Putting Alice Back Together. Carol Marinelli

about. One of the managers, like Claire, would then no doubt have a less than sensitive word with Roz—which would kill her.

      I’d bought her smellies as presents, but that was as far as I’d got. How do you tell a good friend, and one who is very sensitive, that, on occasion, she reeks?

      ‘Why don’t I rub in this hair mask for you and then we can both put on face-packs and then you can have a shower…’

      ‘I really can’t be bothered.’

      ‘Come on, Roz—you have to get back out there!’ I paused for effect, gave her a wide-eyed, very direct stare. ‘I mean, I understand you might need a break after your divorce but sooner or later you’re going to want to start dating again, and when you do, well…’

      ‘I’ve got a date.’ Her broken capillaries darkened, and she gave a shy smile.

      ‘When?’

      ‘Tomorrow night?’

      ‘Who?’ My mind raced. When had this happened? The only person Roz went out with was me, and there wasn’t one person at work I could think of…

      Unless.

      ‘Trevor.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘The computer whiz, the one who comes around…’

      ‘Oh, please!’ Roz was coughing again, clearly appalled at the suggestion, and in fairness I’d be appalled at the suggestion too. Trevor had Roz’s split-ends problem only his covered the whole of his face, and deodorant clearly wasn’t at the top of his shopping trolley.

      ‘Then who?’

      She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Alice; I don’t want to jinx myself.’

      I saw an opening.

      ‘But you want to look nice?’ I nudged the pack across the table.

      ‘I guess,’ she said slowly, and I felt her waver, took it as a positive sign and moved quickly to build on it. ‘I know it’s what’s inside that matters, Roz, but you’ve only got a small window of time to make that first impression. I read that it takes less that a second for a person to form an opinion, less than a second,’ I reiterated as Roz started to frown. ‘You can be the nicest person in the world but if you don’t look the part, no one’s going to come over and find out.’ She was frowning deeply now, so I put it in simpler terms: ‘It’s fabulous you’ve got a date, Roz.’ A bloody miracle really, I almost added, but held back. ‘It’s fabulous that you’re getting back into the swing of things. And whoever he is, he clearly likes you for who you are…’ She opened her mouth to speak but I overrode her. ‘Surely you want to show that you’ve made a bit of an effort for him.’

      She didn’t answer, just stared into her empty glass, and for an appalling moment I thought she was going to cry. Actually, it wasn’t even a moment. About ten seconds later she started to howl, not delicately (this is Roz we’re talking about) but great throaty sobs that caught in her throat and made her cough at the same time.

      ‘God, Roz, I’m sorry.’ So much for softly, softly. So much for helping. Here was poor Roz blubbering on my sofa, crying her eyes out and feeling fat and ugly and worthless, and it was all my fault. ‘Don’t listen to me,’ I said, appalled at what I’d done, wrapping my arms as far around her shoulders as I could and squeezing tight. ‘What would I bloody know? You look fabulous,’ I said firmly, so firmly even I thought I sounded as if I meant it. ‘You’re going to knock his socks off…’

      ‘No, Alice.’

      ‘Yes, you are!’ I insisted as Roz took a deep breath and calmed herself, finally looking up as I cracked open a bottle of Baileys. ‘Feel better?’

      She gave a sort of sorry nod, forced a bit of a watery smile and stared at me as I handed her back a very full glass.

      ‘Tell you what,’ I said frantically, terrified she might start crying again or—even worse—leave, ‘why don’t I ring for a pizza?’

      ‘You don’t eat carbs.’

      ‘I’ll pick at the cheese,’ I said quickly, ‘and smoke.’ I held my breath, held it so hard I thought my lungs were going to explode but finally after the longest time she nodded.

      ‘Better?’ I asked again, and this time she gave a firmer nod.

      ‘Much.’

      ‘You’re not just saying that?’

      ‘No.’ She gave a loud sniff and I thought the tears were about to start again, but to my utter relief she started to laugh, really laugh. ‘Oh, Alice!’ She shook her head and then picked up my fifty-dollar cream and started massaging it into her hooves. ‘Oh, Alice,’ she said again, and something in her eyes didn’t add up, because for all the world I felt as if she were placating me, as if she was going on with the charade just to please me, when it was the other way around.

      ‘Tell you what…’ Roz gave a loud sniff and picked up the hair mask and read the back. ‘How long do I have to leave this stuff on for?’

      ‘Half an hour.’

      ‘Will you play?’ Roz was always doing this—always trying to get me to play the piano. The flat has one. It was there when I first moved in. Roz starts crying sometimes when I play and goes on about how I’m wasted at the paper. But that’s Roz—I could play ‘Trotting Pony’ and she’d tell me I was fantastic.

      I didn’t want to sit at the piano, with Nicole gone and everything, though if it meant that she stayed…

      ‘Deal!’ I grinned, dropping the mask in a cup and grabbing some towels from the bathroom.

      In fact, it turned out to be a great night. I played for forty minutes—I went through some of my old exam recital and then we had a little sing-along. She even let me pluck her eyebrows and a fun time was had by all working our way down a bottle of Baileys. By the time we were at the sucking on ice cube stage, she was so pissed I even managed to persuade her to stay over and it was kind of nice hearing her snoring from Nicole’s room.

      Not that I could sleep.

      Playing the piano always unsettles me.

      Oh, not when it’s ‘Coming Round The Mountain’ or ‘My Old Man’, but when I play the classics, when I’m stretched, when I have to reach inside myself, I feel, for a while at least, as if I’m coming apart.

       Eight

      ‘Hey!’ Gus gave a smile of appreciation as I walked in. I had washed in the sink for two days, avoiding steam from the bath, and even dragging a couple of emerging curls out with the hairdryer myself in anticipation of this moment.

      And it was worth it.

      Oh, it was so, so worth it.

      ‘You look great,’ Gus said. ‘How was the wedding?’

      ‘Great.’ I beamed, because the wedding had been awful, but at the end of the reception I had got off with this guy, Lex’s best man, in fact, and finally had a decent snog and then a bit of a fumble in the loos.

      Celeste didn’t comment on my lovely hair, just scowled up at me from the kitchen where she was standing. I didn’t smile back—I had heard them rowing from the street when I arrived, and it made Gus’s smile all the more worth it, that he could manage to be nice, unlike Celeste.

      We went through and I set up my music.

      It was my favourite piece.

      Tchaikovsky, ‘January’, from The Seasons.

      I’d been focusing, amongst others, on this piece for a good few months now. It was for my exam and it was so bloody hard.

      Not so much technically, but my playing strength is emotion and that is the hard part to explain.