chapter thirty-eight
The day of the barbeque
‘You okay?’ said Oliver quietly, his hand on Erika’s arm.
Erika felt a surge of irritability. ‘Yes. Why? Do I not look okay?’
Was she squinting? It wasn’t her fault. The hazy afternoon light was making everything blur. The lack of visibility was affecting her balance too. She kept finding herself tipping forward or backward and having to anchor herself by grabbing the side of the table.
The music in the cabana was up quite loud now, making her head thump. Tiffany was playing ‘November Rain’, which was significant in some way, something to do with her sordid past; Erika didn’t want to know.
‘You just seem like you’re drinking more than usual,’ said Oliver, and for a moment Erika felt outraged, because she was always, always, the most sober person at any party. Often she didn’t bother to drink at all – she didn’t like the taste of it that much – although the wine tonight seemed very good, very smooth and delicious, probably prohibitively expensive.
‘Well, I’m not!’ she said.
‘Sorry,’ said Oliver.
Her outrage melted away, because it wasn’t Oliver’s fault that his parents were alcoholics.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, and she inclined her body towards him with the vague idea that she might hug him, even though they were both sitting in separate chairs. She wanted to hug him for his childhood, for the time when he was seven and he couldn’t wake up his drunk parents to get out of bed to drive him to school, and he had a maths test that morning, and he sat on the end of their bed and cried with frustration, and now his parents told it as a hilarious story: The time Oliver cried because he missed a maths test. Our little accountant in the making! And each time they told it Oliver obligingly chuckled, except with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen. But as she leaned towards him, Oliver held out his hands as if to catch her from falling, an appalled expression on his face, as if she were about to make a spectacle of herself, and Erika sat back with a little ‘tch’ sound. She couldn’t give her husband a hug but it was fine for Tiffany, at a family barbeque, to casually mention that she used to be a pole dancer, a stripper, no less.
Clementine and Sam were giddy over it. Clementine’s face was luminous right now. She’d always been susceptible to excitement. As a teenager Clementine used to get herself worked up when they went to parties together. Certain types of music sent her mad with happiness, as did certain types of cocktails – you could never tell whether the music or the alcohol was making her drunker. More than once Erika, always the designated driver, had had to peel her off some guy, and sometimes those guys had got aggressive, and the next morning Clementine would thank her, and say thank God I didn’t sleep with him, and Erika would feel a warm glow of satisfaction, like a best friend in a movie, but of course they weren’t like best friends in a movie, were they? What were the precise words she’d overheard? It’s like she always wants another piece of me.
The shame rose like bile, and Erika put down her empty wineglass too hard on the table. Tiffany, predictably, picked up the wine bottle to refill it. She must have done waitressing as well as stripping. Maybe she’d been one of those topless waitresses. Why not? Marvellous. How interesting. What fun!
‘That’s your phone ringing, Vid,’ said Tiffany as she poured the wine.
Vid picked up his phone and his face turned sour when he saw the name. ‘It is our friend Harry,’ he said. ‘From next door. It will be the music, you know, offending him. It offends him when anyone is happy.’
‘You’d better answer,’ said Tiffany.
‘He kicked my dog today!’ said Vid. ‘I don’t have to answer him. He’s always been on the nasty side, but harming an innocent animal! That was my final straw, you know.’
‘Harry didn’t really kick the dog, did he?’ said Oliver.
‘We only suspect it,’ said Tiffany. ‘No proof.’ She picked up the phone. ‘Hello, Harry,’ she said. ‘Are we too loud?’
‘Not loud at all,’ grumbled Vid. ‘It’s day time.’
‘Yes,’ said Tiffany into the phone. ‘No, that’s fine. We’ll turn it down. Sorry to disturb you.’
She gave Vid his phone back and turned down the volume on the music.
‘Hmmph,’ said Vid. ‘You should have turned it up.’
‘We probably had it a bit too loud,’ said Tiffany. ‘He’s an old man. We have to be respectful.’
‘He’s not respectful to us,’ grumbled Vid. He turned to Clementine. It was obvious he was developing quite the crush on her. ‘So, listen, tell me, do you play your cello at weddings? Because my eldest daughter is getting married this spring, you know.’
