Truly Madly Guilty (7 page)

‘Oh, well, no, not really.’ Now she sounded almost agitated.

‘Fine then,’ soothed Clementine. ‘We’ll talk about this mysterious whatever-it-is after the barbeque.’

‘Or before,’ said Erika. ‘You just said …’

‘Or before,’ agreed Clementine, just as Ruby toddled into the room carrying a tiny plastic pink gumboot in each hand and looking pleased with herself. ‘Oh clever
girl
, Ruby, you can wear your gumboots! That’s a great idea.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Erika, who could never bear it when Clementine spoke to her kids when she was on the phone to her. She seemed to think it was a breach of etiquette.

‘Nothing. Sure. Let’s talk
before
the barbeque.’

‘See you then,’ said Erika brusquely, and she hung up, in that infuriatingly abrupt way of hers, as if Clementine were her lowly intern.

It didn’t matter. A barbeque with Erika’s charming neighbours on this sunny winter’s day would be fun. What could be nicer?

chapter eight

The rain eased slightly, although of course it didn’t stop, it would freaking well never stop, so Tiffany took the opportunity to grab an umbrella and drag their recycling bin, rattling indiscreetly with wine and beer bottles from the previous night, down her driveway.

She was thinking about Dakota and the smile she’d given Tiffany when she’d dropped her off at school this morning: a cool,
polite
smile as if Tiffany were someone else’s mother.

There was something going on with Dakota. It was subtle, this thing. It might be nothing, or it might be something. It wasn’t that she was misbehaving. Not at all. But there was something spookily distant about her. It was like she was encased in an invisible glass bubble.

For example, this morning at breakfast Dakota had sat straight-backed at the table, chewing daintily on her toast, her eyes flat and unreadable. ‘Yes, please.’ ‘No, thank you.’ Why was she being so polite? It was creepy! It was like they had a well-mannered foreign exchange student boarding with them. Eating disorder? But she was still eating; although not with much enthusiasm.

Tiffany couldn’t get to the bottom of it, no matter how hard she tried or what questions she asked.

‘I’m fine,’ Dakota kept saying in her mechanical new way.

‘She’s fine, leave the kid alone!’ Vid said. It made Tiffany want to scream. Dakota was not fine. She was ten years old. A ten-year-old shouldn’t smile politely at her mother.

Tiffany was determined to smash right through this freaking glass bubble thing Dakota had going on. Even if she was imagining it.

She was nearly out on the street when she saw Oliver bringing out his recycling bin too, although it wasn’t rattling as much as hers.

‘Morning, Oliver!’ she called out. ‘How are you? Isn’t this rain terrible!’

Shit. Every time she saw her neighbours now, ever since the barbeque, her stomach muscles tensed, as if she were doing a Pilates crunch.

She’d always liked Oliver. He was so straightforward and polite; a bit of a dork, with his black hair and spectacles, like a grown-up Harry Potter. He had a very small head, she couldn’t help but notice. There was nothing to be done about his pea-head, but Tiffany should tell Erika to buy Oliver some of those vintage, black-rimmed glasses; transform her husband into a cute hipster in just one move. (Vid had a massive head. You couldn’t get a baseball cap to fit him. Not that he’d ever wear a baseball cap.)

‘How are you, Tiffany?’ Oliver called back. He neatly pulled his bin to a noiseless stop, while Tiffany grunted as she hauled hers over the kerb. ‘Need a hand?’

‘No, no, I’ve got it. Aren’t you nice to offer! Don’t hear Vid offering! Oomph. That’s my workout done for the day!’ (It wasn’t. She was going to the gym later.) ‘What are you doing home at this hour? Taking a sickie?’

She walked over to within chatting distance and noted Oliver’s terrified glance at her cleavage. He fixed his eyes desperately on her forehead as if she were a test.
Yeah, buddy, I’m a test, but you pass every time.

‘I am actually. Getting over a bit of a flu thing.’ Oliver put his fist over his mouth and coughed.

‘How’s Erika?’ said Tiffany. ‘I haven’t seen her much lately.’

