The Liberation of Alice Love (28 page)

***

He was. When Alice arrived on his doorstep bearing alcohol and crisps, she could hear Diane Keaton babbling in the background.

“You look terrible,” she told him affectionately, reaching up to ruffle his unkempt hair.

“Thanks.” Julian was wearing a graying pair of tracksuit bottoms and his old university T-shirt. The wallowing, clearly, was well under way. “You brought the booze?”

Alice held up her supplies as evidence, making straight for the living room. Yasmin’s belongings were already stacked in neat piles at the edge of the room: gaps in the bookcase and a half-empty mantelpiece marked her imminent departure.

“So you’re sure?” she asked, picking up the remote and pausing the film. “It’s really over? No chance of making everything up?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. It’s done.”

Collapsing on the sofa, he gazed morosely at the screen. Woody had been caught mid-kvetch, his mouth wide and disgruntled.

“I take it Yasmin’s found somewhere else to stay?” Alice took a seat beside him, kicking off her shoes.

He nodded. “She went straight to the airport, for another bloody business trip. I guess she’ll take her stuff when she gets back.” He tipped his head back and exhaled. “Fuck. I’m too old for this, Aly.”

Alice passed him the bottle to open. “
Annie Hall?
Yes, I thought you’d grow out of it years ago.”

Julian mustered a weak smile. “Hush, you. That’s Woody we’re talking about.”

“Exactly.” Alice gave him a playful nudge. “You know, for someone who isn’t a Jewish, New York intellectual, you’ve got a rather strange attachment to the man.”

Julian took a swig, straight from the bottle. “What can I say? He knows a thing or two about the futility of commitment and human connection…”

Alice rolled her eyes. “I’ll watch the damn film—again—because that’s how good a friend I am,” she informed him with a grin. “But seriously Jules—next time, how about we find a new breakup anthem.
Terminator
, maybe; I could live with that.”

“Next time?” Julian groaned. “You mean I’ll get to fail at this all over again?”

“Oh, at least two, three times.” Alice kept her tone light, but he looked so morose that she softened. “Did you…love her?” she asked gently. He’d never said so, but she wasn’t sure if he would.

He shrugged: a slow, defeated gesture. “I don’t know. Which, is a no, I suppose. But I thought…I thought this one would work. At least, a bit longer, anyway.” He took another gulp and passed it to Alice. She sipped, wincing at the taste.

“Don’t you have any mixers?”

“In the kitchen, maybe…” He let out an extravagant sigh.

Alice grinned. “God, all that way.”

“Don’t mock me, woman. I’m in mourning.”

“For Yasmin or the idea of a stable, committed relationship?” Alice challenged, shooting him a sideways glance.

He rolled his eyes. “Wait until the film is finished, at least.”

“Fine, then.” Alice tugged open the bag of crisps and offered it to him. “But I refuse to sit through
Hannah and Her Sisters
as well. My love for you has its limits.”

***

By the time the film was finished, they’d worked their way through a large portion of the vodka, with the help of a carton of sugary fruit juice she dug from a back cupboard. Sprawled on the sofa, Julian slumped with his head resting almost in her lap.

“And she was obsessive about flossing,” he added, expounding on Yasmin’s multiple flaws. Aside from her rigid work schedule, taste for Ronan Keating records, and completely unreasonable embargo on butter, oral hygiene rated highly. “After every meal, she’d disappear off to the bathroom with that little packet of string.”

“How dare she?” Alice couldn’t help but tease. “What next: bathing daily? Washing her clothes on a regular basis?”

Julian lightly nudged her thigh. “You’re supposed to be offering me unconditional support in my time of grief, you know?”

“Sorry, forgot.” Alice yawned. “She’s a bitch, and you’ve made a lucky escape from a lifetime of misery and doom. Better?”

“Much.” Julian fell silent a moment and then let out a defeated sigh. “There was nothing wrong, really. I mean, that stuff annoyed me, but it wasn’t serious. Not enough to cause the breakup, at least.”

Alice tilted her head down. “So what really happened?”

He shrugged again. “She was…pushing. Not being a nag or anything, but she kept bringing it up: where this was going, what it really meant.”

“Not exactly unreasonable,” Alice had to point out. “You’ve been seeing each other, what, six months now?”

“Seven.”

“Seven then. And she moved in; it’s a big step. You can’t really blame her for wanting to know if this was real, or just…killing time.

