‘Her agenda? What is that supposed to mean?’ He’s beginning to annoy me now. Why can’t he share in my excitement and be happy for me? He knows what this means to Mum and me, so why the negativity?
‘You don’t know what Alice has been told about the family breaking up. She might have a totally different take on it all.’ He lets out a sigh. ‘Look, Clare, I’m glad Alice has been in touch. It’s a part of you that has always been in pain, and if her coming back stops that pain, then I’m all for it. All I’m saying is, be careful, take your time and with any luck it will be a smooth ride.’
Luke goes downstairs, leaving me to think over what he has said. A small flicker of doubt begins to dance in my mind. What does Alice know about us? What has she been told? Does she remember anything of us? I think back to the day Alice left.
I was sitting in the living room, helping Alice colour, when I heard the beginnings of what I assumed would be a normal altercation between my parents.
As the argument rumbled on, I became aware my mother’s voice had risen, not just in volume but in pitch. I couldn’t hear her exact words, but I remember the sound as they were forcibly expelled, as if there wasn’t enough room in her throat for them all to come out freely.
My father’s voice, on the other hand, was so deep, it boomed through the walls. His voice grew louder. Even from the kitchen, it filled the living room with an ice-like quality. Cold and harsh.
I heard the door to the kitchen being flung open, the handle smashing into the wall. There was a crumbly groove there, from where the door had made similar contact many times before. My father’s footsteps thudded down the hall towards the living room. My mother’s pitiful crying followed him.
I retreated to the sofa, sinking back in to the depths of the cushions, seeking warmth from the folds of the fabric. I brought my knees up and hugged them tightly, burying my head in my arms. I shivered. I felt the cold.
Alice stayed on the floor, colouring in her princess book, seemingly oblivious to the storm heading our way.
Alice never felt the cold. She was warm. She was loved.
The door to the living room opened and my father strode in. My mother close behind.
I sneaked a look.
Her eyes were pink and wet. She made no attempt to brush away the tears streaking down her face. She didn’t register me. She was pleading with my father.
‘Patrick, please …’ She pulled on his arm. ‘I really don’t think this is a good idea. I don’t even know where you’re going.’
‘I told you, to stay with relatives I haven’t seen for years.’
‘Which is exactly the point I’m trying to make. Why go back after, what, twelve years? It’s not like your parents are alive or you have any siblings. Why can’t we all go together, please …?’
He turned to look at her. ‘You know why.’
‘But this is the ideal opportunity to do something together as a family. Not for you to go off with Alice, abandoning me and Clare.’ My mother’s voice broke and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
‘Enough! Stop being overdramatic, woman. I’m going on holiday and Alice is coming with me. That’s all,’ he said. His voice, by contrast, measured and hard. And then, as he turned to Alice, the look of contempt and loathing disappeared, replaced by a tender one of love. ‘Come on, honey. Pop your coat on, there’s a good girl.’
He held out Alice’s red duffel coat to her. She hesitated for a moment. I think it was at that point she realised something was wrong.
‘Is Mummy coming?’ she said. ‘Is Clare?’
‘Just me and you, sweetheart,’ said my father. He gave the coat a little shake. ‘Now, please put your coat on.’ Obediently, Alice stood up, slipped her arms into the sleeves and turned so he could fasten the toggles.
My mother rushed forwards, gathering Alice in her arms and burying her face in my sister’s hair.
She kissed Alice over and over again, stroking her hair, holding her face and looking deep into her eyes.
‘I love you, Alice. Mummy loves you so much.’
And then my father was pulling Alice from my mother’s grasp.
‘That’s enough,’ he said. ‘Don’t go upsetting the child.’
All the time, he never looked at me. I didn’t want him to. If he saw me, he might want to take me too. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay with my mother. I wriggled deeper into the cushions, squeezing my knees up tighter.
My father took Alice by the hand, leading her from the room. At the doorway, Alice hesitated. She looked at me and then at our mother.
‘Bye, Mummy. Bye, Clare.’ Her voice sounded so tiny.
I’ve often wondered whether she was really saying goodbye or whether she was asking us not to let her go. My mother hurried over to them and grabbed my father’s arm.
‘Ring me when you get there. Let me know where you’re staying. You’re back in two weeks, aren’t you?’
My father didn’t answer but shrugged her hand from his arm. ‘Come on, Alice.’