Pam looked at her steadily. ‘Yes, Clementine. Oliver found a body. It was one of their neighbours.’
Clementine froze. It was Vid she thought of first. Big men like Vid were prone to dropping dead of a heart attack. She didn’t want to see Vid again but she didn’t want him to die.
‘The old fellow two doors down from them,’ said Pam.
Clementine felt everything unclench. ‘Harry,’ she said.
‘That’s it. Did you know him?’ asked Pam.
‘Not really,’ said Clementine. ‘From a distance. He didn’t like it if you parked on the street anywhere near his house. Once there was a delivery truck in Erika’s driveway when we were visiting and so we had to park on the street near his driveway. He suddenly emerged from behind his azalea bush yelling abuse. Sam told him that his property line didn’t extend to the street, he was polite, of course, but you know what the horrible man did? He spat at us. Holly and Ruby were thrilled. We lived on that story for days. The spitting man.’
‘He was probably lonely,’ said Pam. ‘Unhappy. Poor old fellow.’ She tilted her head, listening to the rain. ‘It’s really got a settled feeling, that rain, hasn’t it? As if it’s here to stay.’
‘It makes everything seem diabolically difficult,’ said Clementine.
‘You know, I’m so happy that Erika is still seeing that lovely psychologist!’ said Pam, her eyes brightening at this sudden pleasurable thought. She loved anything to do with mental health. ‘It means she’ll be armed with all the tools she needs to deal with her mother.’
‘She might not be talking to the psychologist about the hoarding at all,’ said Clementine. ‘She might be talking about her infertility.’
‘Infertility?’ Pam put down her teacup abruptly. ‘What are you talking about?’
So Erika hadn’t confided in Pam either, even after all this time. What did that signify?
‘But she and Oliver don’t want children! Erika was always so vocal about not wanting children!’
‘She wants me to donate my eggs to her,’ said Clementine blandly. She had been putting off telling her mother about Erika’s request, not wanting Pam’s forthright opinions further complicating her own already complicated feelings, but now she was conscious of a childish desire for her mother to fully comprehend the continuing cost of being Erika’s friend. Look what you asked of me, Mum, even now all these years later, see how kind I am, Mum, I am still being so KIND.
Although who was she kidding? Donating your eggs was the sort of purely philanthropic act her mother would have killed for the chance to perform. Clementine used to tell her father that if she were ever in a car accident, he needed to double-check that she really was dead before her mother began enthusiastically handing out Clementine’s organs.
‘Donate your eggs?’ said Pam. She gave her head a little shake as if to make things settle back into place. ‘But how do you feel about this? When did she ask you?’
‘The day of the barbeque,’ said Clementine. ‘Before we went next door.’ She thought of Erika and Oliver sitting so straight-backed and tense on their white leather couch (only a childless couple would own a white leather couch). They both had such neat little heads. Oliver’s spectacles were so clean. They had seemed so endearing in their earnestness. And then, that instant feeling of distaste at the gynaecological word ‘eggs’, and the irrational sensation of violation, as if Erika were proposing she reach right over and help herself to part of Clementine – to some deeply intimate part of her that she’d never get back – followed instantly by that old, familiar shame, because a real friend wouldn’t think twice.
She had thought she wouldn’t need to feel that awful shame ever again, because Erika was fine now, ‘in a good place’ as people said, and no longer asking for more than Clementine could give.
‘Oh my gosh,’ said Pam. ‘What did you say?’
‘I didn’t say anything at the time,’ said Clementine. ‘And we haven’t talked about it since then. I think Erika is hoping I’ll bring it up soon, and obviously, I will, I’m just picking the right moment. Or I’m procrastinating. Maybe I am procrastinating.’