Julian sighed again. “That’s just it—I know. And I know that I didn’t have anything to say to her that would make her stay.”

Alice paused, surveying their near-comatose bodies and various debris; the Beach Boys’
Pet Sounds
now filling the room with its melancholy harmonies. “So, why the wallowing?” she asked eventually. “If you didn’t love her, and you don’t seem to mind so much that she’s gone…Isn’t this a good thing? At least, you’ll be able to meet somebody else now. Someone better for you.”

Julian gave her a dubious look. He heaved himself up until they were side by side. “Aren’t you tired of it yet, Aly? All this running around, trying to…I don’t know, fit yourself to someone; like some Meccano model.” His head fell back on the cushions. “I mean, all this effort…And for what?”

Alice reached over to give him a comforting hug. “Oh, I don’t know; how about love, companionship, human intimacy…”

He rolled his eyes. “But we have all that already.”

“You’ll get there, eventually,” she told him. “Think of it, as one of life’s enduring mysteries.”

“Oh, jeez.” Julian made a face. “You really have been spending too much time with that American.”

“What are you talking about?” Alice made a mock-innocent face. “I’ve always been one to look for the meaning in the journey, not the destination, and dig deep, every day, to share my inner radiance with—hey!” she squealed, as Julian began to tickle her. “Not fair! You know I—” Alice laughed, trying to push him away, but with years of experience behind him, Julian knew exactly which spots to target. “Stop it!” she spluttered, gasping for air. “I mean it!”

“Weakling.” Julian shifted, crushing her into the sofa while she flailed helplessly. Finally, he lifted himself up onto his elbows, grinning down at her. “You know, that never gets old.”

“Actually, it does.” Alice laughed, but instead of letting her up, Julian gazed down at her, a peculiarly intense expression suddenly drifting into his eyes.

He gave her a smile, quiet and intimate. And then he moved to kiss her.

Alice stopped. She knew that she should break away now, make a comment about his maudlin despair and put some safe distance between their bodies, but a morbid curiosity in her made her stay.

How far would he go?

Slowly, Julian reached down to brush a stray piece of hair away from her cheek. His hand lingered there, his weight still pressing her into the sofa with his mouth just inches from hers, breath metallic with the faint smell of vodka.

Still, Alice didn’t move.

The thought had crossed her mind, of course. In their ten years of friendship, it had occurred to her, occasionally, what they might be like together, as a real couple. But the prospect had faded, with time and familiarity, until only Flora’s jokes about declarations of undying love reminded Alice of the possibility.

But this wasn’t love, or anything like it.

Alice waited for his lips to find hers, still strangely detached from the whole situation. Was he really going to do it? After all these years, just reach for her blindly—as if she were nothing more than the nearest warm body? He was upset, and even drunk, but as Julian gazed into her eyes and edged his face closer to hers, Alice didn’t find it much of an excuse. He didn’t want her; he wanted reassurance that he wasn’t doomed to be alone.

Her anger grew.

Julian pressed against her, his mouth already opening to deepen the kiss. He dropped a hand to her hips, slipping up beneath the fabric of her top as he began to settle back on top of her, making a slight groaning noise under his breath as his fingers found her stomach, her bra…

Alice pushed him away with so much force, he tumbled to the floor.

“What?” Julian protested, not even looking shameful.

“What?” Alice repeated, struggling to her feet. “You grope at me like I’m some kind of rebound fuck, and you’re the one asking what’s going on?”

He blinked at her, wounded. “That’s not what this is…”

“Really?” Alice forced herself to calm down. He was upset; he didn’t know what he was doing. “So you genuinely have feelings for me?” she asked. “Strong enough to risk our entire friendship for?”

“What if I do?” Julian picked himself up. “You can’t tell me that I’m the only one. This has been building between us for a long time.”

Alice gaped. “No, it hasn’t. And in case you forgot, I’m seeing someone!”

“Right. The American,” Julian said, with a hint of arrogance. “Like that’s going to last. He’s not right for you.”

“Whereas you are?” Alice exhaled, her sympathy melting away. “God, Jules, you break up with Yasmin and then, whoosh! Six hours later, you’re happily trying to…I don’t even know!”

She stopped, struck by a sudden chill. All these years, she’d thought him a safe part of her life; she’d believed she mattered to him. But now, he seemed ready to throw it all away on a cheap, drunken one-night stand.