‘She’s fine,’ said Oliver shortly, as if that were personal.

Jeez Louise, ever since the barbeque, every conversation with Erika and Oliver felt as strained and difficult as if she were talking to an ex-boyfriend straight after a break-up. A break-up that was her fault. A break-up where she’d cheated.

‘And um, so we haven’t seen you much since –’ she broke off. ‘How
are
Clementine and Sam?’

Oliver coughed. ‘They’re okay,’ he said. He frowned off into the distance over Tiffany’s shoulder.

‘And how is –’

‘You know, it seems like a while since Harry has had his bin out,’ interrupted Oliver. Tiffany turned and looked at the empty spot on the road in front of Harry’s house. Or Mr Spitty’s house, as Dakota called him, because of his habit of spitting with disgust at all the things that disgusted him, like
Dakota
. Sometimes he looked at Tiffany’s beautiful daughter and spat, as if her very existence offended him.

‘He doesn’t put it out every week,’ said Tiffany. ‘I don’t think he creates a lot of rubbish.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ said Oliver. ‘But it feels like it’s been weeks since I’ve seen him. I wonder if I should go bang on his door?’

Tiffany turned back to look at Oliver. ‘He’ll probably just yell abuse at you.’

‘He probably will,’ agreed Oliver ruefully. He really was a nice guy. ‘It’s just that it feels like it’s been a long time between abusive tirades.’

Tiffany looked at Harry’s dilapidated, two-storey, red-brick Federation house. It was always kind of depressing to look at: the paint peeling off the window frames, the faded red roof tiles in need of repair. Gardeners came once a month to mow the lawns and trim the hedges, so it wasn’t like it was derelict, but ever since they’d moved here, and Harry had come over to welcome them to the neighbourhood with a demand that they do something about their oak tree, it had been a sad, lonely looking old house.

‘When did I see him last?’ said Tiffany. She searched her mind for unpleasant incidents. A few times Harry had stood in his front yard and yelled at Dakota, and made her cry, and that had made Tiffany lose her temper and yell back at Harry in a way that made her feel ashamed afterwards because he was an old man, and probably had dementia, so she should have shown more respect and self-control. What was the last thing one of them had done to upset Harry?

Then she remembered.

‘You’re right,’ she said slowly to Oliver, her eyes on the house. ‘It has been a while since I saw him.’

In fact, she knew exactly when she’d seen Harry last. It was the morning of the barbeque. That goddamned nightmare of a barbeque she’d never wanted to host in the first place.

chapter nine

The day of the barbeque

It was quiet. It was always especially quiet the moment directly after Vid left the room. It was like the moment after a band stopped playing when the silence roared in your ears. Tiffany could hear the tick of the clock. She never heard the clock ticking when Vid was in the room.

Tiffany sat at the kitchen table catching up on email on her laptop and eating Vegemite on toast. Vid had gone down the driveway to collect the paper, muttering about how he had to hunt for it each day in the garden and he was going to cancel the delivery.

‘Read it electronically like the rest of the world,’ Tiffany always told him, but although Vid was generally enthusiastic about trying new things, he was also extremely loyal, and his loyalty to certain habits and personal rituals, products and people was unshakeable.

‘Isn’t it quiet when Daddy leaves the room?’ Tiffany said to Dakota, who lay on her side on the long bay window seat, curled up like a cat in a rectangle of quivering morning sunlight. Barney, their miniature schnauzer, lay next to Dakota, his nose and paws resting on Dakota’s arm, his eyes shut so all you could see were his big, bushy eyebrows. Barney was a dog who napped like a cat.

Dakota was reading, of course. She was always reading, disappearing into different worlds where Tiffany couldn’t follow. Well, she
could
follow, if she could be bothered to pick up a book, but reading made Tiffany restless. Her legs started to twitch impatiently after one page. TV made her restless too, but at least she could fold laundry or pay bills while she watched. At Dakota’s age Tiffany never would have picked up a book for pleasure. She was into make-up and clothes. The other day Tiffany had offered to paint Dakota’s nails and Dakota had responded with a kind, vague: ‘Uh, maybe later, Mum.’ It was her karma for all the times her own sweet, domestic mother had suggested that Tiffany might like to help her bake something and Tiffany had apparently said, according to family folklore: ‘Will you pay me?’ ‘You were always so keen to be
compensated
,’ her mother said.

