(Does Ben love me like that? Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe in the beginning. All that shiny love stuff doesn’t seem relevant anymore. That’s for other younger, thinner, happier people, and besides which, it’s not actually possible for a dried apricot to shine.)

I miss the old Nick and Alice. When I think of them standing in that kitchen, putting candles on the cake, it’s like remembering people who I once knew, who moved to another country and didn’t keep in touch.

At 4:30 a.m. Alice woke with a start and the thought clear in her head: I never asked Elisabeth how many children she has.

How could she not know the answer to that question? But more important, how could she have forgotten to ask it when she didn’t know? She was a selfish, self-obsessed, shallow person. No wonder Nick wanted to divorce her. No wonder Elisabeth didn’t look at her in the same way anymore.

She would ring Mum in the morning and check with her and then she would pretend that of course she hadn’t forgotten the existence of Elisabeth’s children (just her own) and say, “Oh, by the way, how is little thingummybob?”

Except she couldn’t be sure Mum still had the same phone number anymore. She didn’t even know where Mum lived. Had she moved into Roger’s cream-and-chrome apartment with its harbor views? Or had Roger moved into Mum’s house with the doilies and knickknacks and potted plants? Either possibility seemed ludicrous.

The girl in the cubicle next to her was snoring. It was a thin, whiny sound like a mosquito. Alice turned over on her front and pushed her face hard into the pillow, as if she were trying to suffocate herself.

She thought, This is the worst thing that has ever happened to me.

But actually, she couldn’t even be sure of that.

Elisabeth’s Homework for Dr. Hodges After we left the hospital this afternoon, Mum and I went over to Alice’s place to meet Ben and the kids. We all had pizza for dinner. (Thankfully Roger had a Rotary meeting; I was not in the mood for Roger. I can’t think of anyone ever being in the mood for Roger, except for Mum, presumably, and Roger, of course.) We didn’t tell the children that Alice had lost her memory. We just said she’d hit her head at the gym but she was going to be fine. Olivia clasped her hands together and said, “Darling Mummy! This is an absolute tragedy!” and I could see Ben’s back shaking with suppressed laughter as he stood at the cutlery drawer. Madison curled her lip and said contemptuously, “So, does Dad know about this?” and then stomped up to her bedroom as if she already knew what the answer would be. Tom waited till Olivia was busy at the kitchen table with crayons and glitter making a huge getwell card for Alice before silently taking me by the hand and leading me into the living room. He sat me down and looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Okay, tell me the truth. Has Mum really got a brain tumor?” Before I could answer, he said, “Don’t lie! I’m a human lie detector! If your eyes look up to the right, that means you’re lying.” I had to make a superhuman effort not to look up to the right.

It was sort of a fun night. I don’t know why. A fun night at poor Alice’s expense.

Oh, a yawn! A precious, proper yawn! I’ve got to go now, Dr. Hodges. It might be sleep.

As the sky began to lighten outside the hospital Alice fell into her deepest sleep of this long, strange, fragmented night. She dreamed of Nick sitting at a long pine table she’d never seen. He shook his head, picked up a coffee mug, and said, “It’s always about Gina, isn’t it? Gina, Gina, Gina.” He drank from the coffee mug and Alice felt pure dislike; she turned away from him to wipe vigorously at a dried grease spot on a granite countertop.

In her sleep, Alice twitched so violently the bed moved.

She dreamed she was standing up in a small, darkened room, and Elisabeth was lying next to her, looking up at her with a frightened face, saying, “What does she mean there is no heartbeat?”

She dreamed of a giant rolling pin. She had to push it up a hill while thousands of people watched. It was important that she make it look easy.

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” said a nurse. Her bright, bubbly voice was like glass breaking.

Alice jumped and gasped for air as if she’d been holding her breath.

Chapter 11

Frannie’s Letter to Phil I’m back again, Phil.

It’s six a.m. Still dark outside, and chilly. Brrrrr! I’m writing this in bed.

Barb called again last night to say that Alice is fine. They’ve done a CT scan apparently, whatever that is, and everything looks normal, although evidently Alice is suffering some memory loss. When she woke up, she thought she was still together with Nick!

Now Barb is celebrating because she thinks they’ll get back together. She has become so irritatingly optimistic ever since she took up salsa dancing.

I think reconciliation is unlikely. Alice was here on Monday (which was lovely, although I do sometimes feel as though I’m a chore being crossed off her list, but perhaps that’s unfair). I asked her about Nick and the most repellent expression crossed her face. She became quite ugly with hatred.

After she left, I was thinking about the first time Alice brought Nick around to meet me. They’d come straight from the beach, their feet sandy, their hair still wet, smelling of the sea. They were sitting on the couch chatting politely with me, not touching, or so it seemed, except that I happened to glance down and I saw that their hands were lying next to each other on the couch, and that Nick was caressing Alice’s little finger with his own. I remember being shocked by a feeling of pure envy. I wanted to be Alice, young and lovely, feeling the secret caress of a handsome boy’s fingertip.