Was that all she meant to him?

Alice looked at him, hoping he would realize his mistake. Better late than never at all. He could apologize, and she could forgive him, and eventually they could go back to normal again and pretend this madness never happened.

But Julian just blustered: “I don’t know why you’re acting this way. I thought this was what you wanted!”

“Which makes it even worse.” Alice shook her head. She couldn’t believe this. “If I was secretly in love with you, do you really think this is what I deserve? Some hormonal fumble on the couch, with your ex-lover’s belongings still piled around us?”

Julian coughed. “Look, OK, maybe my timing isn’t the greatest here, but—”

“No, Julian!” Alice exploded. “You don’t get it. I’m not your standby; I haven’t been waiting around for you to settle for me!”

“That’s not what I meant. Aly, come on; you mean the world to me!”

“No, I don’t,” Alice replied softly. In the background, Brian Wilson was wailing softly about wanting to go home; he had the right idea. “If you cared at all, you wouldn’t have done this.”

As if she were in some terrible dream, Alice walked away. She closed the door quietly on her way out.

Chapter Twenty-eight

He didn’t call. Not that night, guilt stricken, or the morning after, sober and faintly embarrassed. The week passed without a single word, not even a halfhearted attempt to laugh the whole thing off. Julian simply disappeared, and every day that passed, Alice felt her affection for him fade a little more. Confusion and hurt soon cemented into anger. She couldn’t understand—their friendship might not have mattered enough to stop him reaching for her in one vodka-soaked impulse, but surely he cared enough to try and repair the damage?

Apparently not.

“Oh, I thought you’d be out with Nathan.” Flora appeared in the living room on Friday night, her gray cardigan drooping in soft folds around her body.

Alice looked up from the pile of contracts she was attempting to speed through. “No, he’s off in Switzerland again.”

Flora gave a pale smile. “Chasing rogue investors through the Alps?”

“More like filing paperwork with uncooperative banking officials.” Alice pulled a face. “Not quite so glamorous, granted. But he will bring back those Lindt truffles you like so much.”

“Great.” Flora let out a sigh. “So, do you want to watch a film, or something? I’ve been in my studio so long, I’m sick of the place.”

“Maybe later.” Alice shot her a distracted smile. “I need to get these finished.”

Flora wandered closer. “Anything exciting?”

“Not in the least.” Alice felt a surge of resentment. “Vivienne has decided that our entire boilerplate contract needs reconstructing. By next week.”

Flora’s eyes widened. “Will you manage in time?”

“I’ll have to,” Alice replied shortly. “Otherwise she’ll start talking about how I can’t manage both of my roles.”

Even the memory of Vivienne’s smug look as she deposited her notes—full of red ink and illegible scribbles—made Alice want to growl with frustration. She would have thought that bringing commissions and credibility to the agency would give Vivienne some satisfaction, but it seemed Alice was still overreaching her natural position and needed to be frequently reminded of her true place.

“Well”—Flora drifted back toward the door—“let me know when you’re done.”

“Will do.” Alice returned to the dense page of co-representation clauses, but she couldn’t focus. It felt like wasted time to her, sitting around while there were other, more pressing matters to attend to. Nathan may be gone, but that just meant that she had a convenient opportunity to be out with somebody else. Toying with her mobile, she deliberated the call she was just itching to make: Carl. She had played it cool so far, not wanting to scare him off, but he had yet to ask her on a real date, and those coffee breaks and casual conversations weren’t yielding anything useful about Kate Jackson. Alice even offered up a small tragedy of her own, inventing a dead brother in the hopes of eliciting some confidence, but still, Carl hadn’t mentioned Kate. Clearly, she needed to step up her game.

Dialing, Alice settled into what she thought of as the person Carl knew: shy, sweet, and just as awkward as he was. “Hi…Hello?” she asked hesitantly, when he answered on the second ring. “Carl? It’s Ella. From Starbucks,” she added, as if she weren’t sure he’d remember.

“Ella, ah, hi.” Carl sounded flustered.

“Is it OK I called? Is this a bad time?”

“No! No, it’s fine,” Carl reassured her. “Uh, how are you?”

“I’m good.” Alice left an awkward pause. “And you?”

“I’m fine.”

Another pause.

