Alison's the Sensible One Read online

  As Katherine had many other questions to ask attention was necessary, which Alison thought was lucky; with her mind so occupied, she might have forgotten where she was.

  Chapter 6

  “You know he’s coming to see you right?”

  “No, Mare, he’s coming because John asked him to.” Alison wished Mary-Anne would stop hovering and go back to the kitchen.

  “Doesn’t he have better things to do on a Sunday night?”

  “I don’t know. Probably.” Not anything I can tell you about. If Mary-Anne was in the kitchen Edward would talk to her when he arrived, giving Alison some breathing space.

  It was the first time she would see him since she’d met Lucy. Alison catalogued her surroundings to calm herself. The family room with the two big couches; one for the kids, one for Mum and John. The coffee table scarred from where Mary-Anne had spilled nail polish remover. She traced the pattern with a finger and wondered, now that she’d started drawing again, whether she should try abstract. The lamp her mother had wanted even though there was adequate overhead lighting. The grey carpet, compressed where many feet had travelled. The room smelled warm, if warmth could have a scent. A sort of nothing smell that you’re so used to you only notice it if you’ve been away. It had struck her whenever she visited. She didn’t notice it now, she realised with something like regret. It was comfortable, it was home.

  The front door open and Alison found it hard to breathe.

  Mary-Anne moved back towards the kitchen. “Hey big bro,” she greeted Edward as he entered the family room.

  “Hey ... little sis.” Edward gave Alison a “What the hell?” look. She shrugged.

  Mary-Anne smiled too brightly and departed to finish cooking dinner, leaving them together.

  Edward sat down. “What’s up with Mary-Anne?”

  “Mary-Anne is just being Mary-Anne. I don’t know, she’s been weird all week.” She wanted to dismiss the conversation and him with it.

  “She’s less, um,” he was conducting an orchestra with his hand again, “...bouncy than she normally is.”

  “I don’t think I’d refer to Mare as bouncy. Have you been reading job ads again?” Mary-Anne wasn’t the only one forcing brightness tonight.

  “What?”

  “You know whenever they’re looking for someone to do an entry level drudge admin role they ask for someone with a—oh—bubbly personality. Sorry I got all um—” Alison stumbled over her words in confusion. “I wouldn’t call her bouncy. Maybe enthusiastic?”

  “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

  “She talks a lot and she’s excitable but I wouldn’t say bouncy.” Why was she babbling?

  “You’ve convinced me.”

  There was an awkward silence, something they’d never experienced before. At least Alison felt awkward. She had no idea how Edward felt, maybe she never had.

  “How is work going?” he asked.

  “Good.”

  “How’s your new boss? She started this week, right?”

  “Yeah she did.” Along with someone else. Surely he knew? Why didn’t he say something? Maybe she should say something.

  “So work is good.”

  This was her chance. “Yeah.”

  He looked as though he wanted to ask if she was OK but he left, murmuring something about Margaret and school. Alison breathed a sigh of relief, hopefully work wouldn’t come up again before Lucy left.

  During dinner, Edward asked Mary-Anne about Will.

  “I haven’t seen him since last weekend, he’s been busy with his sister, but I’m going to see him tomorrow. Which reminds me Ali.” She rose from her seat, plate in hand and finished in a rush, “I might not come home—I might stay at Will’s—is that OK?”

  No one moved for a moment, this was the first time Mary-Anne had ever slept over. Alison nodded her consent and Mary-Anne, face flushed, fled to the kitchen.

  “She can bark up that tree as much as she likes, there ain't no way that cat is coming down,” Margaret declared.

  “What? What does that even mean?”

  Margaret gave her a superior look, picked up her plate and left the table.

  Edward and Alison looked at each other across the empty space.