Well, time is money.

‘It’s quiet, isn’t it?’ said Tiffany when Dakota didn’t answer.

‘What?’ said Dakota.

‘You mean, pardon?’ said Tiffany.

There was a beat. ‘What?’ said Dakota again, and she turned a page.

Tiffany snorted.

She opened a new email. It was from Saint Anastasias, the super-posh private school that Dakota would be attending next year. Tiffany wouldn’t be able to follow her daughter into that new world either. Vid’s three daughters from his first marriage, Dakota’s three older stepsisters, had all attended Saint Anastasias, which wasn’t a great advertisement as far as Tiffany was concerned, but the school did have a stellar reputation (it freaking well ought to have for what it charged) and Vid had wanted to send Dakota from kindergarten. Tiffany thought that was ridiculous, when there was a great little public school just down the road. Year Five was the compromise.

There was to be an Information Morning in August. Two months away. It was ‘compulsory’ for all students and ‘both parents’ to attend. Compulsory. Tiffany felt her hackles rise at the email’s officious tone and quickly closed it. She wasn’t going to fit in at this place. She felt a real resistance to attending the Information Morning and even a certain level of nerves. As soon as she registered the feeling as fear she was disgusted with herself. Furious. She snapped the laptop shut, refusing to even think about it. It was Sunday. They had the day free. She had a huge week ahead of her.

‘Good book?’ she asked Dakota.

‘What?’ said Dakota. ‘I mean, pardon?’

Tiffany said, ‘I love you, Dakota.’

Long pause. ‘What?’

The front door banged. There was a mark on the wall from where Vid threw it open each time he came into the house as if he were making a grand return from an epic journey.

‘Where are you, women?’ he shouted.

‘Where you left us, you peanut!’ Tiffany called back.

‘I am not a peanut! Why do you keep calling me that? It doesn’t even make sense! Now listen to me, I have news!’ He came in swinging his rolled-up paper like a baton. He looked energised. ‘I just invited the neighbours over for a barbeque. Ran into Erika in the street.’

‘Vid, Vid,
Vid
.’ Tiffany rested her head on her hand. ‘Why would you do that?’

Erika and Oliver were nice enough but they were so freaking shy and serious. It was hard work. It was better to invite them over when other people were going to be there so you could pass them on when you got tired of all the seriousness.

‘You promised we’d have just one Sunday relaxing,’ she said.

She had such a busy week ahead of her: a property going to auction on Tuesday night, a fight with a local council at the Land and Environment Court on Wednesday, and a painter, a tiler and an electrician (well, Vid) were all waiting on her to make decisions. She needed a break.

‘What are you talking about? That’s what we’re doing! Relaxing on this beautiful day!’ protested Vid, looking genuinely puzzled. ‘What’s more relaxing than a barbeque? I’m going to call Drago. Organise a pig. Oh, and their friends are coming. Remember the cellist? Clementine. Clementine and her husband. What was his name?’

‘Sam,’ said Tiffany, perking up. She’d liked Sam. He had that short, broad-chested blond surfer boy look she used to go for before Vid, and he was funny and easygoing. They’d met them just the once when Erika and Oliver hosted Christmas drinks at their place last year. That had been such a strange night. Vid and Tiffany had never been to a drinks party like it. All these people standing about, talking so quietly, as if they were in a library or church. One woman was drinking
a cup of tea
.

