The Liberation of Alice Love(92)
Author: Abby McDonald

She could be anywhere.

Struggling to keep her raincoat over her head, Alice banged a few times on the door with the heavy antique knocker, but there was no reply. The windows were gloomy, but the spare key was gone from beneath the window box, and when she peered through the smudged windows, Alice thought she could make out a handbag on the hall table, next to a pile of newspapers and post.

Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking.

“Pick up, pick up…” Alice tried calling again as she circled the house, searching for signs of life. But, like the other ten times she’d dialed that evening, Flora didn’t respond. Alice felt her foot sink down into the cold of a puddle and sighed. She just hoped that her stepsister was so deep in the bliss of a massage at a luxury spa hotel that she didn’t notice the calls.

She was almost ready to admit defeat and call for another taxi when she reached the far side of the cottage, a dilapidated extension that housed Jasmine’s studio. The side door was slightly ajar.

“Flora?” Alice pushed inside, blinking at the gloom. The long room seemed empty, cluttered with Jasmine’s various collections and sculpture work, but then Alice caught a glimpse of pale hair in the corner, illuminated by the dim light from the large, rain-splattered windows. “Flora, what are you doing down there?”

She was curled in a huddle on the floor, her back against an old cabinet, so deep in whatever troubles had brought her there that she didn’t even notice Alice until she was standing over her. Even then, for a moment she didn’t muster surprise or embarrassment, just a blank, dazed stare that was so full of misery that it pulled, deep in Alice’s chest.

“Hey.” Alice sank to the ground beside Flora, careful to keep her voice soft. She felt as though she was approaching a skittish animal and that any sudden movements would only prompt fear and a bolting escape. “There you are.”

Flora quickly wiped her eyes. “I was just…” She swallowed. “The storm…”

“It’s pretty vicious out there,” Alice agreed, shrugging off her coat and draping it over Flora’s bare shoulders. She was dressed only in an embroidered vest top and peasant skirt. “Your husband had the nerve to make off with my umbrella,” Alice tried to joke, but she felt Flora flinch slightly beside her. “Don’t worry,” she added quickly. “I didn’t say anything to him. He thinks you’re snuggled up with Dad and Jasmine.”

Flora exhaled. “I’m sorry—if you worried.” She turned her pale face to Alice. “I just…needed to get away.”

“I know the feeling.” Alice cautiously sat back against a cabinet and looked around. “You picked a good hideaway. I almost missed you behind all these things.”

Flora managed a tiny nod. “She never throws anything away.” She wiped her eyes again. “Every time we moved, there would be more art materials than actual stuff in the van.”

There was a long pause, filled only by the downpour outside. Alice felt her tension finally ease. Flora may not be fine, but she was there, safe within arm’s reach beside her. Alice could manage anything as long as she had that much; even her own troubles seemed insignificant beside her sister’s huddled form.

After a while, Alice realized Flora was staring at the far wall. She followed her gaze, to a painting of a country scene, rich with red and orange hues.

“I’ve never noticed that before.” She stared at it, propped on a far shelf against a mismatch of crockery. “Is it one of Jasmine’s?”

Flora shook her head. “Carlos did it,” she said quietly. “One of Jasmine’s old boyfriends. We lived in Spain with him, for a year, when I was twelve.”

“Really?” Alice asked, surprised. “Can you speak any Spanish?”

She shook her head again. “Mum didn’t think I should go to school. She said I’d learn more from living in the world with them. It was nice there. I had a red bicycle.” Flora sounded vaguely wistful, as if she was dreaming of whooshing down those Catalan hills. Then she sighed. “He fell in love with the au pair next door in the end, and Mum met Terry.”

“Terry?”

“He was trying to plant a vineyard,” Flora explained. “In Cornwall. So, we moved again. He was the last one before she met Dad. Your dad, I mean.”

Alice was silent for a moment. It had never really occurred to her to think of Flora’s life before arriving at her door, the years of trailing after Jasmine as she flit across the European landscape—just as Alice had wandered after her own mother, from cocktail party to expensive hotel suite, until she left for good.

They all did their damage, just in different ways.

Alice reached over and took Flora’s hand. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” She gave an encouraging smile. “How about we go inside and see if there’s something left to eat?”

“I don’t think there’s anything,” Flora replied, but she didn’t resist when Alice tugged her gently to her feet. “The heating’s off, and I can’t figure out the electricity. I didn’t…I didn’t really think it through, coming here.” She looked forlorn.

“Never mind. We’ll just have to rough it,” Alice proclaimed. “I can build us a fire and figure out the fuse box. It’ll be an adventure!”

***

As expected, the dusty pantry held nothing but tins of cat food and baked beans, but a rummage in the dark utility room yielded more: salt-and-vinegar crisps, a box of trifle sponges, some long-life milk, and—the real prize—a half-full bottle of gin.

“Ta da!” Alice displayed her goods. “What have you got?”

“Some rice crackers and Marmite? And ginger beer,” Flora added, dangling the cans from their plastic casing. “They’ve got another month until the use-by date.”

“Perfect.” Alice ushered Flora back to the sitting room, which they’d set up as a makeshift camp with blankets and pillows in front of the flickering hearth. The flames cast a warm glow around the room, and with the night-lights Alice had carefully set out, it was almost homey. “Just be glad there was lighter fluid,” she said, nudging the fire with the heavy old poker. “I don’t think I could have managed from scratch.”

“I could.” Flora munched on a rice cake with surprising enthusiasm. The change of scene seemed to have fortified her; the helpless dejection in her eyes had softened to something calmer. “I learned in Brownies. I got a badge for it and everything.”