12. Alicia

BEFORE

"You girls had better hurry," Miss Fairchild said, "or you'll be late for school."

They were sitting at the breakfast table, which had been laid with bowls and spoons. Miss Fairchild sat at the head of the table, dressed and ready for the day in a floral skirt, white blouse and pearly pink lipstick. Her fingernails and toenails were both painted peach, and her hair was wavy with the exception of her bangs, which were blown-out straight.

"What time does school start?" Alicia asked, eating faster in case they had to leave before she was finished.

Alicia had spent the night before trying to ignore her rumbling tummy so she could get to sleep. When she did drift off, she dreamed of eating an ice-cream sundae the size of a basketball.

"Eight thirty," Miss Fairchild said. "But it's a forty-five-minute walk."

Alicia nearly regurgitated her breakfast. Forty-five minutes! It was already scorching hot outside and it wasn't even eight in the morning. At home, if the weather was even slightly too warm or too cold, Grammy insisting on driving her to school, which was a five-minute walk at most.

"The exercise will be good for you, Alicia," Miss Fairchild said pointedly.

Alicia's cheeks burned. Jessica and Norah didn't laugh, which was kind, but their obvious discomfort was nearly as bad.

Norah and Jessica walked as slowly as they could to accommodate her, but Alicia was still faint and had three blisters by the time they arrived at school. A little voice in Alicia's head wondered if maybe, just maybe, Miss Fairchild was right. Maybe Grammy had been overindulging her. She didn't clean, she was driven to school, she could eat whatever she pleased. Maybe she really was… what had Miss Fairchild said?… a little glutton.

At school, Jessica took Alicia to the office, where she filled out some paperwork. Then she was placed in a composite class with Jessica and Norah. On the walk to school she'd discovered there were eighteen months between them—Jessica was the oldest at thirteen, Alicia in the middle at twelve and a half, and Norah, eleven, was the youngest. The reverse order of their heights, Norah noted.

It was interesting, observing Norah and Jessica in this environment. They were, Alicia surmised, neither cool nor uncool. Norah was incredibly smart, and extremely hot-blooded—being sent out of the classroom twice in the morning alone: once for calling Matt Trotman a dickhead ("he is one") and another time for pushing Anthony White Reynolds off his chair (which she claimed was an accident but definitely wasn't).

Jessica, while not as smart as Norah, had her hand up much of the time, and was the very opposite of Norah's turbulence; she was the first to get her books out, or volunteer to be library monitor, or answer a question. Alicia, who had always been a solidly average student and comfortable with that—likely because of Grammy's incessant cheerleading—suddenly found herself feeling suddenly insecure about it. Is there anything you are good at? a little voice said. Not cleaning. Not sport. Not studies. You're not the most attractive, the most talented, or the most helpful. What, exactly, is the point of you?

By the time lunchtime came around, Alicia was starving and thoroughly miserable. In the canteen area, most people gathered in groups. Alicia looked around for Norah and Jessica, assuming they'd sit together, but when she saw them sitting separately and alone, neither of them so much as glancing in her direction, Alicia wandered outside and sat on the first step she found. Miserable as she was, she needed to eat. She didn't have high hopes for her lunch, which had been made by Miss Fairchild, but when she opened her lunch bag and found two rice crackers and a small, sad-looking apple, she thought she might cry.

The only thing that kept her going was the knowledge that there would be a message waiting for her from Grammy when she got home. There had to be. Grammy would be worried sick about her, desperate to know how she was getting on. When Alicia told her what it was like with Miss Fairchild, Grammy would move heaven and earth to get her out of there. And then Alicia could leave this whole experience at Wild Meadows behind her, like the bad dream that it was.

There was no message from Grammy. On top of the disappointment of it, she felt humiliated, even a little annoyed. Why hadn't Grammy called?

There would be a reasonable explanation; there had to be. But try as she might, Alicia couldn't figure it out. Grammy would have a phone in her room—and even if she didn't, surely she could ask a nurse to ring? She'd be anxious about Alicia being placed into foster care. She'd want to know that Alicia was all right. Her silence didn't make sense.

"Would it be all right if I called the hospital?" Alicia asked Miss Fairchild finally. She'd done her homework and finished her chores and couldn't hold back, even if the prospect of approaching Miss Fairchild made her want to throw up.

Miss Fairchild, who was dusting the mantelpiece, looked irritated at the interruption. "You heard what your social worker said," she said briskly. "She'll call when there is news." She resumed dusting.

"I know. It's just… I thought she would have rung by now."

Miss Fairchild stopped dusting and sighed before turning back. "Your grandmother is in hospital, Alicia," she said, enunciating every word clearly. "How is she going to get better if you don't leave her alone? It's not easy looking after a child. It's even harder, I imagine, if you're an old woman. All that cooking, cleaning, running around. Can you blame her for wanting to switch off for a little while? Who knows," she muttered, turning back to the mantel, "maybe Grammy is enjoying her little vacation away from you?"

Alicia felt like she'd been slapped.

"No," Alicia said, even as a little voice in her head said: She's right. "She's not enjoying it. She'll be worried about me. Wondering how I'm doing."

But Alicia was starting to doubt so many things. Maybe she was wrong about Grammy?

"If that's the case," Miss Fairchild said, "I can think of only one reason she hasn't got in touch."

Like a fool, Alicia was about to ask what it was. Then it dawned on her.

Miss Fairchild turned back to the mantel, dusting more vigorously now. The hem of her floral skirt bounced rhythmically.

Once again, Alicia's eyes filled with tears.

