The doorbell rang. The sound was like a swift, violent kick to the stomach. The air rushed from her lungs. The tablet fell from her clumsy fingers.
‘Doorbell dread,’ her psychologist called it, almost with satisfaction, because Erika was ticking all the right boxes. ‘It’s very common. Of course you dread the doorbell, because all through your childhood you dreaded discovery.’
Erika squatted down, the tiles of the bathroom cold and hard against her knees. The floor was clean. The yellow tablet lay in the centre of a tile. She pressed her fingertip to it and looked at it. The doorbell rang again. She put the whole tablet on her tongue and swallowed.
Everything depended on the conversation she was about to have. For God’s sake, of course she was anxious. She could feel herself breathing shallowly, taking tiny, rapid sips of air, so she put her hand on her stomach and took a deep breath the way her psychologist had taught her (inflate your belly, not your chest) then she walked out of the bathroom and down the hallway as Clementine, Sam, Holly and Ruby spilled in through the front door, a tumble of noise and movement and different fragrances, as if there were ten of them, not just four.
‘I brought a bottle of champagne to take when we go next door.’ Clementine held up a bottle as Erika kissed her hello. ‘And I’ve brought nothing for you. Is that rude? Oh, wait, I’ve got that book I promised you, Oliver.’ She rummaged through her big striped bag for the book. ‘I did spill some hot chocolate on it, I’m sorry, but you can still read through the chocolatey blotches. Are you okay, Erika? You look a bit pale.’
‘I’m fine,’ said Erika stiffly. ‘Hello, girls.’
The girls were dressed in ballet tutus, leggings and hoodies. They had glittery fairy wings attached to their backs by complicated elastic holster-type arrangements. Both girls needed their hair brushed and their faces washed. (Time to put on fairy wings but not to have a quick scrub in the bathroom!) Just looking at them gave Erika that same ache she experienced when she watched Clementine perform.
‘Holly, say hello to Erika. Don’t mumble,’ said Clementine. You would think Erika was an elderly aunt who demanded good manners. ‘Look her in the eye and say hello. Will you give Erika a cuddle, Ruby? Oh, you too, Holly. That’s nice.’
Erika bent down as the little girls both wound their arms around her neck. They smelled of peanut butter and chocolate.
Ruby, her thumb in her mouth, held up her kitchen whisk expectantly.
‘Hello, Whisk,’ said Erika. ‘How are you today?’
Ruby smiled around her thumb. Although Erika was always polite to Whisk, she didn’t really think Clementine and Sam should encourage the personification of an object, or Ruby’s intense attachment to it. Erika would have nipped it in the bud a long time ago. She thought her psychologist agreed with her, although she was annoyingly equivocal about it.
Erika saw that Holly had the little electric-blue sequinned handbag that she’d given her two Christmases ago slung over her shoulder. The ecstasy on Holly’s face when she’d opened her present and seen that bag had made Erika’s own face contort with such intense feeling she’d had to look away fast.
Holly now used her bag to lug around her growing rock collection. Erika was a little worried about Holly’s rock collection, because it was heading towards obsessive and could obviously lead to all sorts of issues, but her psychologist was quite adamant that Holly’s rock collection was nothing to be concerned about, it was perfectly normal, and that it was probably not a good idea to tell Clementine to keep an eye on it, but Erika had still told Clementine to keep an eye on it, and Clementine had promised she would, with that patronising kindly look she sometimes got, as if Erika had dementia.
Oliver squatted down next to Holly. ‘I found this the other day,’ he said, holding up a flat oval-shaped blue stone. ‘It’s got these little glittery bits.’ He pointed with his fingertip. ‘I thought you might like it.’
Erika held her breath. First of all, why was Oliver encouraging Holly’s rock collecting when she’d shared her concerns with him, and secondly, more importantly, was Holly about to snub him in the hurtful, honest way of children? Clementine had told Erika that Holly liked to find the stones herself (most of them seemed to be just plain old dirty garden stones) and was apparently completely disinterested when Clementine’s lovely father had tried to turn Holly’s interest into a learning opportunity and had given her a little gemstone attached to a card with information about its geological properties.
Holly took the stone and examined it through narrowed eyes.
‘This is a good stone,’ she pronounced, opening her bag to add it to her collection.
Erika exhaled.
Oliver straightened, pulling on his trouser legs, exultant.
‘What do you say?’ said Clementine at the same time as Holly said, ‘Thank you, Oliver,’ and then looked up at her mother balefully. ‘I was saying thank you.’