Erika was drunk. He wanted to take Erika home and put her to bed like a child, and wait for the morning when she would be his beloved wife again. He'd never seen her slur her words before or look at him with glassy, unfocused eyes. It was nothing to get himself worked up about. She wasn't falling over or dropping things or vomiting in the garden. It was just regular drunkenness. Some people did it every weekend. Clementine was a 'little merry' too, hectic spots of colour on each cheek, but he didn't care what Clementine did.
When he was a kid it used to feel like his parents disappeared when they got drunk. As the levels of their glasses went down, he could sense them pulling away from him, as if they were together on the same boat, slowly pulling away from the shore where Oliver was left stranded, still himself, still boring, sensible Oliver, and he'd think, Please don't go, stay here with me, because his real mother was funny and his real father was smart, but they always went. First his dad got stupid and his mum got giggly, and then his mum got nasty and his dad got angry, and so it went until there was no point staying and Oliver went to his room to watch movies. He'd had his own VCR in his bedroom. He'd had a privileged upbringing, had never wanted for anything.
He met his own eyes in the mirror. Come on. Pull yourself together. Go back out.
Today was not meant to have been the day when Erika got drunk for the first time in their marriage. Today was the day when they were meant to have put their proposal to Clementine, and Oliver had hoped - he knew it was unrealistic - but he had really hoped that she might -
He heard Erika scream, 'Clementine!'
He didn't stop to turn off the tap.
chapter forty-seven
The day of the barbeque
The air rushed from Clementine's lungs. Afterwards, everyone would say, 'It happened so fast', and it did happen fast, but at the same time it slowed down, every second a freeze-frame in unforgettable full colour, lit by golden fairy lights.
Clementine leaped to her feet so fast her chair fell over. What? Where? Who?
Her first thought was that one of the girls had hurt themselves. Very badly. Blood. There would be blood. She couldn't stand blood. Maybe they'd need stitches. Or a broken bone sticking out of the skin. Teeth. Chipped teeth. Holly or Ruby? Probably Holly. The backyard spun around her in a whirl of colour. She couldn't hear crying. Where was the crying? They both had such loud cries. Holly was enraged when she hurt herself. Ruby wanted to ensure she communicated the need for an urgent parental response.
She saw Holly first, standing in the gazebo with her little blue sequinned bag, perfectly fine, looking impassively at ... what?
Erika running. She was looking at Erika running.
Erika was running towards the fountain. Vid's 'Trevi Fountain'. What was she doing? She looked like she was going to dive in.
Erika had lost her mind. She was having a nervous breakdown, some sort of psychotic episode. Clementine knew she wasn't right tonight. She never got drunk and she'd been behaving so strangely. It was Clementine's fault.
; Erika leaped up and over the side of the fountain in one swift, athletic move. She was waist-deep in water. She slipped, almost fell, righted herself and waded towards the middle. What in the world was she doing? Clementine was mortified for her.
And now Oliver was running from the cabana towards the fountain to drag Erika away. To stop her embarrassing herself. He didn't even stop when he reached the side of the fountain, he crashed straight over the side.
He and Erika waded, slipped and slid, from opposite sides of the fountain together, like two lovers in a movie rushing to embrace after a long absence.
But they didn't embrace. They lifted Ruby's tiny lifeless body high up between them.
chapter forty-eight
The day of the barbeque
Ruby's head sagged sideways. Water streamed from her. Her little pink coat was heavy and sodden with water. Her arms dangled uselessly like a rag doll's.
Clementine thought: Cold. She'll be so cold.
Ruby hated the cold. Her teeth chattered like a wind-up toy when she got too cold. The water at swimming lessons was never warm enough for her, even in the middle of summer. 'Cold, cold!' she'd cry.
Clementine ran to snatch Ruby from Oliver, to snuggle her close to her chest and warm her up. She could already feel how her wet body would soak her clothes. She got to the side of the fountain and held out her hands, but Oliver ignored Clementine as he climbed out of the fountain with Ruby cradled in his arms.
'Me,' said Clementine stupidly. She meant: Give her to me.
Oliver placed Ruby flat on her back on the hard, uncomfortable terracotta tiles next to the fountain.
'Ruby!' said Oliver loudly, as if Ruby were in trouble. He shook Ruby's little shoulder. Much too roughly. 'Ruby! Wake up, Ruby!' He sounded angry. He never sounded angry.
Clementine fell hard on her knees on the tiles next to them. 'Give her to me,' she said desperately, but she couldn't get close to her. Oliver and Erika were taking up the space.