Page 1 of The Reality of Us
1
The warning lights on the dash blurred as Alice blinked, her newly ringless left hand swiping at the tears threatening to spill. She sucked in a few deep breaths. Crying wouldn’t achieve anything other than ruining her smoky eye make-up. And today wasn’t the day to try and make the sad clown look popular.
Alice fiddled with the radio, desperate to find a pounding beat to drown out her thoughts, but the plastic knob snapped off. Heavy static saturated the air like humidity right before a summer storm. She tossed the broken piece into the backseat, where the remnants of her old life swallowed it whole. Half her wardrobe was shoved into suitcases and bin bags in the back of the old Volvo AWD she’d inherited from her grandfather.
Alice drove on, the white noise somehow magically speeding up to mimic the way her heart rate increased every time she glanced at Google Maps. Not because she was worried about getting lost on a straight road with no traffic, which, okay, fine, had happened before, but rather because of the banner notifications rolling across the top of the screen. The avalanche of missed calls, text messages and social media alerts made her empty stomach roll. Two years ago, this would’ve filled her with joy. Now she just wanted to hide.
Her mother’s piercing gaze flashed up on the screen—again—but she let the call ring out. What was the point in answering when she knew how the conversation would go? Marguerite Aspinall would demand Alice return to Melbourne and follow whatever plan her parents had decided on, like they always did when she messed up. Then Alice would lash out and say something she’d end up regretting. They’d been doing this dance for twenty-four years.
When Alice couldn’t take the buzzing any longer, her fingers itching to tear her hair out of its elaborate crown braid, she pulled over. The car bumped off the smooth bitumen onto the loose dirt and gravel, and Alice killed the engine.
Silence—blissful nothingness—surrounded her. She threw the door open. The dusky coolness of the mid-April evening settled against her bare legs. Her phone lit up again, her brother’s big brown eyes and watermelon-sized grin appearing. Her finger hovered over the accept icon. Maybe if she told him she was fine, her family would leave her be? Dougie was also the least likely to say, “I told you so”. He’d think it, sure, but he wouldn’t verbalise the thought, something neither of her parents was capable of. And if he did say something, his boyfriend Rico would be there to run interference.
Alice answered the video call with a heavy sigh. “Hey.”
“Thank God!” Rico crowed, pushing Dougie out of the shot. “Where are you? Are you okay? Obviously, you’re not okay. That asshole …”
“I’m …” Alice’s puffy, red eyes were still dangerously close to sad-clown territory.
“Come over. We’ll eat carbs, drink an appropriately dry white wine and plot Fuckface’s demise,” Rico said.
“You think I could talk to my sister?” Dougie reappeared on the screen. “I’ve spoken to Mum and Dad. They’ve got a plan.”
No surprises there.
“And I’d be happy to help you get a divorce. All free of charge for my favourite sister, of course,” Dougie said.
Alice rolled her eyes. She was his only sister. Telling her brother, the mega-successful lawyer, just what a train wreck she was didn’t appeal. She looked out across the vast, open plains. Some distance right now was a good idea. “I need a few days. To figure out what I’m going to do. And be alone.”
“No, Alley Cat.” Dougie was busting out the big guns using Alice’s childhood nickname, ignoring that she’d always hated it. Who wants to be called something that skulks around dark places filled with rubbish? “Let us handle this for you. Please? You know Mum and Dad will feel better if they can help.”
If Alice had a dollar for every time she’d done something to make someone else happy, she’d never have been tempted to make the bad decision that led to this mess in the first place.
“We’ll make sure you’re protected. Is your laptop handy? Can you flick me all your financial information?”
She could imagine Dougie’s face if he saw her and Phoenix’s bank statements. But first, she’d have to know how to access them. They’d lived an extravagant lifestyle, and that shit wasn’t cheap. Not that she’d ever really paid much attention to it. Alice had always been allergic to details.
“I just need a few days to get my head together.”
As soon as she hung up, her phone rang again. Phoenix’s haunting blue eyes replaced her brother’s face, and she tossed her mobile onto the dash.
Pushing out of her seat, despite the protest from her heavy limbs and heart, Alice squinted across the fields scattered with gum trees, weathered sheds that slumped sideways and feeding troughs. Soon night would swallow the dusty ground and the property fences made from wooden posts with rows of wire strung between them.
Alice shivered, rubbing her arms. Now everyone knew about all the lies, she’d have to be honest. Admit she went along with it. The thought of confessing the truth made her stomach twist, and she sucked her bottom lip into her mouth, smeared lipstick be damned. Her carefully curated appearance suddenly seemed so trivial … so stupid. Her fitted top sprinkled with tiny sequins was as much of a joke as she was. She should put on a pair of jeans and a plain shirt. And Alice never felt like wearing jeans and a plain shirt, even if it was organic cotton. Well, maybe organic cotton with a sweet flutter sleeve. But the sleeve would have to be really cute. She’d always been so careful about making sure the Alice Aspinall everyone saw was the one she desperately wanted to be. Which was no help now that everything had gone to hell.
A large green road sign for Wattle Junction stood out like a beacon, and Alice smoothed her hands over her tutu skirt, pulled at a loose thread and bent over to wipe the road dust off her favourite rose gold brogues. Now the initial adrenaline dump was behind her, all she wanted to do was sleep. Wattle Junction it was, then.
Once she was buckled back in, she ignored the low battery warning on her phone and a quick internet search revealed there were rooms available at the Wattle Junction Hotel. Two minutes later, she had the skeleton of a plan and a booking confirmation thanks to her parents’ emergency credit card.
Alice turned the key in the ignition, and the car clicked once … twice … before the engine whimpered pitifully and died. She thumped her hands against the steering wheel. What else could go wrong?
She’d have to call Rico, beg him to drive all the way out here to rescue her and then not tell Dougie. Another Google News alert flashed up on her phone, and Alice froze.
Married Rockstar Live Streams Sex Fest with Mistress.
Her finger hovered above the link, and then her phone died.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the last bit of colour leaching from the day, Alice threw her car door open and screamed at the sky.
