Truly Madly Guilty

'Pff!' Pam flicked a hand. 'It's my pleasure. You know that. It's good for your father and me to have a night off from each other too. Space is good for a marriage. You have to have your own interests.' She frowned. 'As long as you don't become obsessive about them, of course.'

Pam's father, Clementine's grandfather, had been a schoolteacher who spent every spare moment he had working on the great Australian novel. He worked on it for over fifteen years before he died in his fifties of complications caused by pneumonia. Clementine's grandmother was apparently so angry and grief-stricken and bitter about all the time he'd wasted on that 'stupid bloody book' she'd tossed the entire manuscript in the bin without reading a single word. 'How could she not read it? What if it was the great Australian novel?' Clementine always said, but Pam said Clementine was missing the point. The point was that the book had ruined their marriage! Pam's father loved the book more than he loved her mother. As a consequence, Pam took a keen, possibly fanatical, interest in monitoring the quality of her own marriage. She read books with titles like, Seven Seven-Second Secrets for Super-Charging Your Marriage. Clementine's easygoing, laconic father tolerantly endured weekend 'marriage retreats'. He went along, or gave the appearance of going along, with everything Pam suggested, and it appeared to have worked, because they were undeniably fond of each other.

Pam was just as vigilant about the quality of other people's marriages as she was her own, although she was self-aware enough to know that people didn't always appreciate her vigilance.

'I don't suppose you'd think about seeing a marriage counsellor, would you?' she said now to Clementine. 'Just to talk things through.'

'Oh, well, no, I don't think so,' said Clementine. 'There's nothing really to say, is there?'

'I suspect there's a lot to say,' said Pam. She bit into her biscuit with her strong white teeth. 'Well. How was your day? Any, ah, gigs?'

Even after all these years she still said the word 'gig' self-consciously, in the same way that she always said 'croissant' with the proper French pronunciation, but with an apologetic, self-deprecating look to make up for her pretentiousness.

'I did one of my talks,' said Clementine.

If Sam's face showed a spasm of irritation when she mentioned the talks, her mother's face showed a spasm of delight. 'Of course! I forgot you had one scheduled for today. How did it go? I'm so proud of your bravery, Clementine, I really am. How was it?'

'Erika came along to watch,' said Clementine. 'Somewhat bizarrely.'

'Not bizarrely at all! She was probably just being supportive.'

'I never noticed before that Erika has exactly the same haircut as you,' said Clementine.

'I guess it helps that we go to the same hairdresser,' said Pam. 'Maybe dear old Dee can only do one type of haircut.'

'I didn't know you two went to the same hairdresser,' said Clementine. 'How did that come about?'

'I have no idea,' said Pam hurriedly. She was always keen to rush over the detail

s of exactly how much time she spent with Erika, as if it would make Clementine feel envious or usurped. She was too old for that now, although she could still feel the lingering memory of her childhood insecurities. She's my mother, thank you very much.

'Speaking of Erika,' said Pam. 'I actually called her tonight while you were out, just to give her an update on the Sylvia situation, which ... well, let's just say things aren't improving as she gets older ... but anyway, Erika told me something a little upsetting.' Pam reflected. 'Although she didn't seem that upset about it.' She used the side of her hand to absent-mindedly sweep together some crumbs on the coffee table into a microscopic pile. 'Apparently Oliver found a body, the poor boy!'

'What do you mean he found a body?' For some reason Clementine felt herself experiencing a flash of anger, directed at her poor mother. It just seemed so outlandish. 'He just stumbled upon a body, did he? He was just out for a run and he tripped over a corpse?'

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?