Truly Madly Guilty (34 page)

chapter sixty-eight

‘So it looks like Mum is not going to cancel,’ said Erika. She’d been waiting all day for a phone call from her mother saying that she had a headache or she ‘didn’t feel up to it’ or it was too rainy, or, outrageously, that she ‘was catching up on a bit of housework’ so she wouldn’t be able to join them at Clementine’s parents’ house for dinner after all.

But the phone call hadn’t come. In a minute they’d be picking Sylvia up and discovering what personality she’d selected for the evening.

Sylvia often went for a dreamy, bohemian persona when she was seeing Clementine’s parents, as if she were an artist of some sort and they were the stuffy, suburban couple who had stepped in to help take care of her daughter when she was distracted doing her art. Another popular option was jaded, alcoholic sex kitten (channelling Elizabeth Taylor), except Sylvia didn’t drink, she’d just hold her glass of water with careless elegance, as if it were a martini, and speak in a low, husky voice. Whichever personality she chose, the point was to make it clear that she was somehow special and different, and there was therefore no need to feel guilty or especially grateful for how much time Erika had spent at Clementine’s home as a child.

‘Oh well,’ said Oliver. He was in a great mood. Clementine had filled in all the interim paperwork, she’d been for a blood test and she’d made an appointment to see the counsellor at the IVF clinic. Things were progressing. Each time Clementine passed him something across the table tonight he’d probably be checking out her bone structure and imagining his super-efficient sperm (tests indicated perfect motility) zipping about the petri dish with her eggs. ‘Clementine’s parents can handle her.’

Erika’s phone beeped just as Oliver turned into her mother’s street and her heart lifted. ‘Eleventh-hour reprieve!’ she crowed. But it was her mother saying to let her know when they were close so that she could be waiting out the front.

Erika texted back:
On approach right now
.

Her mother texted back:
Great!! xx

Good God. Double exclamation marks and kisses. What could that mean?

‘Looks like the neighbours have got their
For Sale
sign up already,’ said Oliver as he parked the car. ‘Wow,’ he said. ‘She’s outdone herself.’

‘Told you so,’ said Erika. Erika’s mother’s front yard looked as it had on her previous visit. Maybe worse? She couldn’t remember.

‘I think we need to call in the professionals,’ said Oliver, his eyes on the yard. ‘Take her out somewhere, do it while she’s gone.’

‘She won’t fall for that again,’ said Erika. She’d taken her mother away for the weekend once, and sent in cleaners, returning her mother to an unrecognisable, beautiful home. When they’d got back her mother had slapped Erika across the face and refused to speak to her for six months because of her ‘betrayal’. Erika had known she was betraying her. She’d felt like Judas that whole weekend.

‘We’ll work it out. Here she comes. She looks … gosh, she looks great.’ Oliver jumped out of the car in the rain to open the back door for Sylvia, who carried a large, white, wooden-handled umbrella and wore a beautiful, tailored cream suit, like something Jane Fonda would wear to accept a lifetime achievement award. Her hair was bouncy and shiny, she must have been to the hairdresser, and as she got in the car, all Erika could smell was perfume – nothing damp or mouldy or rotting.

It was a trick. The ultimate trick. Tonight they weren’t going to pretend that there was a reason why Clementine’s parents had virtually adopted Erika. Tonight they were going to pretend
it had never happened at all
, and of course they would all go along with it and let her get away with it. They’d all behave as if Sylvia lived in a home that matched that beautiful brand new outfit.

‘Hello, darling,’ said her mother in a breathless, feminine, I’m-a-lovely-mother voice.

‘You look nice,’ said Erika.

‘Do I? Thank you,’ said her mother. ‘I called Pam earlier to ask if I could bring anything and she absolutely insisted I come empty-handed. She said something very mysterious about how the evening was in honour of you and Oliver, although she knows you both don’t like to talk about it, but obviously she was forever in your debt. I thought, goodness, is dear old Pam finally losing her marbles?’

Oliver cleared his throat and shot Erika a rueful half-smile.

Naturally Erika hadn’t said a word to her mother about what had happened at the barbeque. You would think it was a straightforward story but who knew how she’d react?

‘We were at a barbeque with the next-door neighbours and Ruby fell into a fountain,’ said Erika. ‘Oliver and I sort of … rescued her. We had to give her CPR. She was fine.’

