Putting Alice Back Together. Carol Marinelli

asked when he was next going back to the Mother Ship and if he could get me some clothes from Next and some of that amazing moisturiser from Boots, but I hadn’t given him the brush-off.

      Or had I?

      ‘He’s a sleaze,’ I pointed out, because he absolutely was. ‘Did someone take an ice pick to his face thirty years ago?’

      ‘Alice, please,’ Nicole begged, even though she laughed. ‘He’s been a right bastard since he found out I was going back to see Paul. He knows I might…’

      And I felt my throat tighten as her voice trailed off. Nicole had never admitted it, but I knew, I knew that she was thinking of moving back to England—she had just confirmed it. I couldn’t believe she’d give everything up for Paul but, then, that’s what she does with men, over and over.

      God, Nic knew how to pick them.

      Nic always thought she was in love.

      Always insisted that this was the one.

      Until he dumped her, hit her, or his wife found out.

      Nicole’s love life was like a really bad soap opera. Every weeknight at six-thirty she flew through the flat door with the latest instalment and, even though you knew how it was going to end, knew it was heading for disaster, still you found yourself watching from behind your fingers, scarcely able to believe someone could really be so stupid where men were concerned.

      And she was surely heading for disaster.

      Big time.

      Which meant, yet again, yours truly would be left to pick up the pieces.

      ‘Christopher was a manager at the London office,’ Nic said, but I just added another layer of lip-gloss. ‘He knows everyone there. I don’t want to leave on a bad note.’

      ‘You’re not leaving, though—you’re going for a holiday.’ I gave her a smile. ‘It’s going to be a great night—just relax and enjoy it.’

      ‘The thing is, Alice…’

      I just didn’t want to hear it here—I mean, it was supposed to be her party. ‘Come on,’ I said instead. ‘We’d better get back out there.’

      The champagne hadn’t buoyed the mood and I knew it was going to be hard work. We were all sitting on low sofas and I told a couple of funny, indiscreet stories about the newspaper where I work—and I don’t know how I do it, Nicole doesn’t either, but the mood was suddenly lifting. People started to open up, to loosen up and then Jason—or was it James?—shocked everyone by admitting that his wife had left him at the weekend and Christopher, well, he had the gift too, because he laughed and said, ‘That’s a reason for more champagne,’ and called the waiter over. I could see Nicole beaming, relief starting to flood in, because her leaving night was going to be a success.

      ‘There’s Roz…’ I waved out of the window to where Roz was sucking down the last of her cigarette and Roz waved back and carried on puffing away.

      She just didn’t get it.

      I smoked sometimes, but it’s so unfashionable these days, you didn’t do it at places like this. If you did, you went right away from the window and doused yourself in perfume and sucked mints before you came inside. But not Roz. She came to the door blowing out the last of her smoke, and she was so out of place there that for an appalling moment I thought the doorman was about to refuse her. I called out her name loud enough for him to hear and, realising she was with the posh, champagne-drinking lawyers, he let her in.

      ‘Christ!’ Christopher soon showed his bastard colours. ‘Who the hell is that?’

      ‘Roz,’ I answered tartly. ‘She’s a friend of ours, she works with me at the paper, she’s studying accounting…’ My voice trailed off, because he wasn’t actually interested in Roz.

      His reaction was a familiar one—he’d dismissed her instantly.

      Before she’d even walked through the door.

      She was in cargo pants and a sloppy T-shirt and sandals that were about to snap from lugging her bulk around and she’d put on more weight. Her divorce had just come through, all her old friends and even her daughter had turned against her, and though she insisted that she was happy that her marriage was over, every day she seemed to go under a little bit more. She was really letting herself go.

      Dan didn’t like her. He said she brought me down and he couldn’t stand the way that she looked. Yes, elegant and chic weren’t two words that sprang to mind when Roz was around, but I wished people would take a bit of time to get to know her. Roz was the kindest person I knew, she’d do anything for me, for anyone.

      She’s just lovely.

      ‘I can’t imagine her as an accountant.’ Christopher made some caustic comment about her not fitting in and I bristled as Nic’s face coloured up, not in anger at Christopher but in embarrassment at her friend.

      ‘No,’ I agreed with him, ‘because she’s not boring enough.’ Out of the corner of my eye I could see Nic tense, and I remembered then that Christopher was a financial lawyer, but instead of offending him I’d made him laugh. I didn’t see the acne scars any more, or the lines around his eyes. His eyes were blue and he was smiling at me and I found myself smiling back.

      ‘There’s drinks here.’ I dragged my eyes away and I called to Roz because I knew she hated going to the bar. I moved along on the sofa to make room for her.

      ‘I’m Christopher.’ He introduced himself and poured her a drink and he was being really nice to her, but somehow I knew it was for me. I knew, because he apologised that he couldn’t hear what Roz was saying and came over to our side of the table and squeezed in between us.

      There was a frisson of excitement that flooded my veins, an awareness, and even though he was talking to Roz, and I was entertaining the table, I knew he felt it too.

      I knew because I could feel the press of his thigh on mine.

      An hour ago I’d have stabbed him in the leg with my keys.

      I didn’t press back. I pretended not to notice.

      But I didn’t move my leg away either.

      I was half listening as they spoke about their children. He had a sixteen-year-old too, it turned out, and a twenty-year-old.

      He must be ancient.

      I mean, Roz had Lizzie really young and she’s thirty-four.

      The table was becoming rowdy and everyone was chatting away, me included, but my head was like an abacus, trying to work out his age. As he dropped his phone, I expected the brief brush of his hand on my calf and he delivered.

      It was my turn to have the nervous tic—I tried to catch Nicole’s eyes to get her to come to the toilets and tell me how best to handle this. I mean, there’s being nice and being nice—what the hell was I supposed to do?

      ‘I won’t be long.’

      I excused myself—I had to side shuffle along the sofa to get out and I was acutely aware of my bottom passing his face. They must all have thought I had a bladder the size of a thimble, but I just wanted to escape. I walked calmly to the toilets even though my heart was hammering. I wanted to be away from him.

      He must have been mid-forties.

      Nicole had missed my frantic signals because she didn’t follow me in. I waited a few minutes then I started to walk back out to the party, deciding that I would wedge myself in beside Nicole.

      ‘Alice.’

      I heard his voice from the disabled toilet.

      I turned. And, to my shame, I went in.

      I’ll spare you the details.

      I’m trying to spare myself from the details too.

      It