“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“Oh. Well, I’ve made my opinions on the matter clear. Too clear, you might say.”

Alice said, “Do you think I can get him back?”

“Who back? You mean Nick? But you don’t want him back,” said Frannie. “Actually you talked to me on Wednesday and said you’d just received roses from some new fellow called Dominick. You seemed very excited about it.”

Alice looked with dislike at the roses. She said sourly, “I thought you said I was stressed.”

Frannie said, “Well, yes, you’re stressed, but you were happy about the roses.”

Alice sighed. “How are you, Frannie? You’re still living next door to Mum, right?”

“No, darling.” Frannie patted Alice on the leg. “I moved myself into a retirement village five years ago. Just after your mother moved in with Roger.”

“Oh.” Alice paused to consider this news. “Do you like the retirement village? Is it fun?”

“Fun,” said Frannie reflectively. “That’s what’s important these days, isn’t it. Everything should be fun and lighthearted.”

“Well, not everything, obviously.”

“Do you think I have a sense of humor?” asked Frannie. She gave Alice a look that was surprisingly vulnerable.

“Of course you have a sense of humor!”

Although “sense of humor” weren’t exactly the first words that came to mind when you thought of Frannie.

Frannie sighed and smiled. She wasn’t an especially smiley lady, so when she smiled, it was like receiving a gift. “Thank you, darling. Tell me something, would you buy deodorant in front of a man? Or would you think that was too . . . personal?”

“What man?” said Alice.

“Any man!” said Frannie irritably.

“Well, I think I probably would. There’s nothing especially personal about deodorant. Unless, I guess, you had to use some really heavy-duty one that would make him think you had some sort of rare and horrible perspiration disease.”

“I can assure you, Alice, I don’t need a ‘heavy-duty’ deodorant!” said Frannie, looking affronted.

“What’s this about?” asked Alice.

“Nothing. Just a very silly friend of mine asked the question.”

Was Frannie interested in some man? Alice knew that Frannie had lost a boyfriend during the Second World War, but as far as she was aware, there had never been anyone else in her life since, although there had been that time when they were teenagers and Elisabeth had seen a half-finished letter sitting on Frannie’s desk. When Elisabeth asked who she was writing to, Frannie had apparently been so flustered, she had actually (Alice thought Elisabeth must be making this part up) blushed. She had said she was writing to “an old friend,” but Elisabeth had been convinced from her reaction that it was a “secret lover.” “Probably someone else’s husband,” Elisabeth had said, with a knowing, cynical look. “I expect they meet at motels in the middle of the day.” Alice had been deeply shocked and wasn’t able to look Frannie in the eye for weeks after.

“Come on, let’s go downstairs,” said Frannie. “Your mother is making lunch.”

As they walked out of the room and down the hallway toward the stairs, Frannie said, “Walk alongside me, Alice.”

“I am,” said Alice.

“No. Properly. That’s it! See! We can walk side by side, without tripping all over each other, can’t we?”

“We sure can,” said Alice, wondering if Frannie had gone a little senile in 2008.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Alice stopped abruptly at the sound of a deep, familiar male voice. “Alice, my dear! I was just coming up to collect you!”

“How are you, Roger?” Alice peered over the banister, horrified to see him at the bottom of the stairs. He was all out of context without Nick. He was a visitor you planned for (steeled yourself for), not someone who looked comfortably up at you from the bottom of your stairs, as if he belonged in your house.

“Never better,” Roger called back. “It’s you we’re worried about!”

Frannie’s eyes met Alice’s and she lifted a wry eyebrow. She wasn’t senile. She was still as sharp as a tack.

“Is she up, then?” Alice’s mother emerged from the kitchen and looked up at them.

Alice walked behind Frannie down the stairs, glad to see that although she was behaving oddly, she didn’t seem that much frailer than Alice remembered.

Barb and Roger stood at the bottom with their palms lifted, like ministers welcoming the congregation, identical weirdly evangelical expressions on their faces.

“Did you have a good sleep, Alice?” asked Barb, trying in vain to take Frannie’s elbow. “Rest is the best thing for you, I’m sure. I suppose everything has come back to you now?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Are you hungry?”

Roger took Alice by the arm and led her into the dining area, behind Barb and Frannie, his fingertips solicitously pressed to the small of her back.

“Don’t hover, Barbara!” snapped Frannie, as Barb fussed about the best seat for her at the long pine table.

Alice sat down next to her, anxious to escape the oily feel of Roger’s fingertips. She watched in fascination at the relaxed way her mother tilted her head coquettishly up at him. Thankfully, she was no longer wearing the exotic salsa-dancing outfit from the day before, but she was wearing a rather low-cut T-shirt and capri pants, and her long hair was up in a jaunty ponytail.