that was OK.
Of course the hospital would have to be Royal North Shore.
I always feel as though I have swallowed something huge when I drive into that car park. Itâs shaped like an anchor, this thing Iâve swallowed, and it goes straight down my throat and stretches out on either side of my belly.
Another thing: the sky always seems so huge, like a big empty shell. Why is that? I must always look up as Iâm driving in, or maybe itâs something to do with me feeling tiny and useless, or maybe itâs just simple geography for heavenâs sake, and the road goes up before it dips down into the car park.
Iâm here for Alice, I reminded myself when I got out of the car.
But everywhere I looked I could see old versions of Ben and me. We haunt the place. If you ever go there, Dr. Hodges, keep an eye out for us. There weâll be, shuffling down the pathway along the side of the hospital back toward the car park on a sunny ice-cold day, me in that unflattering hippie skirt that I keep wearing because it doesnât need ironing, and Iâm holding Benâs hand, letting him lead me, looking at the ground and chanting my mantra, âDonât think about it. Donât think about it. Donât think about it.â Youâll see us standing at the reception desk filling in forms and Ben is close behind me, rubbing my lower back in tiny circles and I feel like the circles are somehow keeping me breathing, in, out, in, out, like a ventilator. There we are, squashed into the back of the lift with an excited family, their arms overflowing with flowers and âItâs a girl!â balloons. We both have our arms wrapped protectively around our stomachs in exactly the same way, as if weâre hugging ourselves close, so all that joy canât hurt us.
You told me the other week that this doesnât define me, but it does , Dr. Hodges, it just does.
As I walked along the echoey corridors (clop, clop, clop, went my heels, and the smell , well, you probably know that horrible boiled-potato smell, Dr. Hodges, the way it floods your sinuses with memories of every other hospital visit), I ignored the badly dressed ghosts of hospital visits past and concentrated on Alice and wondered if she was still thinking it was 1998, and if so, what that would be like. The only thing I could compare it to was the one time when I was a teenager and got horribly drunk at a twenty-first party and stood up and gave a long, loving toast to the birthday boy, whom I had never met before that night. The next day, I didnât remember a thing about it, nothing, not even shadowy snippets. Apparently I used the word âpaucityâ in my speech, and that disturbed me, because I didnât think my sober self had ever said that word out loud before and I wasnât even entirely sure what it meant. I never got drunk like that again. Iâm too much of a control freak to have other people falling about laughing while they describe my own actions to me.
If I couldnât stand losing two hours of my memory, what would it be like to lose ten years?
As I looked for Aliceâs ward number, I had a sudden memory of Mum and Frannie and me, giddy with excitement, just like that family in the lift, practically running through the corridors of another hospital looking for Aliceâs room when Madison was born. We happened to see Nick in the distance, walking along ahead of us, and we all shrieked, âNick!â and he turned around and while he waited for us to catch up, he ran around in circles on the spot, and did a two-fisted punch in the air like Rocky, and Frannie said fondly, âHeâs such a card!â and I was dating that patronizing town planner at the time and I decided right then and there to break up with him, because Frannie would never call him a card.
If Alice had really lost every memory of the last ten years, I thought, then she would have no memory of that day, or of Madison as