There was silence from the back seat.

‘Ruby is the littler one, right?’ said Erika’s mother in her regular voice. ‘How old is she? Two?’

‘Yes,’ said Oliver.

‘What happened? Nobody saw her fall in? Where was her mother? What was Clementine doing?’

‘Nobody saw her fall in,’ said Erika. ‘It was just one of those unfortunate things.’

‘So … she wasn’t breathing when you pulled her out?’

‘No,’ said Erika. She watched Oliver’s hands tighten on the steering wheel.

‘The two of you worked together?’

‘Oliver did compressions, I did the rescue breaths.’

‘How long before she responded?’

‘It felt like a lifetime,’ said Erika.

‘I bet it did,’ said Sylvia quietly. ‘I bet it did.’ Then she leaned forward and patted their shoulders.

‘Well done,’ she said. ‘I’m very proud of you two. Very proud.’

Neither Erika nor Oliver said anything, but Erika could feel their mutual happiness filling the car; they both responded like thirsty plants to water when it came to parental approval.

‘So Little Miss Perfect Clementine isn’t so perfect after all!’ crowed Sylvia as she leaned back in her seat. There was a triumphant, bitchy edge to her voice. ‘Ha! What did Pam have to say about that?
My
daughter saved her grandchild’s life!’

Erika sighed, and Oliver’s shoulders slumped. Of course she would ruin the moment, of course she would.

‘Pam is very grateful,’ she said flatly.

‘Well, that certainly evens up the score then, doesn’t it, for all that family supposedly did for you.’

‘They didn’t
supposedly
do anything, Mum,’ said Erika. ‘Their home was a haven for me.’

‘A haven,’ snorted Sylvia.

‘Yes, that’s right, a haven, with running water and electricity and actual food in the refrigerator. Oh, and no rats. That was nice. The lack of rats.’

‘Let it go,’ said Oliver quietly.

‘Well, all I’m saying, my darling child, is that we don’t have to feel quite so grateful to them now, do we? Quite so subservient. Like they’re our feudal overlords. You saved that child’s life!’

‘Yes, well, and now Clementine is going to donate her eggs to help us have a baby, so we’re going to be back to feeling grateful to them,’ said Erika.

It was a mistake. As soon as she said it she knew it was a mistake.

There was a beat. Erika looked at Oliver. He shook his head as he resignedly flicked on the indicator to turn right.

‘I’m sorry …
what
did you just say?’ Sylvia leaned forward as far as her seatbelt would let her.

‘Dammit, Erika,’ sighed Oliver.

‘We’ve been going through IVF for the last two years,’ said Erika. ‘And my eggs are … rotten.’ Because of you, she thought. Because I grew up in filth, surrounded by rot and decay and mould, so germs and spores and all manner of malignancy found its way into my body. She hadn’t been at all surprised when she couldn’t get pregnant. Of course her eggs had gone off. No surprises there!

‘They’re not
rotten
,’ said Oliver in a pained way. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘You never told me you were going through IVF,’ said Sylvia. ‘Did you just forget to mention it? I’m a nurse! I could have given you support … advice!’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Erika.

‘What do you mean, “yeah, right”?’

‘We never told anyone,’ said Oliver. ‘We just kept it to ourselves.’

‘We’re strange people,’ said Erika. ‘We know it.’

‘You always said you never wanted children,’ said Sylvia.

‘I changed my mind,’ said Erika. You would think she’d signed a contract the way people kept reminding her of this.

‘So Clementine offered to donate her eggs?’ said Sylvia.

‘We asked her,’ said Erika. ‘We asked her before … what happened with Ruby.’

‘But you can bet your bottom dollar that’s why she’s doing it,’ said Sylvia.

‘Look, none of this is definite yet,’ said Oliver. ‘We’re right at the early stages. Clementine still has to have tests, see a counsellor …’

‘It’s a horrible idea,’ said Erika’s mother. ‘An absolutely horrible idea. Surely there are other options.’

‘Sylvia,’ began Oliver.

‘My grandchild won’t really be mine!’ said Sylvia.

Narcissist. That’s how Erika’s psychologist described her. Classic narcissist.

