What Alice Forgot - Liane Moriarty [95]
What inspired her to choose an herb for her password?
There was an e-mail from Jane Turner with the subject heading:
“How’s the head?”; another one from a Dominick Gordon (Who? Oh, of course. Him. Her boyfriend) with the subject heading: “Next weekend?” and five from names she didn’t recognize, all with the heading: “Mega Meringue Mother’s Day.”
Mega Meringue Mother’s Day. It made her want to snort with derision. It seemed like something Elisabeth—the old energetic Elisabeth—might have arranged. Not her.
There was also an e-mail from Nick Love, with no subject heading, dated Friday, the day of her accident. She clicked on it and read:
Well a lot of traditions are going to have to change now, aren’t they? What a load of crap. XMAS Day WILL be different whatever we do. You can’t reasonably expect to have them for the morning AND the night, so I only get them for five fucking minutes in the middle of the day. It makes perfect sense for them to stay at Ella’s on XMAS eve. They love being with their cousins. Can’t YOU think of THEM for a change? This is all about YOU. As usual.
PS. Please make sure they pack their swimming costumes for the weekend. I’m taking them to the Aquatic Center on Sunday when I get back from Portugal.
PPS. I had two sisters on the phone in tears last night about Granny Love’s ring. Can you please be reasonable about this? It’s not like you ever wore it that often. If you’re thinking of selling it, you’ve really sunk to a new low. Even for you.
“Even for you.” Alice struggled to catch her breath. It was like being winded. The coldness. The viciousness. The dislike.
It was impossible to believe that this was written by the same man who got tears in his eyes when she said she would marry him; who would crashtackle her onto the bed and lift her hair and kiss the back of her neck; who told her when it was safe to look back at the television because the blood and guts had gone now; who sang all the words to “Living Next Door to Alice” to her in the shower.
And why was she refusing to give back Granny Love’s dreadful ring? It was a family heirloom. Of course the Love family should get it back.
She scrolled down and saw that Nick’s message was part of a whole conversation that had been going on for days.
There was one from herself dated just three days ago.
The children should wake up in their own beds on Christmas Day this year. I’m not moving on this matter. Obviously, I want to keep all the same traditions for them—putting out their Santa Sacks at the end of their beds, etc. They’ve had to go through enough disruption as it is. This is just another power game for you. All you care about is winning. I couldn’t care less what points you win over me—just don’t win at the expense of the children. By the way, I have asked you at least twice before now not to give the children, especially Olivia, so much junk food over the weekend. I’m sure it makes you feel like a wonderful father to say yes to whatever they want, but they’re tired and irritable every Monday after a weekend with you—and I’m the one who has to deal with it.
It was May! Why were they even talking about what would happen on Christmas Day?
Some impostor had been living her life. She was stunned by her sanctimonious, contemptuous tone.
She scrolled down further and bitter words and phrases jumped out at her.
May I remind you . . .
You are so small-minded . . .
You are so sanctimonious . . .
You must be out of your mind if you think . . .
What is WRONG with you?
Can we just try and be rational about this?
You’re the one who . . .
There was a scrunch of gravel and a flicker of headlights. A car pulled up in the driveway. Alice stood up, her heart beating like a jackhammer. She pushed a hand back through her hair as she walked down the hallway toward the front door. She was such an idiot for not doing her makeup again. She was about to see a man who hated