Chapter 5
Chapter Five
ALICE
Sitting in my mother's perfectly arranged lounge feels a lot like sitting in a museum, except this one is decorated with judgement, and none of it too good in my favour.
Everything is pristine, cold, and utterly untouchable.
It's almost like I'm a guest in my own family home—except, I realise with a wry smile, I am.
My mother and Grace are sitting on the sofa like they're posing for a family portrait.
Grace, only eighteen months older than me, sits perfectly.
Her long slender legs stick out of a perfectly pressed skirt, ankles crossed like she's royalty.
My mother sits beside her, the proud parent.
Next to me is the seat my father would have taken when we were children.
Where he'd have sat, and patted my leg, and told me, "No, my sweetness, your mother doesn't hate you.
" I long for him almost as much as I long for my grandmother.
"Is Dad coming?" I ask, trying to add a bit of cheerfulness to my voice.
I can see my mother's eyes almost set on fire at my question, and Grace stiffens. The temperature in the room seems to drop a few degrees. Mum's lips purse like she's just bitten into a particularly sour lemon.
Grace, ever the perfect daughter, jumps in before Mum can unleash whatever caustic comment is brewing behind those narrowed eyes. "You mean he hasn't told you himself? I thought you and he were joined at the hip."
I swallow the urge to snap back and smile. "Well, you know Dad. Always full of surprises. Keeps life interesting, doesn't he?"
When I don't elaborate, Grace says, "Dad is arriving tomorrow, before the service." Somehow, she makes something so innocent sound like it's poison on her lips. I half expect her to spit after saying 'Dad', like she's trying to get rid of a bad taste.
My heart flutters at the thought that my dad will be here.
A little spark of joy in this sad affair.
He loved Gran. She got him, just the way she got me—the dreamers, the ones with their heads in the clouds and their feet rarely on the ground.
I'm not even sure how my mother ended up being the one related to her. They're total opposites.
"I'm glad Dad's coming," I say, more to myself than anyone else. "Gran would have wanted him here. Remember how they used to dance in the kitchen?" Just thinking about it makes my heart soar.
The look Mum gives me could curdle milk. "Yes, well," she says, her voice clipped, "let's just hope he manages to be on time for once in his life. So," my mother says. "You've finished your eulogy, I assume?"
I nod, my stomach twisting at the topic change. "Yes, it's ready." Chock-full of warmth and love, just like Gran.
"Good. Make sure it is straightforward. No need for any of your emotional weight bringing the family's mood down. This is a simple affair. We're simply saying goodbye to your grandmother."
I nod again, with a forced smile, trying to keep it light, even though my insides are doing the cha-cha. "Right."
Grace glances at me, her smile sweet but laced with something else. "Where is Christopher? I thought he'd be here with you... but then again, he's—"
"He couldn't get the time off work," I say, my heart sinking. I paste on another smile. "Work has been crazy. He has some deadlines."
"How many deadlines can there be working in a debt collection call centre?" She scoffs.
"It's a shame you don't get yourself a nice educated man, like Ted," my mother adds.
I can't help but roll my eyes. "And where is Ted? He's not here either." I raise an eyebrow at Grace. "Where is the perfect husband today?"
Grace's expression doesn't falter. If anything, she looks more pleased with herself. "Ted is in town, actually. He's picking up a few things for the wake. He's been such a help with all the arrangements. Mother couldn't have managed without him."
My mother nods in agreement, her smile softening when she talks about Ted. The wonderchild's golden husband. "Yes. He's been absolutely wonderful. Always so dependable."
I grit my teeth, keeping my smile in place. Of course, Ted's being helpful. Of course he's doing everything right. But I bet he's out there hiding. How long does it take to buy things for a wake? I don't blame him. I'd be doing the same.
"That's great," is what I actually say, trying to sound sincere. "Glad he's such a big help."
Mum gives me that look—the one that says she's unimpressed, no matter what I say. "Yes, well, you know. It's important to have someone you can rely on. This is why I depend on Grace so much. Truly, I'd be in such a muddle if it wasn't for her and Ted. She's such a wonderful daughter."
Unlike me, she means. The sting of her words hits hard, but I shove it down like I always do. No point in fighting with her now. Not today. I nod, keeping my voice steady. "Well, I'll do what I can now that I'm here."