‘Where’s the food?’ Vid kept whispering too loudly to Tiffany while Oliver and Erika seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time worriedly wiping down already clean kitchen benchtops with dishcloths, as if to make it clear their guests were making a mess but they were on top of it. It had been such a relief when they got introduced to Clementine and Sam. Vid, who loved classical music, had been so excited to learn that Clementine was a cellist, it was almost embarrassing, but then Tiffany and Sam got talking politics and had an enjoyable argument. (He was a bleeding heart but she forgave him that.) ‘Do you think we could order a pizza?’ Sam had whispered at one point and Vid had roared laughing, although then they all had to stop him from pulling out his mobile phone and actually ordering one. Clementine found a chocolate bar in the bottom of her handbag and surreptitiously divided it up among the four of them while poor Erika and Oliver were busy polishing their benchtops. It was like they had all been marooned on a desert island, and had done what they could to survive.

‘They’ve got two little girls,’ said Vid.

‘I remember they said they had little kids,’ said Tiffany. ‘Cutesy little names.’

‘I don’t remember their
names
,’ said Vid. ‘Anyway, Dakota can play with them, you know, can’t you, Dakota?’ He looked hopefully at Dakota.

‘Uh, guys, there’s someone at the front door,’ said Dakota, without looking up from her book, as Barney, eyes alert, lifted his head from her arm and leaped to the floor, where he ran around in circles, yapping delightedly. Barney liked guests nearly as much as Vid.

Someone was thumping over and over again on the front door, ignoring the doorbell.

‘You didn’t invite them right this very minute, did you?’ said Tiffany. ‘
Shh
, Barney. Vid, did you?’

Vid was standing at the pantry, pulling out ingredients. ‘Of course I did not,’ he said distractedly, although he was perfectly capable of doing that.

Tiffany went to answer the door, Barney zigzagging excitedly in front of her and almost tripping her up. She found Harry, the old man who lived next door, standing on the front porch, glowering at her, as usual, in his normal outfit of old grey suit trousers (from his old job maybe?) and a white business shirt going yellow around the collar. White tufts of hair spurted from the top button of his shirt. He had white bushy eyebrows just like Barney.

‘Hello, Harry,’ said Tiffany, smiling as nice a smile as she could muster, while thinking,
And how have we freaking well offended you today, my elderly friend?
‘How are you?’

‘This keeps happening!’ shouted Harry. ‘It’s unacceptable!’ He handed her a letter addressed to Vid. ‘I’ve spoken to you about it before. I don’t want your mail. I shouldn’t have to deliver your mail. It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘It’s the postman, Harry,’ said Tiffany. ‘He accidentally put it in the wrong letterbox. It happens.’

‘It’s happened before!’ said Harry belligerently.

‘Yes, I think it did happen one other time,’ said Tiffany.

‘Well, you need to put a stop to it! Are you
stupid
? It’s not my responsibility!’

‘Okay, Harry,’ said Tiffany.

‘Harry, mate!’ Vid strolled out into the hallway, stuffing a handful of purple grapes into his mouth. ‘You want to come to a barbeque later? We’re having Erika and Oliver over! You know, from number seven.’

Harry blinked at Vid. He put his hand inside his shirtfront and scratched. ‘What? No, I don’t want to come to a
barbeque.
’

‘Ah, that’s a pity,’ said Vid. He put his arm around Tiffany. ‘Maybe another time, but Harry, you know, I don’t want to hear you calling my wife “stupid”. Okay, Harry? That’s not nice. That’s not neighbourly.’

Harry looked at them with his rheumy brown eyes.

‘I don’t want any more of your letters,’ he muttered. ‘Not my responsibility. You’ve
got to take responsibility
.’

‘We take responsibility,’ said Vid. ‘Don’t you worry about that.’

‘Get that dog away from me!’ said Harry as Barney sniffed his shoe with fascination. Barney lifted his bearded little face, as if his feelings were hurt.

‘Come on, Barney.’ Vid clicked his fingers at the dog.

‘You know we’re always here if you need us, Harry,’ said Tiffany. He suddenly seemed so heartbreaking, like a confused child.

‘What?’ Harry looked appalled. ‘Why would I need
you
? Just keep your damned letters out of my letterbox.’

He shuffled off, shoulders bowed, shaking his head and muttering.

Vid shut the door. Harry was already forgotten. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Do I feel like baking? Yes, I feel like baking! Will I make strudel? What do you think? Strudel? Yes. I think most definitely strudel.’