Truly Madly Guilty(7)

‘Yes. For afternoon tea. We’ve got Clementine and Sam coming over later for afternoon tea, with their little girls. My friends, Clementine and Sam? You met them at my place?’ She knew perfectly well that Vid remembered them. She was giving him Clementine to make herself more interesting. That’s all she had to offer Vid: Clementine.

Vid’s face lit up instantly.

‘Your friend, the cellist!’ said Vid delightedly. He virtually smacked his lips on the word ‘cellist’. ‘And her husband. Tone-deaf! What a waste, eh?’

‘Well, he likes to say he’s tone-deaf,’ said Erika. ‘I think technically he’s –’

‘Top bloke! He was a, what do you call it, a marketing manager for an F-M-C-G company and that stands for a fast-moving … don’t tell me, don’t tell me … a fast-moving consumer good. Whatever the hell that means. But how’s that? Good memory, eh? I’ve got a mind like a steel trap, that’s what I tell my wife.’

‘Well, he’s actually changed jobs, now he’s at an energy drink company.’

‘What? Energy drinks? Drinks that give you energy? Anyway, Sam and Clementine, they’re good people, great people, you know! You should all come over to our place, for a barbeque, you know! Yes, we’ll do a barbeque! Enjoy this amazing weather, you know! I insist. You must!’

‘Oh,’ said Erika. ‘It’s nice of you to offer.’ She should say no. She was perfectly capable of saying no. She had no problem saying no to people; in fact, she took pride in her ability to refuse, and Oliver wouldn’t want her to change the plans for today. It was too important. Today was crucial. Today was potentially life-changing.

‘I’ll roast a pig on the spit! The Slovenian way. Well, it’s not really the Slovenian way, it’s my way, but it’s like nothing you’ve ever tasted before. Your friend. Clementine. I remember. She’s a foodie, you know. Like me.’ He patted his stomach.

‘Well,’ said Erika. She looked again at the plastic bags on her passenger seat. All the way home from the shops she’d kept glancing over at her purchases, worried that she’d somehow not got it quite right. She should have bought more. What was wrong with her? Why hadn’t she bought a feast?

Also the crackers she’d chosen had sesame seeds on them, and there was some significance to sesame seeds. Did Clementine love sesame seeds or hate them?

‘What do you say?’ said Vid. ‘Tiffany would love to see you.’

‘Would she?’ said Erika. Most wives wouldn’t appreciate an unplanned barbeque, but Vid’s wife did appear to be almost as sociable as Vid. Erika thought of the first time she’d introduced her closest friends to her extroverted next-door neighbours, when she and Oliver had hosted Christmas drinks at their place last year in a fit of mutual ‘let’s pretend we’re the sort of people who entertain and enjoy it’ madness. She and Oliver had both hated every moment. Entertaining was always fraught for Erika, because she had no experience of it, and because part of her would always believe that visitors were to be feared and despised.

‘And they’ve got two little girls, right?’ continued Vid. ‘Our Dakota would love to play with them.’

‘Yes. Although, remember, they’re much younger than Dakota.’

‘Even better! Dakota loves playing with little girls, you know, pretending she’s the big sister, you know. Plaiting their hair, painting their nails, you know, fun for all of them!’

Erika ran her hands around the steering wheel. She looked at her house. The low hedge lining the path to the front door was freshly trimmed with perfect, startling symmetry. The blinds were open. The windows were clean and streak-free. Nothing to hide. From the street you could see their red Veronese table lamp. That’s all. Only the lamp. An exquisite lamp. Just seeing that lamp from the street when she drove home gave Erika a sense of pride and peace. Oliver was inside now vacuuming. Erika had vacuumed yesterday, so it was overkill. Excessive vacuuming. Embarrassing.

When Erika first left home, one of the many procedural things that worried her about domestic life was trying to work out how often normal people vacuumed. It was Clementine’s mother who’d given her a definitive answer: Once a week, Erika, every Sunday afternoon, for example. You pick a regular time that suits you, make it a habit. Erika had religiously followed Pam’s rules for living, whereas Clementine wilfully ignored them. ‘Sam and I always forget that vacuuming is even a thing,’ she’d once told Erika. ‘We always feel better, though, once it’s done and then we say: Let’s vacuum more often! It’s kind of like when we remember to have sex.’

Erika had been astonished, both by the vacuuming and the sex. She knew that she and Oliver were more formal with each other in public than other couples, they didn’t really tease each other (they liked things to be clear, not open to misinterpretation) but gosh, they’d never forget to have sex.

A vacuumed house wasn’t going to make a difference to the outcome of today’s meeting, any more than sesame seeds were.

‘Pig on the spit, eh?’ said Erika to Vid. She put her head on one side, coquettishly, the way Clementine would in a situation like this. She sometimes borrowed Clementine’s mannerisms for herself, although only when Clementine wasn’t there, in case they were recognised. ‘You mean to say you’ve got a spare pig just lying around waiting to be roasted?’