‘I don’t know if I’m joking,’ said Erika reflectively. ‘I might be serious. We did save Ruby’s life. That’s a fact. Why shouldn’t they repay us by doing something in return? And what does it matter what her motivations are?’
Oliver considered. ‘Yes, it matters,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t it? If she doesn’t really feel comfortable with it? If she wouldn’t have done it otherwise?’
‘Well, she has to see the counsellor at the clinic anyway,’ said Erika. ‘Before it all goes ahead. Surely it’s up to the counsellor to talk to her about all that sort of thing. Her motivations. Her … psychological state.’
Oliver’s brow cleared. There was a procedure to follow. Experts who would decide.
‘You’re right,’ he said happily. He picked up his cutlery. ‘That’s great news. Amazing news. A step in the right direction. We’ll get there. We’ll be parents. One way or another.’
‘Yes,’ said Erika. ‘Yes, we will.’
He put down his knife and fork again and wiped the side of his mouth. ‘Can I ask you something that might sound strange?’
Erika stiffened. ‘Sure.’
‘The day of the barbeque, Clementine said that you’d always told her you didn’t want children. You’re not just doing all of this for me, are you?’ His glasses slipped forward a fraction as he frowned. ‘All that you’ve had to go through over the last few years …’
‘It hasn’t been that bad,’ said Erika.
IVF had been a well-ordered process. She appreciated the rigour of it, the rules and the science. She especially enjoyed the sterility: the gowns that went straight into a basket after you wore them only once, the booties you put on over your shoes, the blue paper hairnets. And it had been nice, spending time with Oliver, working on this important secret project together. She remembered each retrieval and transfer, breathing in that beautiful antiseptic fragrance, holding Oliver’s hand, nothing to do except submit to the process. Oliver had taken on the responsibility of all the medication. He had done all her injections, tenderly, professionally. Never left a single bruise. She didn’t mind the early morning blood tests. The dizzy rush to the head. ‘Yes, that is correct, that is my name,’ she’d say as the nurse held up the neatly labelled test tube of blood in a blue-gloved hand for her to check.
Clementine would hate those needles. Clementine’s terror in return for Oliver’s joy. It was an equitable deal, wasn’t it?
‘Yes, but you want a baby too, don’t you?’ said Oliver. ‘For yourself? Not just for me?’
‘Of course I do,’ said Erika. It had always been for him. Always. That acquisitive desire she’d felt for a little Holly or Ruby of her own was gone now. She wasn’t sure exactly why. Probably because of what she’d overheard and maybe because of something else: murky feelings related to those lost moments from her memory.
But none of that mattered. She ate her chicken curry and let her eyes roam around their beautiful uncluttered room.
‘What’s that?’ she said suddenly.
She stood up and went to the bookshelf. There was a sparkle of blue in between the spines of two books. Oliver turned to watch her.
‘Oh,’ he said as she pulled out Holly’s little blue sequinned bag. ‘That.’
Erika opened the bag full of Holly’s rocks.
‘She must have left it here,’ she said, lifting out a small white polished pebble.
‘The night of the barbeque,’ said Oliver.
‘I’ll give it back to Clementine,’ said Erika.
‘Holly doesn’t want it back,’ said Oliver. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something else, but then he changed his mind and instead took a sip of water and replaced the glass carefully on the coaster.
‘Really? I thought she loved –’
‘We might be pregnant by Christmas,’ said Oliver dreamily. ‘Imagine that.’
‘Imagine that,’ agreed Erika, and she dropped the stone back into the bag.
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.’