‘My grandchild will be
Pam’s
grandchild,’ continued Sylvia. ‘It’s not enough that she has to take my daughter, oh no, now she can lord it over me with this: “We’re just so happy to help out, Sylvia.” So condescending and smug. It’s a horrible idea! Don’t do it. It will be a disaster.’

‘This isn’t about you, Sylvia,’ said Oliver. Erika could hear a pulse of anger in his voice. It made her nervous. He rarely got angry and he always spoke with such scrupulous politeness to his mother-in-law.

‘Why in the world did you ask her?’ said Sylvia. ‘Find an anonymous donor. I don’t want my grandchild to have Pam’s DNA! She’s got those big elephantine ears! Erika! What if your child inherits Pam’s ears?!’

‘For heaven’s sake, Mum,’ said Erika. ‘I read somewhere there’s a gene associated with compulsive hoarding. I think I’d prefer my child to have big ears than become a hoarder.’

‘Please don’t use that word. I abhor that word. It’s so …’

‘Accurate?’ murmured Erika.

There was silence for a few seconds but Sylvia rallied fast.

‘What will you say when Clementine comes to visit?’ she said. ‘ “Oh, look, darling, here comes your real mother! Off you go and play the cello together.” ’

‘Sylvia, please,’ said Oliver.

‘It’s unnatural, that’s what it is. Science has gone too far. Just because you
can
do something, doesn’t mean you should.’

They pulled into Clementine’s parents’ street. It used to take Erika only ten minutes to walk here as a child, to leave all the dirt and the shame behind. Erika looked out the window as they pulled up in front of the neat Californian bungalow with its olive-green front door. Just seeing that olive-green front door used to make her heartbeat slow.

Oliver turned off the windscreen wipers, twisted the key in the ignition, undid his seatbelt and turned to look at his mother-in-law.

‘Could we please not talk about this over dinner?’ he said. ‘Could I ask you that, Sylvia?’

‘Of course I won’t.’ Sylvia lowered her voice. ‘Take a look at Pam’s ears, though, that’s all I’m saying.’ She caressed one earlobe. ‘I myself have such dainty ears.’

chapter sixty-nine

‘Ding, ding, ding!’ Pam tapped her spoon on the side of her water glass and got to her feet. ‘Could I have your attention, please?’

Clementine should have known. There was going to be a speech. Of course there was. Her mother had been delivering speeches all her life. Every birthday, every holiday, every minor academic, sporting or musical achievement merited a speech.

‘Oh goodness, are you going to sing for us, Pam?’ said Sylvia, turning in her chair to regard Pam. She winked at Clementine.

Clementine shook her head at her. She knew that Sylvia had been a terrible mother to Erika, that she had said and done unforgivable things over the years, and that was all in addition to the hoarding problem, but Clementine had always felt traitorously affectionate towards her. She enjoyed Sylvia’s subversiveness, her outlandish comments, her meandering stories and snarky, sly little digs. In contrast, her own mother always seemed so staid and earnest, like a well-meaning minister’s wife. Clementine especially enjoyed seeing Sylvia’s outfits. She could just as easily look like a bohemian intellectual as a Russian princess or a homeless person. (Sadly, she’d chosen ‘homeless person’ for Erika’s wedding, in order to make some long-forgotten, convoluted, pointless point.)

Tonight Sylvia looked like a lady who lunched. You would think she was going home to a glossy McMansion with a banker husband.

‘I hope you’ll allow me the indulgence of saying a few words,’ said Pam. ‘There are two people here tonight who can only be described as …’ She paused and took a deep, shaky breath. ‘Quiet heroes.’

‘Hear, hear,’ said Clementine’s dad too loudly. He’d been drinking more than usual. Erika’s mother made him nervous. Once, she’d sat next to him at a school concert, and while discussing local politics she had apparently put her hand ‘very close to his … you know what’ (this was how Pam described it), causing Clementine’s dad to ‘make the most peculiar sound, like a yelp’.

‘Yes, that’s what they are, quiet, unassuming, unsung heroes, but heroes nonetheless,’ continued Pam.

‘Awww.’ Sylvia put her head to one side in an ‘oh shucks’ way, as if Pam were referring to her.

