‘Yes! Classic Alice!’
They both shrieked with laughter.
‘I like that old brown thing she wears with the funny belt.’
‘The one that looks like a bear has died on top of her?’
They shrieked again, flushed toilets, ran some taps and left.
Alice waited a few moments before leaving the safety of her cubicle. She was very attached to her grey cardigan. It was a good practical one with a lot of wear in it yet but she had to admit that it probably wasn’t the most attractive look for a young woman of twenty-eight with its overlong sleeves and baggy middle.
She looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. Her face was pale and her brown hair fell straight down to her shoulders, neat and unremarkable. Her blue eyes were the only feature really worth any notice but she never drew attention to them, choosing to hide them behind large dark-framed glasses when she was in the office and never bothering with the likes of eyeliner or mascara.
She often wondered what she would look like with a makeover. She liked to watch that programme on the television where they take a hopeless case with a terrible haircut and a baggy jumper and turned them into a glamour queen. She would probably qualify for that show, she thought, looking at the bobbly grey cardigan and her sensible, flat shoes.
As she returned to her desk, she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to be one of those women who knew what clothes to wear and how to have their hair. What was it like to have the ability to turn heads and make a man fall in love with you?
Alice sighed. Once – just once – she’d love to know what it felt like to be beautiful.
‘You know what your trouble is, Alice?’
Alice wasn’t sure that she wanted to know but she was quite sure that Stella was going to tell her.
‘You just don’t make an effort. I mean look at you!’ her sister said, pointing an admonishing finger at Alice’s ensemble. ‘Grey!’ She spat the word out as if it left a nasty taste in her mouth.
‘There’s nothing wrong with grey. It’s very fashionable at the moment.’
‘Not like that it isn’t!’
Alice self-consciously pulled at her bobbly cardigan and watched as Stella flopped onto the sofa opposite her and stuck her spoon into a carton of ice cream.
‘Anyway,’ Stella continued through a mouthful of double chocolate chip, ‘what are you doing here?’
Alice took a deep breath, knowing how the following conversation was likely to go.
‘It’s Dad’s birthday in a couple of weeks and I wondered—’
‘His birthday? Oh, I completely forgot!’ Stella said.
‘You forgot last year too.’
‘I was busy.’
‘And the year before that.’
‘Don’t be a bore, Alice. God, you’re worse than a mother.’
For a moment, the two sisters sat in silence, remembering the mother who had been so cruelly taken away from them when Alice had been just twelve years old and Stella only eight.
‘I’m sorry – I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s all right,’ Alice said. ‘I shouldn’t really nag you like that.’ Stella stuck her spoon into the carton of ice cream again, thinking she’d got away with it, but Alice wasn’t going to let her off so easily.
‘So what are we going to do?’ Alice asked.
‘About what?’
‘About Dad’s birthday!’
Stella shrugged and kept her eyes down, resolutely refusing to meet Alice’s.
‘We have to do something. It’s not every day that you’re seventy,’ Alice pressed.
‘God, it’s so disgusting having a seventy-year-old father,’ Stella said. ‘What was Mum thinking of?’
‘She was in love with him,’ Alice said, ‘and it’s just as well for us that she was or we wouldn’t have been born, and he wasn’t that old when he had us. Not for a man, at least.’
‘I think it’s horrible how men can go on having babies until they’re ancient.’
‘But Dad was only in his forties when he had us. That’s not old these days and neither is seventy any more.’ Alice paused and took a deep breath. ‘Anyway, I was thinking we could visit him.’
‘Oh, Alice!’ Stella said. ‘You know I hate that horrible place! It smells of disinfectant and old people.’
‘You’ll smell like that one day too,’ Alice said.
‘Don’t be foul!’
‘Anyway, we needn’t be at the home for long because I was thinking of taking him out somewhere.’
‘Taking him out? What, in public?’ Stella said, a look of shock on her face.
‘He’s still able to enjoy a day out by the sea and an ice cream. He’s not dead yet, you know!’
‘He might as well be. He’s brain dead.’
‘No, he’s not!’
‘Well, he is whenever I visit,’ Stella said.
‘And when did you last visit?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t keep a written record like you obviously do. You always were the favourite, anyway.’
‘How can you say that? You’re the one with the house!’ Alice pointed out, looking up at the lofty ceiling of the Victorian semi’s living room.
‘Oh, you’re begrudging me the house, are you?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘I thought you said you wanted your own place.’
‘I do want my own place, Stella. I just want you to see Dad once in a while. I thought we could take him to the seaside. He always loved the sea.’ For a moment, Alice remembered the endless bucket and spade holidays they used to go on as a family. From Great Yarmouth to Blackpool, from Skegness to Brighton, they would laugh their way round the coastline of Britain, making wonky castles in the sand and eating mountains of candy floss. ‘It really is the least we can do for him.’
‘But it’ll be so cold,’ Stella said with a theatrical shiver.
‘So, we’ll wrap up!’
‘How are you going to get there?’
‘Well, Sam at the home has offered to drive us to the station.’
‘The train station? With his chair?’
‘Of course with his chair. He can’t walk very far these days.’
‘Oh, God! I really don’t fancy it!’ Stella said.
‘I know you don’t but can’t you think beyond yourself for once?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I mean, can’t you think about Dad for a change and how much he’d love to see us both together and spend a day with us – a day away from the home?’
Stella wrinkled her nose.
‘We really could use your car, actually,’ Alice said. ‘Dad did say we could share it, after all.’
‘Oh,