She had thought about cutting herself. She’d read about cutting in a YA book that the librarian said was too old for her, but she’d got her mum to buy it for her anyway. (Her mum bought her any book she wanted.) Teenagers did it. It was called ‘self-harm’. She’d thought she’d try out self-harm, even though she really, really hated blood. When her parents were busy on their computers, she’d gone into their bathroom and found a razor blade and sat on the edge of the bath for ages trying to get up the courage to press it into her skin, but she couldn’t do it. She was too weak. Too cowardly. Instead she hit herself as hard as she could on the top of her thighs with closed fists. Later, there were bruises, so that was good. But then she had come up with a better punishment: something that hurt more than cutting. Something that affected her every day and no one even noticed the difference.
It made her feel less guilty but at the same time it made her feel desolate. ‘Desolate’ was the most perfectly beautiful word for how she felt. Sometimes she repeated it over and over to herself like a song: desolate, desolate, desolate.
She wondered for a moment if Harry had felt desolate and that’s why he’d been so angry with everyone. She remembered how that afternoon she’d sat on this window seat, reading, and she’d looked up and seen a light on in a room on the second floor of Harry’s house and she’d wondered what Harry was doing up there, and what did he do with all those rooms in that house anyway, when he lived there all alone?
Now Harry was dead and Dakota felt nothing about that, nothing at all.
chapter twenty
The day of the barbeque
‘Here they come,’ Tiffany called out to Vid in the kitchen as she stood at the front door and watched Dakota walk up the driveway, hand in hand with Clementine’s pink tutu-clad daughters who were skipping by her side. As Tiffany watched, the littler one toppled over in that slow-motion toddler way and Dakota tried to carry her. The child was about half Dakota’s height, so her legs dragged on the ground and Dakota tilted to one side, staggering under the little girl’s weight.
‘Dakota is being such a good sister!’ said Tiffany as Vid appeared at the front door wearing his striped apron, smelling strongly of garlic and lemon from the prawns he was marinating.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ said Vid.
Fifteen years ago, when he proposed, while Tiffany was still admiring her engagement ring (Tiffany for Tiffany, naturally), Vid had said, ‘Before you put it on, we need to talk about children, okay?’ With three volatile, angry teenage daughters, Vid had no desire for more children, but Tiffany was a young woman, so of course she would want children, it was only natural, he understood this, so Vid’s compromise, in order to close the deal, was this: Just one baby. A one-child policy. Like China. He couldn’t take any more than that. His heart and his bank account couldn’t handle it. He said he would understand if one baby was not enough, but for him it was not negotiable. Take it or leave it, and by the way, if she walked away, the ring was still hers and he would always love her.
Tiffany took the deal. Babies were the last thing on her mind back then, and she really did not fancy stretch marks.
She had never regretted it, except sometimes, like right now, she felt a kind of twinge. Dakota would have been a loving, responsible older sister, just like Tiffany’s own older sisters had been. It seemed wrong to deny her that, especially as Dakota never demanded anything except more library books.
‘Maybe we should renegotiate our deal,’ said Tiffany.
‘Don’t even joke about it,’ said Vid. ‘I am not laughing. Look at this face.’ He pulled a mournful face. ‘Serious face. Four weddings will bankrupt me. It will be the death of me. It will be like that movie, you know, Four Weddings and a Funeral. My funeral.’ Vid chuckled, delighted with himself. ‘Four weddings and my funeral. You get it? Four daughters’ weddings and Vid’s funeral.’
‘I get it, Vid,’ said Tiffany, knowing that she’d be hearing this joke for months, possibly years to come.
She watched Erika and Oliver, Clementine and Sam, approach the house behind the children. There was something odd about their formation, there was too much space around them, as if they weren’t two couples who knew each other well but four individual guests who hadn’t met before this day and had happened to arrive at the same time.
‘Hi!’ called out Erika, timing it just a bit wrong; she was too far away. Their driveway was very long.
‘Hi!’ called back Tiffany, walking down the steps to meet them.
As they got closer, she saw they all had identical glazed smiles, like people who have recently got into drugs or religion, or a new pyramid sales scheme. Tiffany felt a hint of trepidation. How was this afternoon going to pan out?
Vid walked straight past her towards the guests, his arms outstretched. Jeez Louise, Vid, you peanut, you would think they were beloved relatives returning from a long trip overseas.
Barney thought the guests were his beloved relatives too, and rushed to ecstatically sniff everyone’s shoes as though it were a race to get them all sniffed in record time.
‘Welcome, welcome!’ cried Vid. ‘And look at these beautiful little girls! Hello! I hope you don’t mind me sending Dakota over to fetch you. I didn’t want the meat to be overcooked. Barney, calm down, you crazy dog.’