The Liberation of Alice Love - Abby McDonald [3]
“Well…” Alice wavered.
“And didn’t you say you need an outfit for Flora’s anniversary?” Ella reminded her. “We could do both. There—efficient enough for you?”
Alice grinned. “OK, OK. Meet you in twenty minutes?”
“Done!”
***
They ate virtuous salads to balance out the indulgencies of dessert, squeezed into a corner of the tiny restaurant with the waiters yelling orders over their heads—and flirting shamelessly at every opportunity.
“That kid was in love with you,” Alice teased, as they emerged into the sunshine. “How many water refills did you need?”
“He was just trying to stare down my top, little pervert.” Ella grinned. “But I scored with the guy at the register, see?” She tried to pass a handful of complimentary chocolates, but Alice waved them away, groaning.
“How can you manage anymore? That cake was enough to feed four, at least!”
“Lightweight.” Ella popped one in her mouth. “It’s in my genes, I think. My mum’s family were Italian, way back,” she mused. “So I inherited the ability to eat my body weight in pasta. I would have preferred to look like Sophia Loren, though.”
Alice laughed. “I know, the exotic genes passed me by, too. My dad practically came out of the womb in tweed and Wellington boots. And my mother…” She paused, suddenly remembering the flash of red lipstick, the hair set in perfect curls, even to go to the village post office. “She was American. Is, I guess.” A group of teenage shoppers pushed between them, so Alice waited before continuing. “But Dad and Jasmine, they’re practically poster children for the joys of rural life right now. He spent twenty minutes on the phone the other day, telling me about his plans for the greenhouse.”
“Are they coming up for Flora’s party?”
“I’m not sure.” Alice sighed at the mention of her wisp of a stepsister.
Ella looked over. “Aw, I’m sorry I can’t be there for backup. Save you from the sight of them swooning all over each other.”
“It’s fine. Or, at least, it will be, when I figure out what on earth to wear,” Alice added, linking her arm through Ella’s. “You know how much I hate shopping.”
“Then you’re lucky it’s my specialist subject.” Ella steered her into the shop.
Ella wasn’t exaggerating. Somehow, she’d been blessed with the skills Alice sorely lacked, and under her watchful eye, outfits were assembled as if they’d been pulled from the pages of a glossy magazine. She never wore anything daring herself, Alice noticed, but there was always a statement necklace or pair of swooping earrings that lifted Ella’s conservative wardrobe and mid-length brown hair to something fashion-worthy. Alice flicked through the style pages, yet somehow never quite managed to translate those spurious commandments that tribal (or futuristic, or biker chic) were “in” to her own reassuringly neutral wardrobe.
“So how is Flora?” Ella asked, as Alice tugged at the hem of a sundress in yet another dressing room. “Still deep in wedded bliss?”
“I think so. We haven’t talked in a while.”
Ella shook her head. “I can’t believe she’s married. God, I can’t believe anyone’s married. Or buying property.” She gave Alice a good-natured nudge.
“I’m only thinking about it!” Alice protested. “And just because some of us feel it’s time to start acting grown-up…”
“Don’t!” Ella put a hand to her forehead, feigning a swoon. “You’re all the same. Thirty comes looming on the horizon, and suddenly, it’s all mortgages and savings accounts and panicking because you haven’t signed your unborn children up for kindergarten yet.”
They were silent for a moment, Alice staring at her reflection. Thirty. God, she had been trying not to think about that, but Ella was right. There was nothing like the big three zero hanging over them to make every choice seem so much more…urgent. She had always thought she’d be settled by now, with a partner and a home and a solid, fulfilling career. If Alice was entirely honest, it was the reason she’d spent the past five years scrupulously saving for her deposit, as that birthday hurried ever closer. She needed