“I, um, I was wondering if you were free this weekend at all.” Alice spoke quickly, running her words together. “There’s a
Lord of the Rings
showing at the BFI. If you want,” she added hurriedly. “But…it’s fine, if you have plans, or you just…don’t want to.”

“Oh, that sounds great.” Carl sounded conflicted. “But I’m actually down in Cornwall right now, for the weekend. A friend of mine is getting married, so we’re all here for the bachelor party, and…” He trailed off.

“That sounds fun!” Alice tried to seem as if she were masking disappointment. “A whole group’s there?”

“Yeah, my flatmates and our school friends…But maybe when I get back?”

“Absolutely!” Alice agreed. “You just call me, and, we’ll set something up.”

“OK, you have a nice weekend.”

Alice hung up. Pushing aside her pile of work, she wandered restlessly through the house, her frustration growing. She was so close—at the agency, and with Carl too, but she just kept hitting this wall. What would it take to get where she needed to be?

She was staring absently into the fridge, hoping for a satisfying answer to materialize in front of her, when the doorbell rang.

“Hi, sweetie!” Cassie was waiting on the doorstep, dressed in a chic tube of tight black fabric. She beamed at Alice with what must be freshly whitened teeth, such were their luminescent glow. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be in! There’s a big launch thing in town; want to come with me? Get drunk on free champagne?”

Alice gazed at her evenly. “That depends,” she replied, a little coolly. “Will I be treated to three hours of moaning about the fact that Dakota has left you again?”

Cassie’s smile slipped. “No. I mean, yes, we’re finished, but…It was my doing, this time.”

Of course it was. Alice shook her head, still impatient. “Cassie…I’m really not in the mood for this.”

“But I’m sorry!” A flicker of sincerity shadowed her face. “You were right, I…I just couldn’t let him go. But I needed to hear it.” Cassie gave a sharp nod, as if still trying to convince herself. “So, what do you say?” She gave Alice a hopeful smile. “Come out, party with me. We’ll have fun, I promise!”

“Fine,” she conceded at last, shooting Cassie a warning look. “But the minute you start sobbing into the
cava
, I’m leaving, you understand?”

“And you won’t have to!” Cassie insisted brightly, her vivid confidence back again. “I’m done, cold turkey. Going on three weeks now!”

“Congratulations,” Alice murmured, still dubious. “Now, this party of yours…Wannabe football wives or indie wankers?”

“Go short, tight, and trashy.” Cassie grinned, striking a pose to illustrate. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

***

And it was. The slick party was crammed with feuding minor celebrities, gazing balefully from their separate corners in patent heels and designer suits while Cassie, Flavia, and the rest of the group grew louder and more raucous with every new bottle of free champagne. Soon, thanks to Petros’s scuffle over the affections of a British girl-band member, they were summarily ejected from the bar and decamped en masse to a cramped, sweaty shack of a bar in the depths of Dalston, where a trio of stern-faced Jamaicans slung drinks from a vat of potent cocktails, and Alice’s scrap of bright red Lycra stood out like a flaring neon sign among the scruffy plaid shirts and skinny jeans in attendance.

She didn’t care. Between her friends’ constant theatrics and Alice’s own breathless flirtations, she was having a wonderful time. Alice became Ella became Juliet became Angelique as she whipped through what felt like an avalanche of pickups and come-ons. Even when a drunken, desperate Dakota made a surprise appearance, begging for Cassie to give him another try, the night wasn’t ruined. Cassie simply told him to fuck off and show some self-respect—they were finished.

She was almost giddy from the power of it for the rest of the night. “I can’t believe I did that!” Cassie exclaimed, on more than one occasion. “You just have to
do it
, Aly. You’ve got to say ‘fuck them’ and take what you want.”

***

Alice wished it were so easy. What she wanted were the deep, intimate details of Kate Jackson’s life—complete with photos and fingerprints to compare with Ella so that she could know, for certain, if this was even that right track she was pursuing, but with Carl off in Cornwall for the weekend, she had nothing left to do but wait. Again. Alice had already spent too much of her life waiting, she decided the next afternoon, resisting the urge to rip up Vivienne’s contract notes and feed them through her shredder. Waiting never won her anything at all; it hadn’t taken her to Italy, for excitement and adventure, or helped her finally claw her way up at the agency. It certainly wouldn’t yield the information about Kate Jackson that would let Alice know, once and for all, if there was more to be found on Ella’s trail or if she had disappeared for good.

