‘Why does everyone keep asking me what happened? I don’t know.’ Hannah sticks out her bottom lip. I don’t want to upset her even more. I’ll try again tomorrow.
‘It’s okay, sweetheart,’ I say. ‘Come on, let’s go up. I’ll tuck you in. You can look at a book for five minutes.’
Alice appears to be keeping out of my way. She’s in Mum’s sitting room this evening. I know I need to apologise for my outburst earlier, but I’m finding it difficult as I may be sorry for the way I reacted, but I’m not sorry for what happened. Pippa was right, there is something odd about Alice. I think she’s playing games, but I just don’t know what that game could be or why.
I go into the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. Luke is waiting for me. He’s leaning against the worktop, his arms folded. Even with the scowl on his face, I can’t help but think how handsome he looks. The way his hair falls this way and that, his black T-shirt and jeans so casual yet somehow so sexy. I can see why Alice would find him attractive. And then I think of myself and wonder if Luke thinks the same about me or has something changed? Have I lost something? Has he become bored of me? Am I boring? I mean, I go to work, I come home and change into my very casual clothes. Perhaps I’ve become too mumsy. I can see why Alice would be a much more appealing proposition. It hurts. Deeply.
I take the milk from the fridge and the photograph of Alice and her friend Martha has been put on the door, underneath a magnet that has a sentimental poem about mothers and daughters. I didn’t buy it. Alice must have. I look at the photograph and remember how happy Mum and I were when we received it. I slip it out from underneath the magnet. Something’s wrong. I can’t make up my mind what it is. I look at the photo some more.
‘Aren’t you going to explain what happened this evening?’ says Luke.
I jump. Distracted by the photo, I’d almost forgotten he was there. ‘I needed to get out. I didn’t know where I was going, but I ended up at Tom’s.’
I see the muscles in Luke’s neck tense but his face remains impassive. ‘Tom? As in Tom Eggar.’
‘Yeah, that Tom. I don’t know any other Tom.’ I want to kick myself for the irritation that creeps into my reply.
‘Why?’
‘Why did I go there? I don’t know. I was upset. As I say, I just found myself there.’
‘So, you go off to your ex-boyfriend when you’ve had a row with your husband. What is that? Some sort of tit for tat?’
‘Tit for tat? It can only be that if someone did something in the first place. So I’m assuming there was something with you and Alice, otherwise why would you say that?’
‘It’s just an expression. I’m just explaining how it’s playing out in your head.’ He taps the side of his head. ‘Your fucked-up head, that is.’
‘You’re the one with the fucked-up head,’ I retort. ‘Tom is an old friend and a colleague. That is all.’ There’s no way I can confess to kissing Tom now.
I look again at the photograph of Alice and Martha, more as a distraction from the argument than anything else. And then I see what has been troubling me about it. I look once again at the two girls in the photo. I peer at their faces. It’s too far away to see any detail but the clock in the background I can see clearly. The numbers on the face are in reverse.
I snatch the photograph up and stride out of the kitchen. Luke is calling me. I can hear his bare feet on the tiles following me as I hurry down to Mum’s sitting room.
‘Clare! Whatever you’re doing, stop and think for a minute,’ says Luke. He’s right behind me, but it’s too late, I’m through the door and standing in front of my mum and Alice.
They both look up in surprise. Mum’s face folds into a frown and Alice sits back, crossing her arms under her chest. She glances at the photograph and looks a little nervous. I don’t know what the implications of what I’ve seen are, but I know they’re important and I want to see what Alice has to say for herself.
‘What’s wrong, Clare?’ asks Mum. ‘I hope you’ve come to apologise.’
‘No, I wanted to ask Alice something,’ I say. I look at my sister. ‘This photograph you sent us, you said you’re the one on the left.’
‘And?’ Alice’s eyes dart from the photo to me and then to Mum.
I hold up the photograph so Mum and Alice can see it. ‘On the left, that’s you here. On the left as you say.’
‘Sure.’
‘This is definitely you?’ I tap at the image of Alice.
‘What is this?’ demands Mum.
‘Clare, are you sure about this?’ says Luke, his voice low. I ignore him.
‘Okay, we’re all happy that this is Alice,’ I say, my voice full of mock cheer. ‘If that’s so, why is the clock in the background reversed?’ My eyes never leave Alice. A small flush creeps up her neck. She swallows hard. And then breaks into a smile followed by a laugh.
‘Oh, Clare, you are funny,’ she says. ‘You know what I’ve done. I’ve reversed that photo when I scanned it in. How silly of me.’
‘But you said in the attached email that you were the one on the left,’ I say. ‘When, in actual fact, you’re really the one on the right, if this photo was flipped.’
‘I don’t know what you’re getting at,’ says Mum. ‘What does it matter what side Alice is on?’
Alice drops her gaze for a moment and reaches out to hold Mum’s hand. ‘This is a bit embarrassing,’ she says quietly. ‘I didn’t want to say anything before, it’s not something I talk about much.’
‘What is it, dear?’ says Mum, squeezing Alice’s hand.
‘I’m dyslexic,’ says Alice. ‘I get things back to front, letters mostly, but I also have trouble with sequences, you know days of the week, months of the year. I also get my left and right muddled up.’
‘That’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ says Mum. ‘I had no idea.’
I feel as if the air has been taken from my lungs. They deflate like a burst balloon. I hear Luke mutter nice one from behind me.
Alice looks up at Mum with big, round, sorrowful eyes. ‘I didn’t want to say, not with Clare being such a successful career woman. It made me feel, I don’t know, inferior, I suppose. I didn’t want you to think I was stupid. Daddy was always telling me how I would only ever wait on tables because I couldn’t get my grades.’
‘I thought you were a teacher,’ I say. I’m certain that’s what she said in one of her emails.
Alice looks up at me. ‘Yes. That’s right. I am. I proved them all wrong. Just because I’m dyslexic and don’t read books, it doesn’t mean I’m stupid.’
‘But you still get left and right muddled up.’ I’m not buying the tears. Big fat crocodile tears, if you ask me. I know she’s right about dyslexia and intelligence and normally I wouldn’t even imply anything so insulting, but Alice seems to have the knack of bringing out the worst in me.
‘Like I said, I just wanted to prove them all wrong. Especially Daddy.’ Alice makes a sobbing noise and buries her face in her hands.