  Somehow she’d made it through dinner. Now she was lying in bed just listening. Music whispering from Mary-Anne’s room, a constant companion years of practise had taught her to block out. Margaret typing furiously on her laptop and occasional laughter—she wore headphones if she watched anything so it was impossible to tell if she was laughing at a video or a conversation unless you poked your head around her door. Normally her mother would be talking to John, not pausing for his responses. The noises of people she felt so separate from. The sound of the house itself, settling for the night. It grew quiet yet she lay awake.

  Her mind made its own white noise, no actual thoughts just static. She knew the way to silence it. Could she risk it? No one could know. No one would understand.

  She slipped out of bed.

  No-one-can-know. She could feel the words through the rhythm. The secret gave her freedom. She could be anyone. She could be anywhere.

  After, he held her while she dozed. He was playing with her hands. The sex was over. She should really go. He kissed her fingers one by one.

  “I still—” he began.

  “No George, don’t say it. Please. I couldn’t bear it.” She could tell anyway, he didn’t have to say it. She could feel it when he touched her, hear it when he said her name during...during... “I should really go.”

  “Stay?” He kissed her shoulder and she felt it between her legs. “I’ll make breakfast.” His hand was on her thigh. “By the time you get home it’ll be so late you’ll hardly have time to sleep. You could just sleep here.”

  “I don’t live here anymore George.” But she didn’t want to get out of bed, move away from his arms. Margaret always protested that she was able to look after herself and Mary-Anne slept through everything. She could feel his breath against her skin, her eyes floated shut.

  “I’m not asking you to move in.” His hand ran up and down her thigh. “Just to sleep. There’s no harm in that.”

  Chapter 7

  A week of Lucy’s company hadn't revealed hidden depths. It was a solid week; Lucy missed no opportunity of engaging her in conversation or of striving to improve their “friendship” by open and honest communication. Lucy was naturally clever; often amusing; and as a companion for half an hour Alison frequently found her agreeable, especially in Charlotte's absence. But despite her constant endeavours to appear superior it was clear Lucy lacked substance. Alison suspected that had Lucy focused on school rather than boys she might have fared better. She couldn't understand why Edward would keep her a secret unless he was ashamed.

  She'd avoided mentioning her to Charlotte apart from the first email after Lucy arrived.

  C,

  Just a quick note to let you know the temp is here. I’ve showed her around etc. I’m sure she’ll be fine. Turns out she knows Edward, you know, my step brother. Small world, huh?

  A

  She had paused before adding the final lines about Edward but decided it would appear odd if the subject ever came up and she hadn’t mentioned it. Charlotte didn’t pry but Lucy had no such compunction.

  “So how long have you worked here?” Lucy had asked one morning while Alison was showing her how to send calendar invitations.

  “I got the job straight out of uni, been here ever since.”

  “You lucky duck. I just keep getting these temp assignments. I’d love to stay. Do you know if the girl is planning to come back?”

  “Yes.” The sooner the better. “Now, you need to check whether people are available for the meeting by clicking here.”

  Later when Alison was showing her how to recall an email Lucy tried again. “So this was your first job?”

  “Yes and I never left.”

  “Who was here before you? How did you get the job?”

>   “Katherine’s last PA retired and I guess she wanted someone she could train to do things her way. She knows John somehow. She prefers to have people recommended...maybe so she has someone to blame in the event that it doesn’t work out? She’s quite a scary woman.” And she would see right through you. “You don’t want to disappoint her, well, I don’t. She was great though, had me trained in everything that I couldn’t figure out with the help of the internet.”

  “How long has she”—Lucy tapped the desk, Charlotte’s desk, with her nails—“worked here?”

  “Since before I started. She was so good to me in my first few days, taught me everything she knew.”

  “Oh. Are you close?”

  “Charlotte’s my best friend.” Why did she feel so defensive?

  She wasn’t sure how Lucy managed it. One minute Alison would be on her guard and the next she’d be spilling her guts. Lucy managed to wheedle more information out of Alison than she was comfortable revealing. Her father's death, the impact it had on her family and Alison’s need to look after them.