She sighed, trying to quell the impatience that raced through her. The most frustrating part was, she didn’t even need Carl to confirm her theory. She needed him for access to his flat and whatever anecdotes or background he could offer to explain why his sister had decided to leave her old life behind and become the woman Alice knew as Ella; but as for the proof itself? All the photos and clippings she needed were probably stashed away in some shoebox under his bed or framed in small prints in the flat. His currently unoccupied flat.

Alice paused, the idea taking shape with breathtaking speed. Carl was gone for the weekend, and so were all his flatmates. Thanks to her early experiments in the subtle art of stalking, she knew where the spare key was kept, and who was to say she’d even need to stay that long? She could simply slip in, find some photos of Kate, and slip out again. Ten minutes, perhaps, to secure the firm answer she needed. Otherwise…Alice thought of weeks more spent gaining Carl’s confidence, probing him about all the distressing details of his sister’s possible death. This was surely the better, more decent option, she told herself. She would prevent so many more lies.

A small part of Alice reminded her that this was breaking and entering she was considering. But if this were Italy and she were Angelique, she wouldn’t be hesitating for a second, so why hold back now, when answers were so close to hand? She just had to plan this properly. And Alice, she knew, was nothing if not an excellent planner.

She reached for her notebook and a felt-tipped pen.

***

Just a short while later, Alice had everything she needed. Almost. Skipping downstairs, she detoured to Flora’s studio.

“Hey, can I ask a favor? Well, two,” she corrected herself.

Flora looked up, guilty, from the angry slashes of red paint she was sweeping across the canvas, but Alice barely reacted to the painting.

“Wow, I love that color,” she remarked. “Anyway, the favors? I need to borrow your car—just for a couple of hours.”

“Sure.” Flora seemed dazed, as if she weren’t fully present, but she always got that way when she was immersed in a project, so Alice waited a few moments for the distracted look in her eyes to fade.

Flora took a few breaths. “The car?” she repeated finally, as if only just registering the request. “That’s fine. The keys are in the hall.”

“Thanks.” Alice smiled gratefully. “There is this one other thing…”

“What?” Flora crossed to the basin in the corner, scrubbing at her paint-stained hands.

Alice bit her lip. “I…Um, I was here with you. All evening. If anyone asks, all right?”

Flora looked up. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Alice reassured her quickly. “It’ll be fine, I promise. I just, I need you to cover for me. So if someone calls, say I’m in the shower, or something. Can you do that?” She watched Flora with a flicker of nerves, but instead of interrogating her, Flora just nodded.

“Of course,” she said simply. “Call if you need anything.”

Her lack of curiosity was strange, but Alice had too much else on her mind for now to dwell on it. As she drove carefully toward Bellevue Road, she tried to think if she’d forgotten any vital detail. She’d been tempted to wait until the cover of dark, but instinct told her that she would appear less suspicious in daylight. A nondescript woman letting herself into a house one evening wouldn’t raise alarm, in even the most well-patrolled of neighborhood-watch zones. Similarly, for all the black catsuits that the heroines of various movies used for their attire, only a burlap sack marked “SWAG” slung over her shoulder would be more conspicuous. A quick perusal of her wardrobe had yielded plain jeans, a summer vest top, and a pair of flip-flops: as unmemorable and ordinary as she could find.

Parking on the next street, Alice emptied her purse and pockets of identifying documents and fastened her hair up under a baseball cap to disguise its length. She caught herself in the rearview window for a moment and paused, taking in the excitement in her eyes. She should be conflicted over this, she knew. Anyone else would feel guilty, even shameful, but instead, Alice felt only a thrill at how close she was to the truth. It would be simple, swift—and give her all the answers she needed. What was there to even think about?

Still, as she locked up the car and walked quickly toward their house, Alice felt her nerves flutter to life. The streets were quiet, but she kept her head down, almost flinching as a man ambled past with his golden retriever. Calm, she told herself, forcing deep breaths. Nothing to worry about.

Number fifteen was dark, and the driveway empty. Alice strolled up the front path, forcing herself not to rush. She was painfully aware of somebody in the front garden of the house opposite, an older woman watering the flower beds from an old-fashioned can. But this was London. She probably didn’t even know Carl’s name, let alone the fact that he was gone for the weekend.