Alana Oakley Read Online Free Page B

her pallid skin. Spots of funereal nail polish tripped over the keys of a computer in staccato. At Alana and Emma’s approach, the young woman paused.
    â€œCan I help you?” she said in a bored voice.
    Emma moved forward reluctantly. “Ummm, Oakley. O-a-k-l-e-y. We have an appointment for 9 o’clock. But if you’re busy, we’re happy to reschedule.”
    Joy, the receptionist, looked up from her computer with dull eyes. She glanced around the still-empty room. “A joker, huh?” she said in a monotone. “Fill out the registration form. I’ll need your contact details and medical insurance information.”
    â€œIt was worth a try,” Emma muttered as Alana complied with Joy’s request and filled in the forms. Emma perched on the edge of a black leather lounge, one foot tapping nervously. She gazed around at the décor. The walls, furniture and flooring made up a monochromatic palette of blacks, whites and greys. It was like walking into a newspaper comic strip. But Emma found nothing funny in what she saw. The only splash of colour came from tiny, red fish housed in individual bowls, dotting stark white walls. Why is it always fish? Emma thought to herself, thinking of all the dental surgeries she’d been to … and run away from. Some had had big posters of ‘before’ and ‘after’ teeth; blackened with decay (before) and a disconcerting fluorescent white (after). Others had pictures of smiling toothbrushes telling jokes … Q: Why do dentists like potatoes? A: Because they are so filling. Q: What’s the best time to go to the dentist? A: Two thurty. Q: What does a dentist call her X-rays? A: Tooth-pics. However, the one thing the dental clinics had in common was a fish tank. As if the imprisoned creatures did nothing except remind her of how trapped she felt … Emma found these particular modern furnishings cold and unwelcoming, and the fish, in their solitary confinement – circling, circling, circling – disturbing.
    Emma, vegetarian and misguided animal-lover, looked at them in dismay.
    â€œOh, you poor widdle fishies,” she crooned. “I bet you’re vewy, vewy lonely. Look, Alana,” Emma said, holding up a bowl, “don’t you think they look lonely?”
    Alana, barely glancing up from a magazine, replied, “Put the fishbowl down, Maman ,” and continued to read. Alana often threw French words into her conversation. She tried to learn a new word or phrase every day. In a way she hoped that by speaking French she was keeping the memory of her father alive – a memory that, with every year that passed, felt more frayed and chewed at the edges.
    Emma looked around the empty room and crept sideways, careful not to spill the container she held. With a final check that neither Alana nor the receptionist was looking, Emma tipped the bowl until one tiny slip of colour joined the other. “There you go,” she said, “now you can make fwends.”
    â€œThe doctor will see you now,” the receptionist’s voice called flatly.
    Emma hastily returned the bowl and wiped wet hands on the seat of her pants. Alana, seeing the look of panic on Emma’s face, took her mum’s hand and led her into the room. Emma saw a figure in a white lab coat swivel in his chair. He stood up and held out a friendly hand. He was short. A thatch of dark hair was carefully slicked down with some kind of oil. He looked to Emma, like the kind of person who trimmed his nasal hair, ate fibre-rich cereal and drove under the speed limit. I bet he’s never been on Speedsters, Emma thought irrationally. She shook the dentist’s hand dumbly. To her panicked ears his greeting sounded muffled, like he was speaking through a wad of foam.
    Before Alana could protest, Emma pushed her daughter firmly into the dentist’s chair. “Just a routine clean,” she said, ignoring Alana’s