Mum doesn't respond, her attention already shifting back to Grace, as if I've already faded into the background. I glance out of the window, desperate for a distraction from this conversation, when something catches my eye. A flash of white.
My heart skips a beat, and I sit up straighter, squinting at the garden. There—just by the hedge—a little figure, hurrying away. No. It can't be.
"The white rabbit," I whisper. Without thinking, I scramble to my feet, nearly knocking over my cup of tea. "Did you see that?"
Both Mum and Grace stare at me like I've just sprouted a second head.
"What are you talking about?" Mum's voice is sharp, tinged with that familiar irritation.
"I—I thought I saw a rabbit." I say it without thinking, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.
Grace snorts. "Oh, Alice. Not this again." She rolls her eyes dramatically. "Do we really have to do all this again? It was bad enough the last time. You're not ten anymore."
Mum sighs, placing her cup down with deliberate slowness. "Honestly, Alice. You're an adult now. You need to stop chasing after these ridiculous fantasies. It's embarrassing."
I blink, still staring out of the window, but the figure is gone. "It's nothing," I mumble, feeling a flush of heat creep up my neck. "Just... thought I saw something."
Grace leans back, her arms crossed. "This is why Dad left, you know."
I freeze. My stomach twists painfully, the lump in my throat making it hard to breathe. "That's not—"
"It is," Mum cuts me off, her eyes narrowing. "He was always indulging you, letting you run wild with your imagination while I was left trying to keep things in order. You never understood reality, Alice. And your father encouraged that."
I bite my lip, the familiar ache in my chest making it hard to stand there and take it. "Dad was just making me feel accepted, that's all," I whisper, though the words sound hollow even to me.
Mum shakes her head, dismissing my protest as if it's nothing. "Yes, well, I certainly didn't encourage your nonsense. It was the constant topic of our arguments."
Grace adds with a smirk, "Maybe one day you'll grow up and stop believing in fairy tales."
I feel the sting of their words, but I'm not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me break. I glance towards the window again, desperate for a way out of this conversation. "I'm going outside. I just need a moment."
"Alice," Mum snaps, standing up. "Where are you going? We're not finished here."
"I'll be back," I say quickly, already halfway to the door. "I just need some air."
I step out into the garden, the cool air hitting my face as I make my way towards the spot where I thought I saw the rabbit.
My heart is still racing, but some of that is from my mother and sister's cruel words.
I'm not even sure now if they realise what they say hurts, or if they're simply too blinded by their own need to be right.
My mother has always blamed our father leaving on me.
And yes, he did indulge my dreams and fantasies, but not in a bad way.
I was the one with the wild imagination, my mother used to say, the one who'd make up a whole world I apparently fell into.
Funny really, I've hardly thought about Wonderland since I left here, and now it seems to be echoing all around me.
I know it was all a dream, but I loved so much to tell the story about it, to my dad, to Gran.
I step around the hedge to where I saw the 'rabbit', but it isn't a rabbit. It's just the garden swing. The white cover draped over it has come loose, flapping in the breeze.
I pull the cover back into place, securing it as the swing creaks softly beneath my touch. For a moment, I just stand here, staring at the garden.
The door behind me opens and my mother steps out. "What are you doing out here?"
I don’t turn around. “Just getting some air,” I say, louder this time, my voice tinged with a bit more bite. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Mum doesn’t even bother hiding the sigh behind me. “Well, don’t dawdle. We still have arrangements to discuss.”
“Right,” I mutter, still facing the garden. “Wouldn’t want to delay those.”
The door clicks shut, and the tension in my shoulders eases immediately. I let out a breath I didn’t even realise I was holding. The garden stretches out in front of me, perfect, pristine, just like everything else in this house. So neat, so predictable. So not me.
I start to turn back, ready to face round two of their backhanded comments when something catches my eye—a flash of red, tucked near the rose bushes. I blink, half thinking my mind’s playing tricks on me. But it’s still there.
I take a step closer, heart skipping just a little. There, nestled in the grass, is a playing card. I bend down, my fingers brushing the cool surface as I pick it up.
The Queen of Hearts.