It was all that research that had led to her decision to get counselling. 'My mother is a hoarder,' she'd said to the psychologist at her very first session, the moment she sat down, as dispassionately as if she were saying, 'I have a bad cough' to her GP. It had been exhilarating, as if she'd once had a fear of heights and now she was skydiving. She was talking about it. She was going to learn tips and techniques. She was going to repair herself like a broken appliance. She'd be as good as new. No more anxiety over visiting her mother. No more waves of panic when some smell or word or passing thought reminded her of her childhood. She'd get this sorted.
The exhilaration had diminished a little when it had turned out the repair process wasn't quite as speedy or systematic as she'd hoped, but she was still optimistic and she still felt it was a sign of her good mental health that she could discuss her mother's problem so freely now. 'It's not a sign of mental health,' Oliver had said once, with unusual irritability, after Erika had begun telling an old lady in a supermarket check-out queue exactly why she needed to buy so many heavy-duty garbage bags. 'It makes you look unstable.' Oliver didn't understand that Erika exp
erienced a strange, wondrous pleasure in telling on her mother. I'm not keeping your secrets any longer, Mum. I'm reporting you to this nice little old lady in the shopping centre; I'm reporting you to whoever cares to listen.
Vid seemed fascinated, intrigued.
'Wow,' he said. 'So she just can't throw anything out, eh? I remember on one of those shows I watched, this old fella, he kept newspapers, right? Piles of them, and I just thought, mate, what are you doing, you'll never read them, chuck them in the bin!'
'Well,' said Erika.
'Chuck what in the bin?' Tiffany reappeared with Dakota (who appeared so colourless and ordinary, standing next to her vibrant mother) and Holly, who seemed to be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after all that yelling. She could be a drama queen.
'Everything okay?' said Erika.
'Oh, yes, all good,' said Tiffany. 'Holly just had a bump playing tennis on the Wii.'
'Did a tennis ball hit your nose?' Oliver asked Holly. It was like the whole shape and texture of his face changed when he spoke to children, as if he stopped clenching his teeth or something.
'Uh, Oliver, the tennis balls are not technically "real",' said Holly. She held up two fingers on each hand to place inverted commas around the word 'real'.
Oliver slapped the side of his head. 'Silly me.'
'Ruby's head went wham! against my nose.' Holly rubbed her nose resentfully, remembering. 'She has a super-hard head.'
'Ouch,' said Oliver.
'Dakota is going to take Holly to show her the little house where Barney sleeps,' said Tiffany.
'I want a puppy for my birthday,' said Holly. 'Exactly like Barney.'
'We'll give you Barney!' said Vid. 'He is very naughty.'
'Really?' said Holly. 'Can I have him?'
'No,' said Dakota. 'That's just my dad being silly.'
'Oh,' said Holly, and she threw Vid a baleful look.
Maybe I'll get her a puppy for her birthday, thought Erika. She'd tie a red ribbon around its collar and Holly would throw her arms around her, and Clementine would smile indulgently and fondly. (Was she drunk? Her thoughts seemed to keep skidding off in all kinds of hysterical directions.)
'Oh dear, oh well, I'll let your mum and dad deal with that!' said Tiffany. She lifted her T-shirt and scratched her flat, tan stomach. 'And then we should all move out to the cabana, don't you think, Vid? It's too nice to be inside. Is that strudel finally ready?'
'What are Clementine and Sam doing?' asked Erika.
'Ruby wanted them to try to play tennis with her on the Wii,' said Tiffany. 'She's too little for it really, and then I think they forgot Ruby and started to get competitive with each other.'
'Ruby needs her nappy changed,' confided Holly to Erika. She waved a hand in front of her nose.
'They'll need the bag then,' said Erika, picking up Clementine's nappy bag. It was so typical of Clementine and Sam to start playing some computer game while their child needed changing, and they were visiting people they barely knew. They were like teenagers sometimes. 'I'll take it up.'
'It's the room at the end of the hallway.' Tiffany's tone became abruptly sharp. 'Not on the marble!' She spun Vid back towards the stove just before he dumped a hot baking dish on the island bench.
Erika put the bag over her shoulder and walked up the softly carpeted curved staircase. At the top of the stairs there was a huge landing without any furniture, like an empty carpeted field. Erika stopped to allow her five-year-old self to relish the feeling of space. She let her arms float from her sides. There was an enormous painting of an eye on one wall, with a four-poster bed reflected in the pupil of the eye (nonsensical!), illuminated by a single low-hanging light fitting, like an upside-down milk bottle. It was like a room in a gallery of modern art. How long would it take her mother to ruin a 'space' like this with her crap?
Erika walked down the hallway towards the murmur of voices in the end room. The carpet was so plush she bounced along like an astronaut. Whoops. She swayed a little and her shoulder brushed the wall.
'She should have asked me in private.' It was Clementine, speaking quietly but perfectly clearly. 'Not with all four of us there. With cheese and crackers, for God's sake. That stingy little piece of cheese. It was so weird. Wasn't it weird?'