  “My mother, she met John several years later and it was like a light switched on. She was herself again.” It had been such a relief.

  And her current situation. “I’m back home with them now. I was away for a few years living with a – friend, but I’m back with my family now.”

  Her second week with Lucy was off to a great start thanks to another Sunday night with little sleep.

  “You look like you had a good weekend,” Lucy had said when she’d first arrived but Alison had refused to be lead.

  Now, trying to keep her eyes open, she was fixing errors in a memo while Lucy pretended to take notes. She wondered how Lucy would react if she admitted why she was so tired. It gave her a little thrill.

  Lucy’s phone rung, an unexpectedly old fashioned ring tone.

  “Eddie, darling.” Lucy trilled. Alison cringed at the greeting. “You’re downstairs? Why don’t you come up?...OK I’ll come down to meet you. Right. Bye. Bye.” The phone landed on the desk. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got to go; my lunch date is here. You know.” She picked up her bag.

  “Funny boy, he gets so shy sometimes.” Lucy said it like she was sharing a secret but Alison knew what it meant, he didn’t want to see her. “Don’t want to keep him waiting. We can pick this up later right?” It was after midday, she couldn’t really protest. Lucy was already threading her arms into her coat and left with a waggle of her fingers.

  Abandoned at Lucy’s desk Alison waited for the lift doors to close before she drifted towards the kitchen. She needed a coffee. She was tired, that was all. The need had nothing to do with the window overlooking the street. The strip of concrete with people struggling past, heads bent, the road with cars climbing the incline, in gridlock she half expected them to slide back towards Parliament. If you craned your head just right you could see the building entrance. Unbidden, her feet stilled, her neck craned, her head tilted.

  There he was. She clutched the window frame for balance. Unmistakably Edward. Her Edward, standing on the footpath outside her building. He’d never been here to visit her before. Shoulders hunched against the wind, he was looking down at his phone, no doubt texting Lucy cute things as she rode the elevator. Alison hoped it did one of its spectacular feats of breaking down stranding Lucy between floors.

  She cringed as she recalled telling Lucy that Edward was “one of the family.” How he attended the weekly family dinners (“Oh! of course, your family dinners. I know all about those”). How he would stay over when he was a teenager, sleeping on the couch every second weekend. His brother and sister had never bothered, it was some time before the younger Dash sisters realised John had other kids. But she’d known, they’d bonded over feeling the odd one out in their family. She hadn’t told Lucy how some nights when she went to the bathroom he’d be awake, watching TV. She’d join him and they’d talk. Her teenage heart had leapt at the thought of him lying a wall away. She would tell herself the sensible thing to do was sleep but she would creep out of bed, palms sweaty. Nothing ever happened, of course, but she’d wanted it to.

  She looked away from the window before Lucy appeared below, she couldn’t bear to watch them as a couple.

  She made a black coffee, no sugar. Mary-Anne, she was sure, would say something about it matching the bitterness in her heart; Margaret would probably agree. The first sip burnt her tongue. She left the kitchen before the temptation to look overtook her again.

  Chapter 8

  “Where were you?” Margaret demanded from her seat at the bench the second Alison walked into the kitchen. It appeared she’d been waiting.

  “Oh hi Marg. How was school?” The lack of sleep weighed on Alison. She’d finally gotten home and just wanted to sit down.

  “Not so great since my big sister wasn’t here to give me the art she’s been working on I had nothing to show my English teacher,” Margaret said in one breath.

  Alison paused just inside the doorway. “Oh crap. I’m so sorry. I forgot.”

  “You weren’t even here when I woke up this morning.” Somehow she made it sound accusing.

  “I’m sorry Margaret.” Alison moved towards the bench.

  “How could you?” Her voice rose. Her palms flat on the bench, she leaned forward. “You know how important this was for me. Where were you? You didn’t even come home.”

  “Do—do you need me to talk with your English teacher for you?”

