Truly Madly Guilty

In the meantime, the four grown-ups had stood in a strange, awkward foursome in the living room. Sam avoided all eye contact with Tiffany, as if it were illegal to look at her. Everything about him seemed clenched.

'They never even offered us a drink!' said Vid. He couldn't get over that. He'd be offering drinks during an earthquake.

'Yeah, well,' said Tiffany. 'They didn't want us there.'

'Hmmph,' said Vid. 'The little girl looks good. Very healthy. Rosy cheeks. We should have all been happy. Celebrating.'

'I think they blame themselves,' said Tiffany.

'But she's fine, she's perfect, she's beautiful!' said Vid robustly. 'Thanks to Erika and Oliver. All good. No need for the glum faces. Shh, now, I'm trying to concentrate on my tempura.'

'You're the one talking.' Tiffany flicked his neck with her fingertip as she stood up. He slapped her bum in return. She went to the sink to get herself a glass of water and stood watching Dakota read. She felt immensely pleased with herself, like she'd pulled off a difficult deal. Visiting Clementine and Sam had been exactly the right thing to do. Socially awkward but absolutely the right thing for her family.

Last night, while they'd been standing in the hallway about to leave, and Vid was talking on and on about spotted gum floorboards, Clementine had pulled Dakota aside, taken her hand and placed it between her own in an almost ceremonial way and said, 'Your mum told me you felt bad about what happened to Ruby at your place. Dakota, I forbid you to feel bad for another minute, for another second, okay? It was my responsibility.'

Tiffany had expected Dakota to say nothing, to just nod dumbly, but to her surprise Dakota had spoken up, clearly, although her eyes had stayed fixed on her trapped hand.

'I should have told you I was going inside to read my book.'

'But, see, I knew you'd gone inside,' said Clementine. 'I knew the moment you went inside, because your mum told me, so that had nothing to do with ... anything! You weren't their babysitter! When you're older, you probably will do babysitting, and you'll be very responsible, you'll be wonderful, in fact, I know it, but my girls were not your responsibility that afternoon. So, you must promise me you won't worry about this anymore, because ...' Clementine's voice had momentarily wavered. 'Because I just can't bear it if you feel bad about that day too. I honestly cannot bear it.'

Tiffany saw Dakota stiffen, repelled by the level of raw, grown-up emotion in Clementine's voice. Clementine released her hand and in that instant you could almost see Dakota make a decision: a decision to accept absolution and be a kid again.

And now she was back reading.

Dakota had told Tiffany that she'd given up reading as 'a punishment to herself' because that was her most favourite thing in the world. 'Were you going to give up reading forever?' Tiffany had asked her, and Dakota had shrugged. She had also admitted that she'd destroyed her copy of The Hunger Games because that was the book she'd been reading when Ruby nearly drowned. Tiffany had considered telling her that she really shouldn't destroy her possessions - books cost money, money didn't grow on trees, etcetera - but instead she said, 'I'll buy you another copy,' and at first Dakota said quietly, 'Oh, that's okay,' but when Tiffany pushed, she said, 'Thanks, Mum, that would be great, because it was actually an awesome book.'

Now Tiffany watched her turn the page, deep in her own world. To never once say a word about how she was really feeling for all those weeks, while her secret guilt festered. Jesus, she'd have to watch that kid like a hawk. She was like Tiffany's sister Louise, who 'ran much too deep' as their mother said, while Tiffany presumably ran much too shallow.

The doorbell rang.

'I'll get it,' said Tiffany, unnecessarily, as it was clear neither Vid nor Dakota was moving.

She felt a sense of deja vu. Dakota lying on the window seat. The doorbell ringing. The morning of the barbeque.

'Hi there, I'm -' The man on the doorstep stopped. His gaze travelled a straight line down Tiffany's body. She wore yoga pants and an old T-shirt, but the man was looking at her like she was wearing her schoolgirl outfit from her dancing days. Tiffany jutted one hip and waited it out (enjoyed it, to be frank, she was in a good mood).

His eyes returned to her face.

That'll be ten bucks, buddy.

'Hello,' said the man, clearing his throat. He was in his late twenties, very fair, and he was blushing. It was adorable. Okay, you can have it for free.

'Hi,' said Tiffany huskily, making eye contact, just to see if she could make him blush more, which, yes, it seemed she could. The poor man was crimson now.

'I'm Steve.' He held out his hand. 'Steve Lunt.' He was a little posh. One of those carefully enunciated voices you felt compelled to imitate. 'My uncle, my great-uncle, Harry Lunt, lived next door.'

'Oh, right.' Tiffany straightened as she shook his hand. Shit. 'Hello. I'm Tiffany. We're very sorry about your uncle.'

'Well, thank you, but I actually only met him once, as a child,' said Steve. 'And to be honest, he scared the life out of me.'

'I didn't know he had family,' said Tiffany.

'We're all in Adelaide,' said Steve. His colour had returned to normal now. 'And as I'm sure you're aware, Harry wasn't exactly sociable.'

'Well,' said Tiffany.

'We were Harry's only relatives and my mother did her best, but it was really just the odd Christmas card and phone call. Poor Mum would sit there while he bellowed abuse at her.'