Don't Ask Alice by Judi Curtin Read Free Book Online Page A

looked like there had been an explosion.
    Mum had a funny look on her face, and her eyes were all kind of misty and sparkly.
    I ran over to her, worried.
    â€˜What’s wrong, Mum?’ I asked. ‘What’shappened?’
    I was relieved when she smiled.
    â€˜Nothing’s wrong, love,’ she said.
    â€˜Then why…?’ I pointed to the pile of photographs on the floor. ‘What…?’
    Mum gazed around her like she’d forgotten that she was sitting in the middle of a photograph mountain.
    â€˜Oh, that,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about that. I’m just happy.’
    What kind of a crazy mother was I stuck with?
    Â 
    Why couldn’t she dance around when she was happy, like normal people do?
    I picked up a photograph from the pile and glanced at it, wondering who those sad losers in the dodgy clothes could be. Then I looked again, as I slowly realised what I was looking at. I gulped hard, and looked one more time.
    It was a picture of Mum and Dad that must surely have been taken as a joke. Mum’s hair is almost down to her waist, in a big cascade ofdull, brown frizz. She has so much hair it’s a wonder she’s able to hold her head up straight. She’s wearing a huge, floaty, yellow dress that comes down to her ankles, making her look like an overgrown daffodil. Dad’s hair is long too, and greasy too by the look of it – it’s hanging down around his shoulders like lots of rats’ tails. Even worse, though, Dad’s actually wearing dungarees – big, baggy, denim dungarees – and he doesn’t even look embarrassed. He’s actually smiling and waving at the camera like he’s proud of himself. I made up my mind to slag him over the photo – if I ever got over the shock, that is.
    Mum took the photo from my hand and gazed at it. She spoke dreamily.
    â€˜Your dad and I were so happy then.’
    I giggled.
    â€˜Why? Was it because you were on your way to a fancy dress party, and you knew you had the funniest outfits?’
    â€˜Ha, ha. Very amusing,’ she said.
    I picked up some more photographs. They allseemed to be taken at around the same time, at some kind of a concert or festival. I couldn’t look at them for long. They were making me dizzy with their bright colours.
    â€˜When was this?’ I asked.
    Mum sighed a big, long, happy sigh.
    â€˜At the Foggy Mountain music festival – in Galway. Dad and I went there just after we got married. It was the best weekend of my whole life. And you’ll never guess what …’
    â€˜What? You got arrested by the fashion police?’
    She ignored my joke. (A pity, ’cause I thought it was quite funny.)
    â€˜I just heard on the radio that there’s going to be a Foggy Mountain reunion at the weekend. It’s so lucky I heard it. Imagine if I’d missed it!’
    â€˜Sorry, Mum,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t imagine anything as terrible as you not finding out about the Foggy Mountain reunion.’
    Mum kept talking.
    â€˜It’s going to be in the same place, and they’vegot some of the same bands coming to play. We’re going to go for the weekend. It’s time I let my hair down.’
    I put my hands over my face and screamed in mock fear.
    â€˜Not that. Anything but that. Promise me you won’t let your hair down.’
    Mum just kept talking like I hadn’t said a word – very strange. By now I should be getting her lecture on ‘showing respect for adults.’
    â€˜We’re going to camp in the same field where we camped twenty years ago,’ Mum said. ‘It’s going to be a real trip down memory lane.’
    â€˜You’d better be careful,’ I said. ‘Memory Lane sounds like it’s full of mad old hippies. It could be a real scary place.’
    Once again Mum ignored my joke. She looked at the first photograph again.
    â€˜I must look up in the attic. I think