“Mum!” Elisabeth said. “You must promise not to say one word about that to Roger or anybody else. She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“I do so,” said Alice. She felt a bit drunk. “You can tell the whole world, Mum. Tell Roger. Tell the Flakes. Tell our three children. There is no divorce. Nick and I will work out whatever this thing is.”

“Wonderful!” cried Barb. “I’m so happy!”

“You will not think this is wonderful when you get your memory back,” said Elisabeth. “You’ve got legal proceedings going on. Jane Turner will have heart failure if you start doing this.”

“Jane Turner?” said Alice. “What’s Jane Turner got to do with the price of fish?”

“Jane is your lawyer,” said Elisabeth.

“A lawyer? She’s not a lawyer.” A memory flitted into Alice’s head of some guy losing an argument with Jane at work and saying, “You should have been a lawyer,” and Jane had said, “Yes, I’m perfectly aware of that.”

“She got her law degree years ago and now she specializes in divorce,” said Elisabeth. “She’s helping you—ah, divorce Nick.”

“Oh.” How ridiculous, how stupid, that Jane Turner was helping her “divorce Nick.” “A little Jane goes a very long way,” Nick once said, and Alice agreed. How could Jane Turner have anything to do with their lives?

“You and Nick are in the middle of a custody battle,” said Elisabeth. “It’s really serious.”

Custody battle. It sounded like “custardy” battle. Alice imagined herself and Nick flinging spoonfuls of sweet yellow custard at each other, laughing and shrieking and licking it off afterward.

Presumably a custody battle wasn’t as much fun as a custardy battle.

“Well, that’s off, too,” pronounced Alice. (Why in the world would she want “custody” of three children she’d never met! She wanted Nick.) “We don’t need a custody battle because we’re not getting a divorce, and that’s final.”

“Hooray!” said her mother. “I’m so glad you’ve lost your memory. This accident is going to turn out to be a blessing in disguise.”

“Well, there’s only one tiny problem with all that, isn’t there?” said Elisabeth.

“What?”

“Nick has still got his memory.”

Chapter 10

“Nick?” said Alice.

“Sorry, sweetie, it’s just me again,” said the nurse.

They were waking her every hour to check on her and shine the light in her pupils and ask the same questions over and over. “Alice Mary Love. Royal North Shore Hospital. Hurt my head,” Alice mumbled. The nurse chuckled. “Well done. Sorry about this. Go back to sleep now.”

Alice slept and dreamed of nurses waking her up. “Wake up! It’s time for your salsa-dancing lesson!” said a nurse with a huge hat that was actually a profiterole cake. “I dreamed we were getting a divorce,” said Alice to Nick. “And we had three children, and Mum married your dad, and Elisabeth was so sad.” “Why the f**k would I care?” said Nick. Alice gasped and sucked her thumb. Nick peeled a piece of red confetti off his neck and showed it to her. He said, “Only joking!”

“Nick?” said Alice.

“I do not love you anymore because you still suck your thumb.”

“But I don’t!” Alice was so embarrassed she could die.

“What’s your name?” shouted a nurse, but this was another one that couldn’t be real because she was floating through the air, holding on to bouquets of pink balloons. Alice ignored her.

“Me again,” said a nurse.

“Nick?” said Alice. “I’ve got a headache. Such a bad headache.”

“No, it’s not Nick. It’s Sarah.”

“You’re not a real nurse. You’re another dream nurse.”

“Actually, I’m a real one. Can you open your eyes and tell me your name?”

Elisabeth’s Homework for Dr. Hodges Hi, me again, Dr. Hodges. It’s 3:30 a.m. and sleep feels like something impossible and stupid that only other people do. I woke up thinking of Alice and how she said to me, “You’re such a good big sister.”

I’m not. I’m not at all.

We still care about each other, of course we do. It’s not that. We’d never forget each other’s birthdays. In fact, there’s a weird sort of silent competition going on to see who can give the best present each year, as if we’re always jostling for the role of most generous, thoughtful sister. We see each other pretty regularly. We still have a laugh. We’re just the same as a million sisters. So I don’t even know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s just that it isn’t the same as when we were younger. But that’s just life, isn’t it, Dr. Hodges? Relationships don’t stay the same. There isn’t time. Ask Alice! She converted to the role of busy North Shore Mum like it was a religion.

Maybe if I’d been more vigilant? Perhaps it was my responsibility as the older sister to keep us on track.

But the only way I’ve been able to get through the last seven years is by wrapping myself up like a package with a tighter and tighter string. It’s so tight that if I’m talking about anything (other than how to write the perfect direct-mail package), I feel as though there is something constricting my throat, as if my mouth doesn’t open wide enough for proper, unthinking conversation.