Truly Madly Guilty(106)

She waited for the story. There was always a chain of events that had to be explained: if this hadn’t happened, if this had happened. In this case it had all started with a broken phone. His daughter’s downstairs phone was broken, so she ran upstairs to answer it, and at that moment the next-door neighbour knocked on the front door and got talking to his son-in-law, and in the meantime the little fella got outside. He dragged a chair over to the pool gate. There was a tennis ball floating in the pool. He was trying to get to the ball. He liked playing cricket. Was pretty good at it too. He was a little pocket rocket. Couldn’t sit still. You wouldn’t have thought he’d be big enough to drag that chair but he did it. Determined.

‘I’m so sorry,’ said Clementine.

‘Well, I just wanted to tell you that you are doing a good thing,’ said the man. He hadn’t cried, thank God. ‘Raising awareness. It’s a good thing. Makes people think twice. Families don’t get over it when something like this happens. My daughter’s marriage broke up. My wife was never the same again. She was the one on the phone, you see. Never forgave herself for ringing at that time. Not her fault, of course, or the neighbour’s fault, just bad luck, bad timing, but there you go. Accidents happen. Anyhow. You did a good job today, pet. Spoke very well.’

‘Thank you,’ said Clementine.

‘You sure you don’t want to stay and join us for dessert? They do a very tasty pavlova here.’

‘That’s nice of you,’ said Clementine. ‘But I have to go.’

‘No worries, off you go, I’m sure you’re busy,’ said the man. He patted her on the arm.

She headed towards the door, released.

‘Tom,’ he said suddenly.

She turned back, steeled herself. Here it came.

His eyes filled with tears. Overflowed. ‘The little fella’s name. In case you wondered. His name was Tom.’

All the way home she cried: for the little fella, for the grandmother who’d made the phone call, for the grandfather who’d shared his story, and for the parents, because their marriage hadn’t survived, and because it seemed like Clementine’s marriage wasn’t going to survive either.





chapter sixty-seven



It was early Thursday evening when Tiffany walked into the living area and saw Dakota sitting cross-legged on the window seat. She was reading a book in a little circle of lamplight, the blue fluffy blanket over her legs, while raindrops slid down the window behind her. Barney was curled up in her lap. Dakota was absent-mindedly caressing one of his ears as she read.

Tiffany caught herself just in time from exclaiming, ‘You’re reading!’ and said instead, ‘You’re … there!’

Dakota looked up from her book quizzically.

‘I didn’t know where you were,’ said Tiffany.

‘I’m here,’ said Dakota. Her eyes returned to her book.

‘Yes, you are.’ Tiffany backed away. ‘Yes, you are definitely here … there.’

She found Vid sitting at the kitchen table with his laptop watching a ‘masterclass’ on making the perfect tempura batter. He was officially obsessed after last night’s dinner which had sent him into rhapsodies.

‘She’s reading again,’ whispered Tiffany, pointing over her shoulder.

Vid gave a cursory thumbs-up and kept looking at the screen.

‘You fry by sound, not by sight,’ he said. ‘Interesting, eh? I have to listen.’ He put his hand to his ear to demonstrate.

Tiffany sat down next to him and watched the chef demonstrate how to ‘gently stretch’ a shrimp.

‘It was good we went last night,’ she said.

Vid shrugged. ‘They were strange. They didn’t say anything. Silent.’

‘That’s because you didn’t give them a chance to speak,’ said Tiffany. When Vid got nervous he talked. Last night he hadn’t appeared to draw breath for the entire ten-minute duration of their strange little visit.

It was only the three children who had behaved normally. Holly and Ruby had been thrilled to see Dakota, and had dragged her off to see bedrooms and toys and everything else in their house. ‘This is our fridge,’ Holly had said. ‘This is our television. That’s my mum’s cello. Don’t touch it! You’re not allowed to touch it under any circ-an-chance.’

In the meantime, the four grown-ups had stood in a strange, awkward foursome in the living room. Sam avoided all eye contact with Tiffany, as if it were illegal to look at her. Everything about him seemed clenched.

‘They never even offered us a drink!’ said Vid. He couldn’t get over that. He’d be offering drinks during an earthquake.

‘Yeah, well,’ said Tiffany. ‘They didn’t want us there.’

‘Hmmph,’ said Vid. ‘The little girl looks good. Very healthy. Rosy cheeks. We should have all been happy. Celebrating.’

‘I think they blame themselves,’ said Tiffany.

‘But she’s fine, she’s perfect, she’s beautiful!’ said Vid robustly. ‘Thanks to Erika and Oliver. All good. No need for the glum faces. Shh, now, I’m trying to concentrate on my tempura.’

‘You’re the one talking.’ Tiffany flicked his neck with her fingertip as she stood up. He slapped her bum in return. She went to the sink to get herself a glass of water and stood watching Dakota read. She felt immensely pleased with herself, like she’d pulled off a difficult deal. Visiting Clementine and Sam had been exactly the right thing to do. Socially awkward but absolutely the right thing for her family.