  “So you can forget that too?” Margaret made a noise of frustration and leapt to her feet. “Just forget about it.” She turned to leave then swung back. “You've changed. You changed when you went to live with George and you changed again when you came back and you're changing again and now I don't even know who you are anymore.”

  “Marg-”

  “I don’t even want to look at you right now.” She stormed off to her room.

  Alison put her bag down on the bench and tried very hard not to cry. If her mother were there she would have dealt with this. However incapable she was of dealing with the regular workings of daily life she was great with the emotional stuff.

  Picking up her bag, Alison went to her room. The pictures of her father were still on her desk in a neat pile. She indulged in a good cry. She put food outside Margaret’s door, she knocked and got no response so she messaged her sister. Later she heard the door open and then close. After putting the finishing touches on the picture she slid it under Margaret's door.

  Mary-Anne arrived home later in a fit of sobs, bursting into the kitchen while Alison was making a drink. The evening at Will’s hadn’t gone to plan but she was unable to explain herself. “We didn’t have a fight. Or we did. I don’t know.”

  When Alison tried to comfort her, to say that Will did care, Mary-Anne became vicious.

  “What would you know about it? You’ve had Edward following you around like a puppy since he first met you.”

  “What?” Alison drew back as if she’d been slapped.

  “George was desperately in love with you till he messed it up.” Funny, Alison had always thought it was the other way around. “I don’t know how Will managed to get away unscathed. Even Dad always loved you more and you didn’t care when he died. Off to school Mary-Anne, we both still have school to go to.” She said in a mocking imitation of her sister’s voice. “You were his favourite and you didn’t even care.”

  “That is enough,” Alison snapped, stretched to breaking point. Mary-Anne looked startled, she’d never heard that tone from Alison before. “When Dad died a part of me died too but I had to keep going or this family would’ve fallen apart. Every day felt like I was drowning but I had to pretend that my head was above water. And George?” With a twinge of guilt Alison fought back tears. The one time she’d allowed herself to be vulnerable she’d messed up so she went back to the way that worked, pretending she was ok.

  “Poor Ali,” Mary-Anne was instantly contrite. “I’m making you miserable.”

  “I just wi
sh I could do something to make you less miserable.”

  This was too much for Mary-Anne. “Oh, Ali! I am miserable,” her voice disintegrated into sobs.

  “Mare, please. I’m here for you. Please talk to me. Please—try.”

  “It’s easy for you. Nothing ever touches you. You’re lucky, you have no idea what it’s like.”

  “No idea,” she said in disbelief then shook herself. Had her sister heard nothing she’d just said? She turned the focus back to Mary-Anne. “I can’t bear to see you like this.”

  “I’m sorry. I know you love me. But you must be happy, whatever you think. Eddie loves you.”—Where had that come from?—“What can do away with that?”

  “Many, many things.”

  “No, no, no,” cried Mary-Anne, “he loves you, and only you. You can have no grief.”

  “I can't be happy while you're like this.”

  “I’ll always be like this. Mine is a misery which nothing can do away.”

  Who talks like that? “You can’t—is there anything that can make you feel better?” Alison scrambled for something comforting. “Was the sex bad?”

  “What?”

  “Well, you went there tonight to have sex with him, didn’t you? Oh shit, that wasn’t what I meant, Mare.”

  “What did you mean then?”

  “You can sleep with Will or not, that’s entirely your business.” But announcing it at the dinner table tended to make it everyone’s business.

  “Why thank you.”

  “But you can’t let it drag you down like this.” Especially after a whole week in her room not talking to anyone. “It’s not healthy and it’s not fair on the rest of the family. We care for you and we hate to see you like this.”

  “I’ll just go to my room and suffer quietly then,” Mary-Anne’s voice was bitter.

  “That’s not what I meant either. Can you try talking to me about it? Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe just talking will help you sort through it. I’m sorry it didn’t go well, sex isn’t always great”—though with George it was—“but it gets better. It—”