Alice was superexcited about her appointment with Julian and Riley. Since Bunty’s arrival her days tended to blend into one, all similarly filled with baby-focused activities—baby swim, baby massage, baby yoga, and endless conversations with other mothers about developmental milestones, sleep routines, teething, and weaning. Alice could feel her identity slipping away from her, to the point where she was just an appendage—either Bunty’s mother or Max’s wife. Except online. Online, she was still @aliceinwonderland.
She watched Julian and Riley approaching. Riley had a walk that was more suited to strolling along a beach than a London pavement. He was too exuberant and sunny to be caged up in a city. Or perhaps she just thought that because she’d read his story. It was strange knowing more about someone than you should. Julian, meanwhile, was spectacular. Like a bird of paradise, he could never be caged.
“Julian! You’re even better dressed today than yesterday!” she said.
“You are too, too kind, dear girl,” he replied, and he actually picked up her hand and kissed it. She thought that only happened in movies. “This is the exact silk Nehru jacket worn by Sean Connery in Dr. No. 1962. It goes particularly well with these crocodile brogues, don’t you think?”
“Was Sean a great friend of yours too?” asked Riley. A little tetchily, Alice thought.
“No, no. Just a passing acquaintance. I bought it in a charity auction,” Julian replied.
“Please, please, can I take some photos?” she asked. Julian seemed delighted, leaning against a lamppost, looking suave. He even pulled some Ray-Ban Aviators out of his inside jacket pocket and put them on. Keith sat next to him, looking equally dapper in a bow tie.
“Much as I hate to break up the fashion show,” said Riley, who wasn’t getting into the swing of things at all, “can you tell us why we’re here?”
“Well,” she said, “you probably don’t know, but I am an influencer.”
“A what?” said both Julian and Riley, in harmony.
“I have over a hundred thousand followers.” Julian looked around, as if expecting to see a crowd of people tailing after her. “On Instagram,” she clarified. This was going to be hard work. Did she have to start her explanation with the invention of the World Wide Web? “You must do Insta, Riley?”
“Nah. Instagram’s all pointless pictures of skinny people doing yoga poses at sunset, isn’t it?”
“Well, there is some of that, admittedly, but there’s a lot more to it than that,” replied Alice, trying not to be offended. “For example, this house”—she waved at the large, Victorian terraced house in front of them—“was left to a local charity when its owner died. It’s been turned into a free childcare center for the children of local women who are doing rehab for drug and alcohol addiction. Women often refuse to seek help because they worry their children will be taken into care. This house will help them keep custody while they sort themselves out. And the volunteers make sure the children are being properly looked after—fed, clothed, washed, and, crucially, played with. It’s called Mummy’s Little Helper.”
“That’s so cool,” said Riley. “So, do you work here?”
“Well, not exactly,” said Alice. “They’re throwing a few fund-raising events, and I’ve been promoting them on @aliceinwonderland.” Noticing their blank expressions, she added, “My Instagram account. You see, one post from me can lead to thousands of pounds of donations. So it’s not all downward dogs at dawn.” She realized she was sounding a little petulant.
“Why are we here?” asked Riley, for the second time. “D’you need a hand with a bake sale?”
“Ha! No. We have lots of local mums on hand for that kind of thing. And actually, I don’t need Julian at all—he’s just here to pretty the place up. It’s you I need, Riley. Come in and I’ll show you.” Riley rather enjoyed the sensation of being needed. Julian rather enjoyed the sensation of being pretty. Alice rang the bell and a matronly-looking lady with a bosom like a car bumper opened the door. “Lizzie, this is Riley and Julian,” said Alice.
“Oh yes, come in! I’ve been expecting you. Please ignore the mess. And the noise. And the smell! I was in the middle of a nappy change.” This was rather too much information for Julian, who had gone a little green and avoided shaking her hand. “Oh, sorry,” said Lizzie, “I’m afraid you can’t bring a dog in here.”
“Keith is not a dog,” said Julian. Lizzie gave him a look that could silence a whole room of rowdy toddlers. “He’s my carer,” he continued, undeterred. “Tell you what, I’ll carry him, then he won’t even touch the floor.” Without even waiting for an answer, Julian popped Keith under his arm and walked in. Alice wondered if the fart Keith delivered on his way past Lizzie was deliberately timed. She wouldn’t be surprised. That dog was more malevolent than he looked.
The walls of the hallway were covered with children’s paintings, “Old MacDonald” was playing in the next-door room, and there was a cacophony of singing, banging, and wailing. There was an extraordinary odor of Play-Doh, mixed with poster paint, cleaning products, and the offending nappy.
“Come right through,” said Alice, taking them into the kitchen at the back. “This is why you’re here.” She gestured at the French doors into the garden. The garden was a jungle. The grass was a foot high and the flower beds were so overgrown with giant weeds that it was difficult to see if there were any actual shrubs or flowers there at all. A rambling rose had rambled amok, creating a wall of thorns like the one protecting Sleeping Beauty.
“Wow,” said Riley, which was exactly the reaction Alice had hoped for. “I’m a gardener, y’know.”
“Durrrr. I’ve read the book, remember. I know you’re a gardener. That’s why you’re here,” replied Alice. “We can’t even let the children out there at the moment—health and safety nightmare.”
“You should talk to Monica about that,” said Riley. “Health and safety is, like, her thing.”
“Riley’s right,” said Julian, as if he were competing to show who knew grumpy Monica the best. “If Monica were on Mastermind, it would definitely be her specialist subject.”
Good grief. How on earth can health and safety regulations be anyone’s thing? Alice decided not to comment. They were obviously both very fond of Monica.
“Most of our children don’t have any outside space at home, and it would be amazing if we could turn this into a proper garden, maybe with a Wendy house and a sand pit. What do you think?”
“I can’t wait to get started!” said Riley, who was flexing his hands as if imagining digging the beds already.
“I’m afraid we can’t pay you,” she said, “and it’s going to take a while, because we don’t have much in the way of funds for gardening equipment and plants. The local gardening center might give us some for free, with a bit of luck.”
“This is where I can help!” said Julian, who’d obviously been feeling a little left out. “Riley, I am happy to donate all my share of the proceeds from our eBay project to the garden budget!” He looked rather pleased with himself, like a benevolent uncle dispensing boiled sweets at a birthday party.
“You can’t do that!” protested Riley. “You’re a pensioner! You need that cash.”
“Don’t be silly, dear chap. I’m not surviving on the state pension. I made a lot of money back in the day. I have investments that provide more than enough for me to live on. It would be my pleasure.” He beamed at them. And they beamed back.
“Old MacDonald had a farm!” came the cry from the front room.
“E-I-E-I-O,” chorused Riley.