Where are you, Grammy? Come and get me. Please.

When Alicia climbed into bed that night, she felt something crunch underneath her.

"What on earth?" She fished between the sheets and found a small packet of barbecue shapes.

In the semidarkness, Alicia saw two pairs of eyes gleaming.

"Did you guys leave these here?" she whispered.

Jessica shrugged. "You looked like you needed them."

Alicia did need them. Dinner had been soup with no bread and no croutons. At home, it would have been a starter. She tore open the packet of biscuits and stuffed them in her mouth a few at a time.

"But where did they come from?"

"We have our ways," Norah said, propping herself on one elbow.

"Thank you," Alicia said through a mouthful of crumbs. "It means a lot."

"So, Alicia," Norah said, "do you know any more jokes?"

Alicia swallowed. "Only about a million," she said, before pouring the remains of the packet into her mouth.

"Tell us," Norah said eagerly.

Alicia lay back against the pillow. "Why does the man eat shoe polish before he goes to sleep?" she asked.

"Why?" the girls asked in unison. Even Jessica looked eager, eyes fixed on Alicia.

"So he can rise and shine!"

Jessica rolled her eyes and let out a soft ha. Thirty seconds later, Norah laughed. "Another."

"What do you call a sleepwalking nun?" Alicia asked.

"What?"

"A roamin' Catholic."

"More!"

Alicia continued. With each joke, the length of time between the punch line and Norah's laughter reduced. Slightly. And while Jessica didn't laugh out loud, she was grinning broadly, hardly glancing toward the door anymore. It wasn't much, but after the day she'd had, Alicia was prepared to call it a win.

Another week passed and still Alicia heard nothing from Grammy. The only thing distracting her from worry was her hunger. She spent her days obsessing about her next meal and planning what she would eat once she was home at Grammy's. She spent her nights trying to sleep through the rumble in her belly.

Norah and Jessica slipped her something every now and again—apparently they were running a homework racket that earned them some money and extra food—but it wasn't enough. They seemed to cope with the hunger much better than she did. Alicia's interior voice reminded her of this often. She was the only one who had the problem. She was a glutton. It undid her after a while—the hunger, the self-loathing. She became cranky, teary. Desperate.

One night, as she lay in bed unable to sleep, her hunger overcame her. She couldn't relax, couldn't think straight. It was as close as Alicia had ever come to feeling possessed—one minute she was lying in bed, the next she was out of bed and creeping downstairs in the darkness.

In the kitchen, she threw open every cupboard, every drawer. It wasn't rational. She knew Miss Fairchild didn't stock snacks—no Pop-Tarts, or crisps, or Savoy biscuits—but hope was a cruel thing. She fantasized about stumbling across a stash of hidden treats that had been forgotten. When she didn't find one, she settled for a box of cornflakes, stuffing great handfuls into her mouth. Finally she tipped her head back and poured the cereal straight into her mouth, trying to fill the ravenous hole inside.

It was only when the box was empty that she considered the consequences of her actions.

Miss Fairchild was right. She was a glutton.

She did her best to clean up the spillage, then crept back upstairs and slid back into bed. When the girls roused, she ignored their questions, too ashamed to tell them what she'd done. Besides, they'd know soon enough.

Miss Fairchild was waiting at the table when they came down the next morning, showered, and dressed and made-up, with not a hair out of place. The expression on her face was enough to make Alicia want to puke. Norah and Jessica sat in their usual spots, looking confused. The empty box of cereal was on the table.

"Someone had a midnight feast, I see," Miss Fairchild said, her voice soft.

Alicia had never longed for Grammy more in her life. She slid into her seat and hung her head. "I'm sorry."

"You made quite the mess of the pantry," Miss Fairchild continued. "What did you eat with, a shovel?"

Alicia assumed it was a rhetorical question, but when she didn't respond Miss Fairchild repeated herself. "Alicia? I said what did you eat with?"

"I didn't use anything," she said, her hands trembling. "I just… tipped the cornflakes into my mouth."

"Disgusting," Miss Fairchild said. "You are disgusting."

The wait to find out what was going to happen next was agonizing. The room was deathly quiet, apart from Jessica's panicked breathing. Norah looked less panicked, more resigned.

At last, Miss Fairchild pushed back her chair abruptly and stalked over to the pantry, retrieving a tin of baked beans. "Well," she said, "since you're not a fan of using utensils to eat, I will stop providing them. Crockery too. And don't think I'm going to let you get my tablecloth dirty."

She wrenched the lid off the beans, animated now, the blue veins pulsing in her neck.

Alicia didn't understand. Was Miss Fairchild going to make her eat beans straight from the tin? Alicia was still coming to terms with the idea of that when Miss Fairchild upended the tin and spilled beans all over the polished kitchen floor.

Alicia let out a gasp. So did Jessica. Norah closed her eyes.

"Go on," Miss Fairchild said, her mouth twisting into a perverse sort of smile. "I'm sure you're hungry. Don't let it go to waste!"

"You want me to eat off the floor?" Alicia stammered, beginning to cry. It was the shock of it as much as the humiliation.

"Why not? You seem to prefer eating like an animal." Miss Fairchild pulled Alicia from her seat and pushed her onto her knees. "So do it."

By the time Alicia lowered her head to the floor, she was sobbing so hard she thought she might be sick.

You deserve this, the little voice whispered to her. You are disgusting.

She slurped a mouthful of beans from the floor.

"And don't be leaving any behind," Miss Fairchild said, looming over her. "We've wasted enough food today already!"