The Liberation of Alice Love(93)
Author: Abby McDonald

They fell silent again, picking at the strange assortment of food while the fire settled into low, golden flames. It felt cozy and companionable in the small room, despite the circumstances hovering over the both of them, and Alice felt the warmth of an affection that so often seemed to elude her in that house. This was her family.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t around much,” she said at last, looking over at Flora. “When you were younger, I mean.”

Flora paused nibbling on a sponge, a cautious expression on her face. “That’s OK. You were…busy.”

“I know, but…” Alice exhaled guiltily. “I’d spent so long looking after Dad. Keeping everything in place here, after Mum left. I just wanted to get away completely.”

Flora gave a small nod, her pale hair tangled in wisps around her face. “I know.” She looked down, toying with the ring pull on her ginger beer. “It’s not like we were…sisters, or anything.”

Alice felt a pang at the wistful note in her voice. All those years she’d been so relieved to escape her father’s vague chaos, she hadn’t even noticed that Flora was living through it all alone—with the added trials of her own mother’s various eccentricities as well.

“No,” she agreed quietly. “But we are now. Which is why you need to tell me what’s wrong. And don’t pretend that nothing is, because I know you better than that.” Flora bit her lip, but she didn’t reply. “Flora,” Alice implored her. “Come on. Here, drink this, and then tell me everything.” She reached for the dusty gin bottle and poured a liberal dash in Flora’s drink.

“I…can’t.” Flora gazed miserably at the can.

“Yes, you can.” Alice took her hand and squeezed it. “You can tell me anything. I promise I’m on your side, no matter what. Is it your art? Or Stefan—is something happening with him?”

The candles flickered around them as she waited, watching Flora’s face for any hint of the truth.

Flora’s lip began to tremble. “No, I mean…I can’t drink it.” She finally looked up at Alice with that expression of utter hopelessness.

“You’re…?” Alice drew in a sharp breath as the implications became clear. “You’re pregnant?”

Chapter Thirty-one

There was silence for a moment, filled only by the distant sound of the rain. Then Flora gave a forlorn shrug. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

Alice could hardly comprehend the idea; Flora always struck her as such a child herself that the possibility of her having her own. “Have you taken a test yet?” she asked eventually. Flora shook her head. Alice reached out and gently brushed hair out of her eyes. “You should. You need to know for sure.”

Flora nodded. It was clear from the tears filling her blue eyes that whatever the outcome, this was not an event to be celebrated.

“And you haven’t talked to Stefan?” Alice tried to draw out more.

“No.” Flora’s voice was small. She lifted her head. “He…he’s always wanted them. Children, I mean.” She let out a sniffle. “His parents split up when he was younger too, so we were going to have one of our own. A family. Without anyone leaving, or giving up, or changing their minds.” Her voice twisted on the last part, and Alice could picture it perfectly: Flora, at twenty-one, wanting so badly to have the security she’d never known, and Stefan, sturdy and solid and adoring, wanting nothing more than to give it to her.

Alice shifted closer, until she could put her arm around Flora’s shoulders and rub in slow, soothing strokes. “Even if you are pregnant, you don’t have to go through with it.”

Flora curled against her. “I…I couldn’t.”

“I did.”

Flora drew back, staring up at her with obvious surprise. “An abortion?” She paused for a long moment before venturing, “Was it…with James?”

Alice shook her head. “No, before him. I was about your age,” she realized, remembering the panic of those little blue lines and the relief—oh, the relief she’d felt when it was over. “It was all very straightforward, once I’d made my mind up.” She spoke quietly, staring over Flora’s head at the dark center of the fire. “I didn’t even tell anyone. I don’t know why not.”

Flora pulled the blanket up around them. “Maybe…” The word came out a whisper. “It’s just…I always said I wouldn’t turn out like her.”

It took Alice a moment to understand whom she meant. “Jasmine?”

Flora nodded against her. “I said I wouldn’t put myself first, and do what I wanted, never mind…Never mind what it meant for everyone else.”

“Sounds familiar,” Alice murmured, thinking of her own mother and the way her eyes would drift past Alice to other, better things. “There isn’t anyone else though, not yet,” she reminded her. “And Stefan would understand. He’d do anything for you.”

Flora swallowed. “But we made plans. I said this was what I wanted.”

“Is it?”

The question went unanswered as the flames slowly died to glowing embers and then began to fade out altogether. The women snuggled on the floor in the middle of a vast mound of blankets and mismatched crocheted throws. Alice found a few more logs and a twist or two of newspaper, applying a liberal splash of that lighter fuel until it was crackling merrily again. She grew sleepy, lulled by the silence and strange sense of isolation cloaking the cottage—as if they were children, buried deep in a makeshift fort. London, and the mess of her own life, seemed blissfully far away.

“Why don’t you show those paintings?” Alice asked, at last, when they were lying side by side. “The angry ones, I mean. I think they’re beautiful. Vaguely disturbing,” she added with a wry laugh, “but beautiful.”

She felt Flora sigh next to her. “Those were just…experimenting. Nobody was supposed to see.”

“But they’re good!” Alice insisted. “You can’t just keep hiding them away, not when you’re capable of so much more. And that art residency, in Florence, those paintings would win it for you, I’m sure.”

Flora’s body tensed, just slightly. “I’m not applying for that, I told you. It’s not worth it.”

“Why not?” Alice probed. This wasn’t just about the pregnancy, she could tell. That portfolio she’d seen stretched much further back. Years, even. “You’re too young to just settle into a routine—you can travel, try new things…”