You can’t call Tim a success when he’s not talking to you.
Overruling the tiny part of her that still held out hope Tim would contact her again, she channeled Missy’s words, reassuring herself she was a modern independent woman who knew what she wanted and deserved to take it with both hands. It was unexpectedly exhilarating and a very different approach from her years before and with Lawrence.
Scrolling through her phone, she uploaded a photo Libby had taken of her on Freedom a couple of months earlier. She was laughing and the wind had caught her hair, throwing it out like a golden halo. She looked tanned, content and relaxed—a version of herself she wished her mother could see when she looked at her.
Filling in the Bumble profile was a walk in the park compared with the monster questionnaire from her first dating site, and she whizzed through questions, laughing at the place to fill in her star sign. Why not? After all, she’d just had her tea leaves read. Typing in “Cancer,” she quickly answered yes to the question about wanting children, linked her Spotify playlists, but declined to link her Instagram account.
She clicked on the verification code and was told she was good to go. Anticipation thrummed and she was busy scrolling through a cornucopia of men when her mother walked into the kitchen. Alice laid her phone face down on the table. Karen immediately frowned at the mess.
“Sorry.” Alice shoved the contents back into the voluminous bag and put it under her chair. As much as Alice appreciated the cheap board her parents offered, she and her mother didn’t have the same definition of tidy and they never had.
Karen set down the stack of magazines she was holding. “It looks like you need to clean out that bag.” Since Nick’s bombshell, irritable was her mother’s default setting. She glanced toward a small counter in the corner of the kitchen. “Did you go to the post office?”
Alice face palmed. “Sorry, I forgot, but funny story! Tansy Donovan read my tea leaves and—”
“Honestly, Alice! What’s wrong with you? Lately, you’re forgetting everything.”
“Sorry. I’m not sleeping very well. My head’s full of Libby.” And Tim. And four jobs. And the fact you told me you couldn’t get pregnant again after thirty-three.
“It doesn’t leave room for much else. I’m going back into town for work tonight so I’ll pick up the mail then. Promise.”
“I’m sorry.” Karen gave herself a shake. “My head’s full of Libby too. I feel like I’m treading on egg shells every time I talk to her.” She pushed the magazines toward Alice. “Hilary’s had a clear out. She insisted I bring these home for you, but I only accepted because I thought they might be useful for Summerhouse. Please don’t leave them scattered all over the house.”
“Thanks.” Alice appreciated how hard Karen found overriding her decluttering setting so it was a big deal that her mother had brought the stack home. She immediately leafed through them to see if she could use anything with the nursing home set. There was a mixture of Australian Geographic, Women’s Weekly, car and four-wheel drive magazines and a few health-related ones. The headline, “Fertility preservation for women over thirty,” caught her eye and she thumbed the pages until she found the article. Scanning the horrifying statistics of falling fertility from age thirty-five, she slammed the magazine shut.
“Alice, you’ve still got time to meet someone and have a baby,” her mother said gently.
“I don’t think anyone can say that with any accuracy.”
“And it’s just as inaccurate to say it won’t happen.” A familiar glint entered Karen’s eyes and Alice recognized it. It was the same determined light that had burned brightly when she was a child and Karen had taken her to the many appointments with doctors, physiotherapists, speech therapists and tutors. What the family called Alice’s catch-up years.
“You say you want a career and a family, yet you’re languishing down here.”
“I’m not languishing!”
“Darling, you’re hardly thriving. Perhaps you should go back to Melbourne and talk to that counselor you used to see?”
Anger slashed Alice along with a splash of guilt. It had been years since she’d seen a counselor and even then, she’d only gone to placate Karen, who’d freaked out when she’d refused to share a house with Libby and Jess. Alice loved her mother, but dear God, was she ever going to see her as an adult? Or was she always going to view her as someone who needed fixing?
“I have to go to work.” Without waiting for a reply, Alice hoisted her bag onto her shoulder and left the room.
The weather had closed in and wind and rain buffeted the bay. As a result, the regulars were absent making it a very quiet night at the RSL. Dan van den Berg had signed in solo—the third time since Alice had gone on the Cape Conran bushwalk with the Bay Bushwhackers—and he’d taken a seat at the bar. Usually, Alice was happy to chat and banter with him, but after the conversation with Karen, she was out of sorts.
“So, Twin Two …” Dan spun a coaster through his fingers.
“So, Dan the man … Can I interest you in a raffle ticket for the meat platter?”
“Maybe. What’s it for this week?”
“A swing for children with disabilities. Basically, you’ll look like a prick if you say no.”
“That’s a bit harsh.”
“Harsh would be not buying any tickets.”
He shot her his trademark grin. “Are you sure I’m not talking to Libby? I don’t remember Alice ever being this confrontational.”
She poured him
