The day of the barbeque
Tiffany drove towards Westmead Children’s Hospital as fast as she dared, while Clementine phoned her parents and in-laws. They were brief but terrible phone calls to hear. As soon as Clementine heard her mother’s voice she burst into tears. Tiffany could hear the poor woman shouting through the phone, ‘What is it? What happened? For the love of God, Clementine, stop crying and tell me!’
After the phone calls they drove in silence, while Clementine sniffed noisily, her phone in her lap and her face turned towards the window.
Finally Tiffany spoke. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she began.
‘It’s not your fault,’ said Clementine. ‘It’s our fault. My fault.’
Tiffany was silent, her eyes on the road ahead. What if a little girl died because Tiffany still liked to be admired? Because she knew Vid liked it? Because she thought she was so freaking edgy?
‘I was distracting you,’ she said. She wanted it on the record before someone accused her.
‘I started it,’ said Clementine dully. She turned and looked out the window. ‘My child. My responsibility.’
Tiffany didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t like arguing over a dinner bill. No, I insist! Let me take this one.
‘I was watching both girls all afternoon,’ said Clementine. ‘I knew exactly where they both were all the time. Except for then. Sam thinks I’m not as careful as him, but I was watching them. I was.’
‘Of course you were. I know you were,’ said Tiffany.
‘She must have been so scared,’ said Clementine. ‘When the water …’ Tiffany looked over and saw Clementine rocking, the seatbelt pulling tight against her chest, her fist pressed to her mouth. ‘She would have been swallowing all that water and panicking and …’
Tiffany strained to make out the words as she pulled up at a traffic light.
Clementine bent forward and rested her arms against the dashboard as if she were in the brace position for an airplane accident. Then she sat back again and pressed her hands hard against her lower abdomen and moaned, making Tiffany think of a woman in labour.
‘Deep breaths,’ said Tiffany. ‘In through the nose, out through the mouth. Make a “whoosh” sound, like this: Ha.’
Clementine obeyed.
‘I do yoga sometimes,’ said Tiffany. Distract her. That’s all she could do. ‘Do you do yoga?’
‘I keep meaning to,’ said Clementine.
‘I took Vid once,’ said Tiffany. ‘It was the funniest thing I’d ever seen.’
‘What’s that ahead?’ said Clementine. ‘Please tell me that’s not a traffic jam.’
‘I’m sure it’s not,’ said Tiffany. She looked at the line of twinkling red brakelights in front of her and her heart sank. ‘Not at this time of night. Surely not.’
*
Clementine couldn’t believe what she was seeing. It was like the universe was playing with her, laughing at her, punishing her.
‘You’re kidding,’ she said as they pulled up behind a stopped car. She twisted around in her seat. There were cars pulling up behind them, one after another, all of them coming to a complete stop. The lane next to them came to a standstill too. They were trapped in a sea of metal.
‘If there’s a side street coming up’ – Tiffany jabbed her finger at the car’s in-built satellite navigator – ‘we could duck down and find a back way, but I can’t seem to see –’
‘I should have gone with Ruby,’ said Clementine.
She and Sam hadn’t even discussed it when the doctor had said only one parent could go in the helicopter. ‘I’ll go,’ Sam had said without even looking at Clementine. Surely it was normally the mother who went. Children needed their mothers when they were sick. Just because Sam took the girls for their injections didn’t give him first place in line during medical emergencies. They called out ‘Mummy!’ if they were sick in the night, and Clementine was the one who would go and sit and cuddle them while Sam went to measure out the medicine. Why had she just passively stood aside and let him go? She was the mother. Clementine should have gone. She loathed herself for not insisting. She loathed Sam for not giving her the option.
‘Oh God,’ she said out loud. Her stomach cramped violently. ‘We’re not moving at all.’
The brakelights on the car in front went off and Tiffany hunched hopefully over the steering wheel. They inched forward and stopped immediately. From behind them a car horn tooted and another one responded with a furious, ludicrous scream.
‘Oh, fuck it,’ moaned Clementine. ‘Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.’