chic weren’t two words that sprang to mind when Roz was around, but I wished people would take a bit of time to get to know her. Roz was the kindest person I knew, she’d do anything for me, for anyone.

She’s just lovely.

‘I can’t imagine her as an accountant.’ Christopher made some caustic comment about her not fitting in and I bristled as Nic’s face coloured up, not in anger at Christopher but in embarrassment at her friend.

‘No,’ I agreed with him, ‘because she’s not boring enough.’ Out of the corner of my eye I could see Nic tense, and I remembered then that Christopher was a financial lawyer, but instead of offending him I’d made him laugh. I didn’t see the acne scars any more, or the lines around his eyes. His eyes were blue and he was smiling at me and I found myself smiling back.

‘There’s drinks here.’ I dragged my eyes away and I called to Roz because I knew she hated going to the bar. I moved along on the sofa to make room for her.

‘I’m Christopher.’ He introduced himself and poured her a drink and he was being really nice to her, but somehow I knew it was for me. I knew, because he apologised that he couldn’t hear what Roz was saying and came over to our side of the table and squeezed in between us.

There was a frisson of excitement that flooded my veins, an awareness, and even though he was talking to Roz, and I was entertaining the table, I knew he felt it too.

I knew because I could feel the press of his thigh on mine.

An hour ago I’d have stabbed him in the leg with my keys.

I didn’t press back. I pretended not to notice.

But I didn’t move my leg away either.

I was half listening as they spoke about their children. He had a sixteen-year-old too, it turned out, and a twenty-year-old.

He must be ancient.

I mean, Roz had Lizzie really young and she’s thirty-four.

The table was becoming rowdy and everyone was chatting away, me included, but my head was like an abacus, trying to work out his age. As he dropped his phone, I expected the brief brush of his hand on my calf and he delivered.

It was my turn to have the nervous tic—I tried to catch Nicole’s eyes to get her to come to the toilets and tell me how best to handle this. I mean, there’s being nice and being nice—what the hell was I supposed to do?

‘I won’t be long.’

I excused myself—I had to side shuffle along the sofa to get out and I was acutely aware of my bottom passing his face. They must all have thought I had a bladder the size of a thimble, but I just wanted to escape. I walked calmly to the toilets even though my heart was hammering. I wanted to be away from him.

He must have been mid-forties.

Nicole had missed my frantic signals because she didn’t follow me in. I waited a few minutes then I started to walk back out to the party, deciding that I would wedge myself in beside Nicole.

‘Alice.’

I heard his voice from the disabled toilet.

I turned. And, to my shame, I went in.

I’ll spare you the details.

I’m trying to spare myself from the details too.

It didn’t take long.

He went back and I stayed there for a moment or two.

I tried not to look at myself in the mirror as I put on my lip-gloss and sorted out my hair.

I could not have hated myself more. I wasn’t even pissed—I’d had two glasses.

How did I get here?

How had my life got to this point?

Why was I like this?

I wanted to hit rewind. I wanted to go back and start the night all over again.

How did he know? I mean, of all the women out there…

I wanted to go home. I wanted to go out through the rear of the restaurant. I wanted to hide, to curl up on the disgusting floor—anything rather than go back out—but instead I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Or tried to.

I couldn’t get the air in.

I scrabbled in my bag but I couldn’t find them. There was an appointment card for 4.30 tomorrow, which I tossed back, and searched some more, then felt the relief as my fingers closed on a thin white box. It was a short-lived relief because there was only one left and after that there would be none.

Alice Lydia Jameson

Diazepam 5 mg.

One tablet twice daily as needed.

Avoid alcohol.

I didn’t know if they worked, I really didn’t, or if it was just knowing I had them that helped—because even before the little yellow pill had dissolved on my tongue, I felt calmer.