‘I play in a string quartet,’ said Clementine. ‘We’re called Passing Notes. You could book us if you like. Will the food be good?’
‘Will the food be good,’ repeated Vid with extravagant emphasis. ‘Of course the food will be good, the food will be magnificent!’
‘That’s how Clementine and I met,’ said Sam. ‘She was playing at my friend’s wedding.’
‘Ah! Of course!’ said Vid, as if he’d been there. ‘And you thought: Who is that beautiful cellist!’
Clementine pretended to smooth her hair. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘What was your pick-up line?’ Tiffany asked Sam.
Bet you wish you chose the flute, thought Erika gloomily as she drained her glass. She and Oliver might as well go back home and leave these four to it. They were all so busy flirting and finding each other fascinating.
‘I waited until they’d finished playing and they were packing away their instruments and, you know, Clementine’s not tall, the cello is nearly as big as her, so I said, which I thought was pretty brilliant, “Bet you wish you chose the flute.” ’
‘Genius!’ Vid slapped his leg.
‘Not really,’ said Sam. ‘People say it to cellists all the time. It’s like the worst possible cliché I could have chosen.’
‘Of course it was!’ said Vid. ‘I would never have said that!’
‘But she took pity on me anyway,’ said Sam.
‘Mummy, I’m cold.’ Ruby appeared at Clementine’s side, Whisk under her arm like a teddy bear.
‘Do you want to wear your special new coat Grandma got you?’ said Clementine.
Clementine’s mother had bought the girls beautiful little winter coats she’d seen on special in David Jones. Erika knew this because she’d been shopping with Pam when she found them. Erika liked going shopping with Pam because she rarely, if ever, actually bought anything. This drove Clementine nuts, whereas Erika loved watching Pam frown while she turned a garment inside out to study the quality of the lining, then slowly take her reading glasses out of her handbag so she could confirm the price tag, then hum and haw and finally say, ‘Nope!’
The cute little woollen coats, with their black toggles and hoods, however, had been impossible for Pam to resist, and Erika had agreed, even though they probably wouldn’t get that much wear in Sydney’s climate.
As Clementine removed Ruby’s fairy wings and helped her into her pink coat (Holly’s was green) Erika didn’t say anything about being there when the coats were purchased. She had learned over the years that although Clementine didn’t want to go shopping with her mother, she didn’t seem especially pleased to hear that Erika had gone shopping with her. She never said anything. It was just a flicker. A Clementine flicker that said, Stop stealing my mother. You’ve got your own.
The pink coat, Erika saw with satisfaction, fit Ruby perfectly. She’d told Pam to get the bigger size.
‘You look like Little Pink Riding Hood,’ said Oliver as Ruby twirled around in her coat.
Ruby chuckled. She got the joke, the clever little thing. She climbed onto her mother’s lap and snuggled up contentedly as if Clementine were a favourite couch, and stuck her thumb in her mouth.
‘So does Whisk ever actually … whisk?’ Tiffany asked Clementine.
‘No, when Whisk became Whisk she wasn’t allowed to do anything so menial,’ said Clementine. ‘Her whisking days were over.’
Ruby took her thumb out of her mouth. ‘Shh. Whisk is sleepy.’ She caressed Whisk as if it were a baby and everyone laughed, as she knew they would. Ruby stuck her thumb back in her mouth with a satisfied smirk.
‘I think Ruby and Whisk must be getting tired,’ said Clementine. ‘We should be going soon.’
‘But first you must have dessert,’ said Vid firmly. ‘I made cremeschnitte. It’s another old family recipe I got off the internet.’
‘It’s a vanilla and custard cream cake,’ said Tiffany. ‘To die for.’
‘Well, then,’ said Clementine. ‘We’d better not miss that.’
‘We’ve got those nice chocolate almonds you brought too, Erika,’ said Tiffany. ‘I love them. My grandfather used to have them every Christmas. Brings back memories.’
Erika smiled thinly back at her. Yeah, sure they bring back memories. Chocolate nuts were really going to stand up well against to-die-for creme-bloody-schnitte.
‘Hey, look!’ said Oliver, suddenly animated. ‘Kids!’ He pointed up at a tree towards the back of the garden. ‘Is that a possum I spy?’