The kettle boiled and she remembered how she had walked down that bouncy, soft-carpeted hallway at Tiffany and Vid’s house, encased in that strange bubble where nothing seemed quite real, except that she’d overheard Clementine’s voice perfectly: It’s almost … repulsive to me. Oh God, I don’t mean that, I just really don’t want to do it.
Why did she remember that part of the night so clearly? It would be better if Clementine’s words had vanished from her memory, but her memory of that part of the afternoon was crystalline, more distinct even than a regular memory, as if the tablet and the first glass of champagne had produced a chemical reaction that had at first heightened her memory before turning it murky.
She heard Clementine say, What if it looked like Holly or Ruby?
Even after all these weeks, her cheeks burned at the memory. Clementine had spoken Erika’s secret, most precious hopes out loud in a tone of disdain.
She remembered walking into that room and seeing Clementine’s horrified face. She was so clearly terrified that Erika had overheard.
She remembered how she’d carried Ruby downstairs on her hip while rage and pain raced like bacteria through her bloodstream. Rage and pain for Oliver, who had so blissfully, innocently assumed that if they asked Clementine to donate her eggs his little baby would come from ‘a place of love’. A place of love. What a joke.
They’d gone out into that preposterous backyard and Tiffany had offered her wine, that very good wine, and she’d drunk it faster than she’d ever drunk a glass of wine before, and every time Erika had looked at Clementine, laughing, chatting, having the time of her life, she had silently screamed, You can keep your damned eggs.
And it was at that point that her memories of exactly what happened that afternoon began to loosen, fragment and crumble.
chapter twenty-eight
The day of the barbeque
‘This is some backyard,’ said Sam.
‘It’s … amazing,’ said Clementine.
Vid and Tiffany’s house had been impressive, especially the artwork, but this lavishly landscaped backyard, with its tinkling water features, its fountains and urns, its white marble statues and its scented candle-lit, luxuriously fitted out cabana, was another level of extravagance altogether. The fragrance of roasting meat filled the air, and Clementine wanted to laugh out loud with delight, like a child walking into Disneyland. She was enchanted by the opulence of it all. There was something so hedonistic and generous about it, especially after poor Erika’s rigidly minimalist home.
Of course she understood the reasons for Erika’s obsession with minimalism, she wasn’t completely insensitive.
‘Yeah, the backyard is all Vid’s. He goes for the understated look,’ said Tiffany as she indicated a seat for Clementine, refilled her glass with champagne and offered the plate of Vid’s freshly baked strudels.
Clementine wondered if Tiffany had some experience in the hospitality field. She almost had one arm folded behind her back as she bent at the waist and poured drinks.
From where Clementine sat in the long, low cabana she could see her daughters playing on a large rectangle of grass next to a gazebo with ornate columns and a wrought-iron dome. They were throwing a tennis ball for the little dog. Ruby had the ball at the moment and she was holding it up high above her head, while the dog, taut and trembling with anticipation, sat in front of her, poised to spring.
‘You must tell Dakota to let us know when she gets sick of looking after the girls,’ said Clementine to Tiffany, although she hoped it wouldn’t be any time soon.
‘She’s having a great time with them,’ said Tiffany. ‘You just relax and enjoy the view of the Trevi Fountain there.’ She nodded at the largest, most extravagant fountain, a monolithic creation built like a wedding cake with winged angels holding uplifted hands as if to sing, except instead they spurted great criss-crossing arcs of water from their mouths. ‘That’s what my sisters call it.’
‘Her sisters have the wrong country,’ said Vid. ‘The Gardens of Versailles was my inspiration, in France, you know! I got books, pictures, I studied up. This is all my own design, you know, I sketched it out: the gazebo, the fountain, everything! Then I got friends in to build it all for me. I know a lot of tradies. But her sisters!’ He pointed his thumb at Tiffany. ‘When they saw this backyard, they laughed and laughed, they just about wet their pants.’ He shrugged, unbothered. ‘I said to them, it’s no problem that my art has given you joy!’
‘I think it’s incredible,’ said Clementine.