chapter sixty
The day of the barbeque
‘Is Ruby dead?’ asked Holly, playing with the handle of her little blue sequinned handbag full of rocks, which she held with both hands on her lap.
‘No,’ said Erika. ‘She’s not dead. She went in the helicopter with your daddy to the hospital. She’ll be there by now and the doctors will make her better.’
They were sitting under a duvet on the couch while Oliver made them hot chocolate. Madagascar was on TV. Erika had taken out her contact lenses so all she could see were flashes of colour on the television.
She had a feeling of impending sleep, like a huge black wave about to crash over her. Except she couldn’t fall asleep. Not while Holly was here. And it was only … what? Around six or seven pm. It felt much later. It felt like the middle of the night.
‘She might die.’ Holly stared at the television.
‘I don’t think she will, but she’s very sick. It’s very serious. Yes. She might.’
‘Erika,’ said Oliver as he walked into the room carrying the tray with the hot chocolates.
‘What?’ Weren’t you meant to be as truthful as possible with children? No one knew how long Ruby had been submerged before they’d pulled her out. There were no guarantees. She could have significant brain damage. Hypothermia. She might not make it through the night. Why did Erika feel as if she should know exactly how long Ruby had been under the water for? Why did she feel strangely responsible, as if she’d failed in some way? She’d got to Ruby first. She’d been the first one to act. She wasn’t Ruby’s parent. But there was something. Something she’d done or not done.
‘There you go,’ said Oliver. He was still in his wet clothes. He’d get sick. He handed Holly the mug of hot chocolate. ‘I didn’t make it too hot but just take a little sip in case, okay?’
‘Thank you,’ said Holly loudly.
‘Good manners, Holly,’ said Oliver.
‘Get changed,’ said Erika as she took the hot chocolate from him. ‘You’ll catch a cold.’
‘Are you okay?’ asked Oliver.
‘Why? Do I not look okay?’ She took a sip of her hot chocolate, and somehow missed her mouth. She wiped her finger across her chin.
‘No,’ said Oliver. ‘You don’t.’
‘Manners,’ said Holly to Erika.
‘What are you talking about?’ snapped Erika. The child wasn’t making sense. It occurred to her that she’d just snapped at Holly in exactly the same way Sylvia used to do when Erika was a child. The moment Erika started telling her mother something she would snap, ‘What are you talking about?’ And Erika would think, Let me finish and then you’ll know what I’m talking about!
‘You forgot to say thank you,’ said Holly. She looked frightened. ‘To Oliver.’
‘Oh,’ said Erika. ‘Of course. You’re right. I’m sorry, Holly, I didn’t mean to snap at you.’
Erika watched two giant teardrops quiver on the bottom eyelashes of Holly’s big blue eyes. It was more than just her snapping. Holly wasn’t that sensitive.
‘Holly,’ she said. ‘Holly. Sweetie. It’s fine, everything is fine, give me a cuddle, there, although I actually think … I might … I’m sorry.’ She couldn’t hold on. Holly needed her comfort right now but she couldn’t give it to her. She handed back the cup to Oliver and he reached out with surprise to take it just in time before it slipped from her hands. ‘I’m just so sleepy.’
She let that big black pool of nothingness take her, drag her under. She could hear a phone ringing, but it was too late, she couldn’t get back now, it was much too big and powerful to resist.
*
Oliver looked at his comatose wife with a dull, sick sense of recognition. She’d passed out, drunk. It meant she’d effectively left. Gone. Not back until the morning. He’d never ever looked at his wife with dislike before, but as he studied her drooping head and gaping mouth he felt his face distort with resentment. They didn’t even know yet if Ruby was going to be okay. How could she sleep? But of course, drunks could always sleep.
She’s not a drunk, he reminded himself. She’s just drunk. For the first time since you’ve known her.
‘She must be exhausted,’ said Holly, looking at Erika with fascination.
Oliver smiled at Holly’s use of the word ‘exhausted’. ‘I think you’re right,’ he said. ‘She’s exhausted. How’s your drink? Not too hot?’
‘No, it’s not too hot,’ said Holly. She took a very careful, tentative sip. There was a little moustache of milk on her upper lip.
‘Oliver,’ said Holly quietly. She held up her little blue handbag and her eyes filled with more tears.
‘Did you want me to put that somewhere safe?’ Oliver held out his hand.
‘Oliver,’ she said again, but much more quietly this time.
‘What is it, darling?’ Oliver crouched down in front of her. His clothes were still wet and filthy from the fountain.
Holly leaned forward and began to whisper urgently in his ear.