Putting Alice Back Together. Carol Marinelli

tree and making copious notes.

      ‘Look, I’m not here about that.’ And I supposed, if I wanted the prescription, I was going to have to tell her. ‘I had an anxiety attack.’ My cheeks were flaming as I cringed at the memory of Olivia’s leaving do last week. Everyone gathering around, offering me water, paramedics, being strapped to a stretcher and taken down in the lifts and out onto the street. ‘Really, I’m not even sure that it was an anxiety attack—the doctors at the hospital thought it might be an allergic reaction.’ She frowned. ‘I had a similar thing when I was seven and I ate hazelnuts.’ But still she just sat there. ‘The medicine they gave me at the hospital really helped, though.’

      ‘The Valium?’

      ‘Yes.’ I gave a little swallow. ‘I’m worried it might happen again, but if I had some Valium, just till I get the allergy tests done…’

      ‘You could just avoid hazelnuts!’ I swear her eyes crinkled. Honestly, I felt as if she was laughing at me, which she couldn’t be, of course.

      But then she did.

      She laughed.

      I couldn’t believe it. She didn’t sit there and roar, but she gave a little laugh that made her shoulders go up. The type you do when you say something amusing, only this wasn’t funny.

      I’d get her struck off.

      If she didn’t give me my script.

      ‘Okay.’ She glanced at her watch and managed to contain herself enough for another little scribble on her pad. ‘If you can make an appointment again for about two weeks’ time. Now, don’t be surprised if you feel a bit unsettled over the next couple of days—we’ve touched on some sensitive areas.’

      Which was news to me.

      ‘But what about…?’ I gave a nervous swallow as she stood. ‘The doctor said I should see a psychologist if I needed more Valium. He was only comfortable giving me ten.’

      ‘That’s very sensible.’

      God, she wasn’t making this easy—I wasn’t asking her to buy them, just to write the bloody script.

      I decided to go for direct. ‘Do you think you could write me up for some?’

      ‘I don’t prescribe medication.’

      What the hell? My ears were ringing from her words as she droned on. I’d been through all of this, all of this, and she still refused to write me up for drugs—what did she suggest then? Was she some sort of alternative psychologist, was she going to suggest meditation? ‘I’m happy to write a note for your GP explaining that you are seeing me.’

      ‘But the doctor at the hospital said I should come and see you.’ I could hear my voice rising. I’d taken my last Valium yesterday and I had none left.

      None.

      ‘The doctor was recommending counselling, Alice. Your GP, if she does feel you need medication, is likely to suggest the same.’ She read my stunned expression and twisted the knife. ‘Even if I thought you needed it, I’m not qualified to prescribe medication.’

      Well, what was the bloody point of that? I huffed, as I paid and left.

      I was late for Nic. I’d wasted an hour talking about a stupid divorce that had happened more than a decade ago, and she’d charged me one hundred and twenty dollars for the pleasure. I hadn’t even got a script—let alone a single bloody insight.

      I was not best pleased, I can tell you.

       Five

      I hate airports.

      You know at the beginning of Love Actually where Hugh (Grant, not the ginger one that’s coming to stay) says you just have to go to the Arrivals at Heathrow to witness love, or something along those lines?

      Well, there’s a flip side to that.

      Departures.

      If there is a hell, then for me it will be Departures at an international airport.

      I won’t be shovelling coal for eternity into a furnace. Instead, one by one I’ll have to say goodbye to everyone I love and watch them disappear. It will be constant, it will be perpetual, and once I’ve said goodbye to everyone, just when I think I’ve got through it—it will start over again.

      That’s my hell.

      And contrary to Arrivals, after which you drive home with your loved ones and you can’t stop talking because there’s so much to catch up on, so much to say, the drive to Departures is a nightmare.

      Every time.

      Nicole was furious with me because I didn’t get back till ten to six and she wouldn’t let it drop.

      ‘I wasn’t late!’ I could see the picture of an aeroplane on the road signs for those who can’t read or can’t speak English. I needed to change lanes or we’d miss the turn-off, and I actually thought about it—honestly, that would have given her something to moan about. ‘You said we had to leave by six and we did!’

      ‘You’re so bloody selfish sometimes, Alice. You didn’t even answer my texts. Could you not just have come home? What was so important?’

      ‘I got stuck at work.’

      I heard her snort and I turned and glared at her, which wasn’t a good idea, given I was going at a hundred down the freeway. ‘What? Just because I’m not some hotshot lawyer, I can’t be busy at work?’

      ‘Alice!’ Nicole was shrinking back in her seat and I turned my attention back to the road, but I was so angry I could spit. Just because I didn’t work in some top-notch job she assumed I couldn’t possibly know busy.

      ‘Why didn’t you tell me Paul rang last night?’

      ‘What?’

      ‘You know what, Alice?’ I didn’t want to know, but she told me anyway. ‘I think you’re jealous. I think you’re jealous of me and Paul.’

      It was me snorting then.

      I couldn’t stand Paul.

      I mean, I could not bear him.

      He was the most arrogant man I’d ever met.

      And he’s stupid.

      I’ve nothing against stupid people—but stupid people who think that they’re clever just set my teeth on edge. Never mind Nicole’s a lawyer, he’s opening a coffee shop. It’s all he talks about. From the day I met him till the day he—thankfully—went back to the UK, it’s all he spoke about.

      He’s going to have a loyalty card for his customers. For every ten coffees they get a free one and—wait for it—on their birthdays, if they have their driver’s licence with them and can prove that it is their birthday, well, they’ll get a free one on that day too. Oh, and he’s got this really good idea about providing the daily papers and current magazines for his customers. I kept waiting for the punch line. I kept waiting for him to walk into any other coffee shop in any other street and have a complete breakdown because someone had stolen his idea. Honestly, I have sat there cross-eyed listening to him droning on and on so many times.

      And Nic thought I was jealous.

      ‘You’ve done everything you can to dissuade me from going.’

      ‘I’m driving you to the airport,’ I pointed out.

      We were at the turn-off and I felt like pulling over and dumping her stuff on the side of the road and letting her walk.

      ‘You knew I was worried that he hadn’t called, you knew I was panicking he was having second thoughts whether he wanted me to come, and you didn’t even tell me he’d called. You didn’t even write it down.’

      ‘I