‘Why not?’ says Mum. ‘I keep saying I should go on it.’
I watch the four of them step through the double doors into the glass pod. It reminds me of Stephen Spielberg’s Close Encounters movie. My family have now been abducted by aliens and when they return they will be different people.
While I wait, I buy an ice cream, which I share with Chloe as we sit on a nearby bench. The sun hangs low in the sky and I angle the buggy so that Chloe is not facing into the breeze. The ride takes about twenty minutes and as the pod slowly descends, I walk over and wait near the doors.
Mum and Hannah emerge first, holding each other’s hands. I’m not sure who is helping who down the steps. Hannah sees me and a huge smile spreads across her face. ‘It was great, Mum!’ she shouts as she negotiates the last of the steps.
Behind them are Luke and Alice. They both look over and smile. By all accounts the ride has been a great success. Alice stumbles slightly on the steps. I give a small gasp – it’s the mother in me, I’m sure, as I envisage her falling flat on her face. Luckily, she manages to grab onto Luke to stop herself.
Alice holds onto Luke’s arm as they descend the remaining steps. She’s still holding onto him as they walk towards me. I watch as she leans into him, says something and they both laugh again.
I’ve never been the jealous type. Never had to be, I suppose, but today some strange sort of feeling stirs within my stomach and shoulder-charges my heart. I suddenly have this proprietorial basic instinct surge up within me. I’m not sure why, maybe it’s the way Alice looks so at ease with Luke, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world for her to be linking arms with him. Whatever it is, I don’t like it. Alice looks up and we make eye contact. Outwardly, I can feel my mouth moving into a smile. Inwardly, my face has contorted into something resembling the Incredible Hulk.
Alice returns the smile and drops her hand away from Luke’s arm. ‘That was just totally awesome, Clare,’ she says as they near me. ‘I have never been on anything like that before. You should have come.’
‘I have done it once before with Luke,’ I say. I move the buggy into his path. ‘Here, you push.’ I tell myself it’s because Chloe likes it when Luke pushes her. I slip my arm through Alice’s as we walk along the seafront, the wind whipping our hair around our faces.
Alice scoops her hair to one side and gives a shiver. ‘Much as I love being here, I do miss the Florida sunshine.’
I laugh. ‘By British weather standards, this is good for mid-October. You’ll have to get used to it.’
‘I should have brought some more suitable clothing.’
‘I can lend you a jumper or two,’ I say. ‘We’re pretty much the same size.’
‘Like twins,’ says Alice.
‘When you were little you always wanted to dress up in my clothes,’ I say, thinking back. The recent memory of the mushroom incident comes to mind again. ‘Do you remember when we had a teddy bear’s picnic in the back garden and you were sick all down a pink-and-white-striped t-shirt of mine you were wearing?’
‘Yes, I do!’ says Alice. ‘The T-shirt was more like a dress on me.’
‘That’s right, we put a belt around the middle. And all the sick got caught in the buckle. It was disgusting.’
‘I ate way too much candy that day,’ says Alice.
‘Candy? No, it was mushrooms. I gave you mushrooms and they made you sick.’
‘Oh, really? Sorry, it was a long time ago.’
‘You wouldn’t eat mushrooms after that and Mum couldn’t understand it. She thought it was the berries that had made you sick.’ I really want Alice to remember. It’s one of my strongest memories from our childhood; a secret we had shared and kept. ‘Don’t you remember at all?’ I persisted. ‘And what about now – do you eat mushrooms now?’ This time I find myself willing Alice to say she hates mushrooms, at least that will substantiate my memory and even if she doesn’t recall the incident, it will give some sort of validation.
‘Sorry, but I do like mushrooms. Don’t beat yourself up about it, Clare, it obviously didn’t cause me any lasting psychological damage. And, just to prove there’s no hard feelings, I’ll buy you a new T-shirt.’ Alice gives a laugh and hugs my arm closer to her, which I know would normally be a natural gesture between sisters, somehow feels awkward – almost too intimate.
We carry on our walk along the pier as I muse over how different people can have the same experience and yet totally different memories. I’d hoped Alice and I would have at least one or two shared memories, something to bond over, to give us a starting block on which to rebuild our sisterhood. While it makes me sad to think we haven’t found that yet, and despite what I said to Mum about Alice being too young to remember things, I can’t help wondering if there is anything she does remember. Surely there’d be something, wouldn’t there?