Truly Madly Guilty

'We've been going through IVF for the last two years,' said Erika. 'And my eggs are ... rotten.' Because of you, she thought. Because I grew up in filth, surrounded by rot and decay and mould, so germs and spores and all manner of malignancy found its way into my body. She hadn't been at all surprised when she couldn't get pregnant. Of course her eggs had gone off. No surprises there!

'They're not rotten,' said Oliver in a pained way. 'Don't say that.'

'You never told me you were going through IVF,' said Sylvia. 'Did you just forget to mention it? I'm a nurse! I could have given you support ... advice!'

'Yeah, right,' said Erika.

'What do you mean, "yeah, right"?'

'We never told anyone,' said Oliver. 'We just kept it to ourselves.'

'We're strange people,' said Erika. 'We know it.'

'You always said you never wanted children,' said Sylvia.

'I changed my mind,' said Erika. You would think she'd signed a contract the way people kept reminding her of this.

'So Clementine offered to donate her eggs?' said Sylvia.

'We asked her,' said Erika. 'We asked her before ... what happened with Ruby.'

'But you can bet your bottom dollar that's why she's doing it,' said Sylvia.

'Look, none of this is definite yet,' said Oliver. 'We're right at the early stages. Clementine still has to have tests, see a counsellor ...'

'It's a horrible idea,' said Erika's mother. 'An absolutely horrible idea. Surely there are other options.'

'Sylvia,' began Oliver.

'My grandchild won't really be mine!' said Sylvia.

Narcissist. That's how Erika's psychologist described her. Classic narcissist.

'My grandchild will be Pam's grandchild,' continued Sylvia. 'It's not enough that she has to take my daughter, oh no, now she can lord it over me with this: "We're just so happy to help out, Sylvia." So condescending and smug. It's a horrible idea! Don't do it. It will be a disaster.'

'This isn't about you, Sylvia,' said Oliver. Erika could hear a pulse of anger in his voice. It made her nervous. He rarely got angry and he always spoke with such scrupulous politeness to his mother-in-law.

'Why in the world did you ask her?' said Sylvia. 'Find an anonymous donor. I don't want my grandchild to have Pam's DNA! She's got those big elephantine ears! Erika! What if your child inherits Pam's ears?!'

'For heaven's sake, Mum,' said Erika. 'I read somewhere there's a gene associated with compulsive hoarding. I think I'd prefer my child to have big ears than become a hoarder.'

'Please don't use that word. I abhor that word. It's so ...'

'Accurate?' murmured Erika.

There was silence for a few seconds but Sylvia rallied fast.

'What will you say when Clementine comes to visit?' she said. ' "Oh, look, darling, here comes your real mother! Off you go and play the cello together." '

'Sylvia, please,' said Oliver.

'It's unnatural, that's what it is. Science has gone too far. Just because you can do something, doesn't mean you should.'

They pulled into Clementine's parents' street. It used to take Erika only ten minutes to walk here as a child, to leave all the dirt and the shame behind. Erika looked out the window as they pulled up in front of the neat Californian bungalow with its olive-green front door. Just seeing that olive-green front door used to make her heartbeat slow.

Oliver turned off the windscreen wipers, twisted the key in the ignition, undid his seatbelt and turned to look at his mother-in-law.

'Could we please not talk about this over dinner?' he said. 'Could I ask you that, Sylvia?'