Erika rotated one shoulder as if she had a stiff neck. Oliver adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. The two of them looked profoundly uncomfortable. ‘Why did you invite Erika’s mother?’ Clementine had asked Pam earlier that night.

‘I thought it would be nice for Erika,’ Pam said defensively. ‘We haven’t seen Sylvia for a long time, and her hoarding has got very bad again lately, so I thought it might be helpful.’

‘But Erika hates her mother,’ said Clementine.

‘She doesn’t
hate
her,’ Pam had said, but she’d looked upset. ‘Oh gosh, I probably shouldn’t have invited her, you’re right. Erika would have enjoyed the night more without her. You try to do the right thing, don’t you? And it just doesn’t always work out that way.’

Now she looked brightly around the room.

‘They don’t want accolades. They don’t want medals. They probably don’t even want this speech!’ She gave a merry laugh.

‘
I
want a medal,’ said Holly.

‘Shh, Holly,’ said Sam, on Holly’s other side. He had barely touched the food on his plate.

‘Yet some things simply cannot go unsaid,’ said Pam.

‘But I do want a medal!’ demanded Holly.

‘
There is no medal
,’ hissed Clementine.

‘Well, why did Grandma say there was?’

‘She didn’t!’ said Sam.

Erika’s mother giggled deliciously.

‘The debt of gratitude we owe Erika and Oliver is of such magnitude,’ said Pam, ‘that I cannot even begin to …’

‘Could I trouble you to pass the water, Martin?’ said Sylvia in a loud whisper to Clementine’s father.

Pam stopped and watched her husband half-stand and awkwardly place the jug of water next to Sylvia while avoiding any eye contact whatsoever.

‘Sorry, Pam,’ said Sylvia. ‘Carry on. Lovely earrings by the way.’

Pam put her hand confusedly to one ear. She wore the plain gold studs she always wore. ‘Thank you, Sylvia. Where was I?’

‘The debt of gratitude,’ said Sylvia helpfully as she poured herself a glass of water.

Oliver tipped back his head and studied the ceiling as if for inspiration or salvation.

‘Yes, ah, the debt of gratitude,’ said Pam.

Ruby, who had been sitting on a cushion on the chair next to Clementine, suddenly put down her spoon with a purposeful air and slid onto the floor.

‘Where are you going?’ whispered Clementine.

Ruby put her hand to the side of her mouth. ‘Going to sit on Grandpa’s lap.’

‘I wanted to sit on Grandpa’s lap,’ huffed Holly. ‘I was actually just
about
to go and sit on Grandpa’s lap.’

‘There is a quote,’ said Pam. (There always was.) She swept her hands wide, palms facing the ceiling. She liked to deliver her quotes with this particular statesman-like gesture. ‘
Friends are the family we chose for ourselves
.’

‘Indeed,’ said Sylvia. ‘So true.’

‘I’m not sure who said it,’ admitted Pam. She liked to attribute her quotes. ‘I meant to check.’

‘Don’t worry, Pam, we can always look it up later,’ said Clementine’s dad.

‘Oliver could check right now!’ offered Sylvia. ‘Oliver! Where’s your phone? He’s so quick. Tippity-tippity-tap and he has the answer!’

‘Mum,’ said Erika.

‘What?’ said Sylvia.

‘Friends are the family we chose for ourselves,’ repeated Pam. ‘And I’m just so glad that Clementine and Erika chose to be friends.’ She glanced at Clementine and then hurriedly looked away. ‘Erika. Oliver. Your amazing actions that day saved our darling Ruby’s life. We can obviously never truly repay you. The debt of gratitude we –’

‘I think we already covered the debt of gratitude,’ said Sylvia. ‘Didn’t we? Anyway, from what I hear, the debt is set to be cleared –’

‘
Sylvia
,’ said Oliver.

Sylvia gave Clementine a roguish look. She leaned close and whispered, so that Oliver and Erika couldn’t hear, ‘You and Oliver, hey?’

Clementine frowned. She didn’t get it.

‘Making a baby together!’ clarified Sylvia. Her eyes sparkled maliciously. Clementine saw that Erika’s jaw was set in the manner of someone enduring a painful but necessary medical procedure.

‘Erika and Oliver. We love you. We thank you. We salute you.’ Pam lifted her glass. ‘To Erika and Oliver.’

There was a scramble as everyone found wine or water glasses and raised them too.

