What Alice Forgot - Liane Moriarty [27]
She really has forgotten everything.
Even Gina.
Chapter 7
“So, you seriously don’t remember anything, not a single thing, since 1998?” Elisabeth shifted the plastic chair in closer toward Alice’s bed and leaned toward her, as if it was time to get to the bottom of this. “Nothing at all?”
“Well, I’ve been having some funny snippets of things come into my mind,” said Alice. “But none of them make sense.”
“Okay, so tell me about them,” urged Elisabeth. Her face was closer now to Alice and the lines on either side of her mouth were even deeper than Alice had first thought. Goodness. Involuntarily, Alice pressed her fingertips to her own skin; she still hadn’t looked at herself in a mirror.
She said, “Well, when I first woke up, I was having this dream, and I couldn’t tell if it was just a dream or something that really happened. I was swimming, and it was a beautiful summer’s morning, and my toenails were all painted different colors. There was somebody else with me and their toenails were painted the same way. Hey, maybe the other person was you? I bet it was you!”
Elisabeth said, “No, that doesn’t mean anything to me. What else?”
Alice thought about the bouquets of pink balloons bobbing about in the gray sky, but she didn’t want to tell Elisabeth about that great tidal wave of grief that kept sweeping her away, and she wasn’t all that keen on finding out what it meant.
Instead she said, “I remember an American lady saying, ‘I’m sorry, but there is no heartbeat.’”
“Oh,” said Elisabeth.
Elisabeth’s Homework for Dr. Hodges
I admit I found it oddly touching, flattering even, that of all the billions of memories significant enough to float to the surface of Alice’s mind, that was one of them.
Alice has always been good at imitating accents and she did that woman’s voice perfectly. The tone and the rhythm were exactly the way I remembered, and for a moment I was back there in that gloomy room, trying to understand. I haven’t thought about it in such a long time.
Imagine, Dr. Hodges, if I could travel back in time to that day and whisper in my ear, “This is only the beginning, honey.” Then I’d throw back my head and laugh a demented witchy laugh.
Actually you don’t really like it when I do that sort of black, bitter humor thing, do you? I’ve noticed that you smile politely and sort of sadly, as if I’m making a fool of myself and you know exactly why, as if I’m a teenager who isn’t in control of her own embarrassing emotions.
Anyway, I didn’t want to talk about the American woman to Alice. Obviously. Especially not to Alice. I don’t especially want to talk about it with you, either. Or think about it. Or write about it. It just happened. Like everything else.
Elisabeth smoothed the white blanket next to Alice’s leg with the flat of her palm. Her face seemed to harden. She said, “Sorry, that doesn’t mean anything to me, either. Not a thing.”
Why did she sound angry? Alice felt as if she’d done something wrong but couldn’t work out what; she felt stupidly clumsy, like a child trying to grasp something big and important that the grown-ups weren’t telling her.
Elisabeth met Alice’s eyes and gave her a half-smile and looked away again quickly.
A woman carrying flowers came into the ward, peered hopefully at Alice and Elisabeth, blinked dismissively, and walked past their curtained-off cubicle to the next one. They heard a disembodied voice squeal, “I was just thinking about you!”
“I should have brought you flowers,” murmured Elisabeth.
Alice said suddenly, “You’re married!”
“Pardon?”
Alice picked up Elisabeth’s left hand. “You’ve got an engagement ring! It’s gorgeous. That’s exactly the sort of ring I would have got if we’d got to choose our own ring. Not that I don’t love Granny Love’s ring, of course.”
Elisabeth said dryly, “You hate and despise Granny Love’s ring, Alice.”
“Oh. Did I tell you that? I don’t remember