‘Cheers!’ cried Holly. She tried to clink her lemonade glass against Clementine’s wineglass. ‘Cheers, Mummy!’

‘Yes, cheers. Be careful, Holly,’ said Clementine. She could see that Holly was on the cusp of crazy. These days you could never tell what she was going to do next, and right now she was drunk on too much lemonade.

‘Cheers, Daddy!’ said Holly. Sam didn’t register her. He still had his wineglass lifted, but his eyes were on Ruby sitting on Martin’s lap, whispering something to Whisk.

‘I said,
cheers
, Daddy,’ said Holly angrily, and she got up on her knees on her chair, and slammed her water glass so hard against her father’s wineglass that it shattered in his hand.

‘
Jesus
!’ Sam leaped up from his seat as if he’d been shot. He turned on Holly and yelled, ‘That was naughty! You are a very naughty, very bad girl!’

Holly cowered. ‘Sorry, Daddy. It was an accident.’

‘It was a stupid accident!’ he roared.

‘Okay, that’s
enough
,’ said Clementine.

‘Oh dearie me,’ said Pam.

Sam stood. There was blood on his hand. For a moment the only sound was the perpetual patter of rain.

‘Do you want me to take a look at that cut?’ offered Sylvia.

‘No,’ said Sam rudely. He sucked the side of his hand. He breathed heavily. ‘I need to get some air.’ He left the room. That was all Sam did these days: leave the room.

‘Well! There’s a little drama to spice things up,’ said Sylvia.

Oliver stood and began collecting the pieces of glass in the palm of his hand.

‘Come and sit here with me, Holly,’ said Erika, pushing back her chair and patting her legs, and to Clementine’s surprise, Holly slid off her chair and ran to her.

‘I
had
told you to be careful, Holly,’ said Clementine, and she knew her sharp rebuke was only because she’d been expecting the comfort of Holly’s body against hers. She wanted Holly to sit on her lap, not Erika’s, and that was childish. All her emotions had become tiny and twisted. She really should cancel her audition. She was too emotionally stunted to ever be a good musician. She imagined her bow screeching and scraping across the strings as if she’d suddenly become a beginner: squeaky unpleasant notes to match her squeaky, unpleasant emotions.

‘Right. Well. Cups of tea? Coffee?’ said Pam. ‘Erika brought along some very nice chocolate nuts that will go very nicely with a cup of tea. Just the ticket!’

‘Isn’t she clever,’ said Sylvia.

‘I’m quite remarkable,’ said Erika.

As Pam began the complicated process of confirming everyone’s tea and coffee orders, Clementine collected plates and took them into the kitchen. Her father followed her, carrying Ruby, who had that comfy, superior look children always got in the arms of a tall man; like a fat-cheeked little sultan.

‘You okay?’ said her father.

‘Fine,’ said Clementine. ‘Sorry about Sam. He’s just stressed about work, I think.’

‘Yes, he does seem stressed about the new job,’ said Martin. He put Ruby down as she began to wriggle. ‘But I think it’s more than that.’

‘Well, it’s been hard for him ever since the … accident,’ said Clementine.

She wasn’t sure if she was allowed to call it an accident, if that implied she didn’t consider herself responsible.

‘Sam blames himself for not watching Ruby – and I think, I know, he also blames me,’ said Clementine. It was somehow easier to just baldly admit it to her dad, who would just take what she said at face value, rather than her mother, who would listen too intently and empathetically and filter everything through her own emotions.

‘And I guess I blame him,’ said Clementine. ‘And at the same time we’re both pretending we don’t blame each other at all.’

‘Right,’ said her father. ‘Well, that’s called being married. You’re always blaming each other for something.’ He opened a kitchen cupboard and began taking out mugs. ‘What’s the bet I’m getting the wrong ones out?’ He turned to look at Clementine, holding two mugs by the handles on his fingertips. ‘But I reckon there’s something more going on. He’s not right. He isn’t quite right in the head.’

‘Not
those
ones, Martin.’ Pam bustled into the kitchen. ‘We want the nice ones.’ She took the mugs off him and swiftly put them away. ‘Who isn’t right in the head?’

‘Sam,’ said Clementine.

‘I’ve been saying that for weeks,’ said Pam.