The Truth Club

by Grace Wynne-Jones

  ‘Why?’ Erika’s eyes brighten, just slightly.

  ‘For Fiona. I want a cat to celebrate her new baby, when she eventually has it.’

  ‘What kind of cat?’ Erika looks distinctly happier.

  ‘A baby cat… a kitten. I’ll leave the details up to you.’

  ‘I’d better wait until she has the baby,’ Erika says, getting quite excited. ‘I’ll need to know whether it’s a boy or a girl cat.’

  ‘Yes… yes, of course. She’ll be thrilled.’

  ‘Did I tell you I’ve started doing massage to make a bit of extra money?’ Erika asks, as she swigs down the last of her coffee. ‘I only do it occasionally. The staff at International Holdings get very tense sometimes.’

  I gawp at her.

  ‘I put up a little flier in the canteen, next to the poster that says “Come Swim with Dolphins”.’

  ‘What does the flier say?’ I ask carefully. It would be just like Erika to end up with a bunch of massage clients who got the wrong idea entirely.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she laughs. ‘I’ve made it clear I’m not offering sexual relief or whatever they call it. It’s purely therapeutic. Lionel was my first client.’

  ‘Lionel… he’s the shy one who gets all embarrassed when he asks you to type letters, isn’t he?’ I ask hopefully.

  ‘Yes. He only let me at his feet, but I’m hoping to get to his back any day now, after his head. I’ll get him to strip off gradually.’

  A man at a nearby table looks over at us with undisguised interest.

  ‘Where do you do this?’

  ‘In my flat.’

  Oh, God, I think. I hope these people don’t start asking her to spank their bottoms or… I silently begin to list some other sexual deviations I might mention to her.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Erika says. ‘I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m not trained to do massage, but I did an evening course ages ago. When I was working for Gregory.’

  Just the name makes me want to growl. Erika spent eight years organising Gregory’s office – he was something very important in metals – and being in love with him. Gregory was at least single, and he pretended to love Erika, but he also found time to love at least three other women in his spare time. Erika thought Gregory was far too good for her – which is why, I assume, she went on a massage course: so that she could pleasure him more thoroughly.

  ‘OK, OK – I admit it,’ she sighs, seeing my expression. ‘I went on the course because of Gregory. I didn’t tell you about it because I knew you’d guess I was doing it for him.’ I don’t comment. ‘But now it’s coming in really useful. I found the notes I made and I’ve read some more books on the subject. I’m not an expert, of course, but I know the basics. I don’t charge that much, and people seem to find it comforting. I really enjoy it.’

  ‘Good,’ I say. ‘That’s really good, Erika.’ Maybe I should mention the spanking business later.

  In some ways, it’s amazing that Erika has fallen so madly in love with Alex. She’s had plenty of romantic disappointments; but when we were younger, love was just part of her life, and even if it ended it returned in a flash and hardly gave her time to wash her hair. She cried and drank too much wine and was disappointed for a few days, and then there was someone else. Gregory changed that. He was The One – the big slippery slug. He got into her corners with his silence and into her heart with his stares. Being unhappy with him was better than being happy with the others. He was Home. He was the one who Knew and Saw. He was suddenly living in County Kilkenny with a woman called Sabine. After Gregory, we really didn’t think she’d open her heart to another human being ever again; she seemed to have transferred all her passion to her cats. So all this business with Alex would be wonderful – if only he was single.

  We sit for at least three minutes without speaking. We cradle our mugs in the easy manner of old friends and look around us. Bewley’s café is, as usual, very busy, and many of the staff and customers appear to be foreigners. I like this: it makes me feel I’m abroad, and I would very much like to be abroad, especially now. I think of Rio de Janeiro and DeeDee.

  Erika starts to put sugar sachets into her bag. ‘What are you doing?’ I ask.

  ‘They keep on running out of sugar in the office kitchen. Lionel likes some with his tea.’

  ‘You’ve become rather fond of Lionel, haven’t you?’ I smile.

  ‘No, of course not!’ Erika says indignantly. ‘He’s far too…’ I wonder if she’s about to say ‘nice’. ‘He’s far too embarrassed.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About everything. I could hardly get him to take off his socks for his foot massage.’

  ‘He sounds very nice to me.’

  ‘I wonder when Fiona’s going to have her baby,’ Erika says, when she’s finished with the sugar sachets. ‘Maybe she’ll just get bigger and bigger. Maybe it will pop out in twenty years as a perfectly formed second-hand-car salesman.’ She giggles. She still hasn’t quite forgiven Fiona for saying she shouldn’t see Alex.

  ‘I doubt that Fiona’s child will ever be a second-hand-car salesman.’ I wish I could tell her the truth about the baby’s parentage. I’ve even been having dreams about it, in which I keep saying, ‘I’ve never seen a baby who looks so much like… a baby. Isn’t it amazing how like a baby it looks?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I know. Fiona’s baby will probably be a quantum physicist by the time it’s three.’ Erika sighs. ‘And we’ll all have to sit round her koi pond while she tells us that it will be starting at Oxford as soon as it’s out of nappies.’

  ‘This isn’t an easy time for Fiona,’ I say slowly. ‘She may look very self-contained and… perfect, but she has worries just like everyone else.’

  ‘Yes, I know – I’m being a bitch,’ Erika says. ‘I’m sorry. I love her. Of course I do. She’s so kind and beautiful and clever and generous.’

  ‘And organised,’ I add.

  ‘Yes,’ Erika says. ‘What does she actually do in software?’

  ‘I don’t know, but she’s frightfully good at it.’

  Erika stares dreamily around the café. A sort of golden glow surrounds the people cosily reading papers or chatting. The smell of coffee wafts pungently around the room. Bewley’s isn’t your average café. It is old and knows itself. It is a good place to dream in, surrounded by people and talk and cakes. I think of Nathaniel, the feel of him sitting next to me, the beautiful stupid nonsense he talked; the look of his hand on the steering-wheel, the play of muscles on his arm when he threw the magazines and papers onto the back seat.

  ‘What about the one with the nanny who falls in love with a shepherd in Tuscany? Or the one where that actor, the fellow with the big lips, almost marries that young actress for a bet?’ Erika is trying to remember what films are on in town. We want to go to an early show, but naturally we don’t have a paper we can refer to. She glances at her watch. ‘It’s nearly half past five. The film’s probably started.’ She grabs her jacket and bag and two large shopping bags; Erika does not know the meaning of travelling light.

  ‘What film?’

  ‘I don’t know, but we’re probably late for it,’ she answers, bustling towards the exit. ‘And then we’ll have to see something else we don’t like as much.’

  We virtually run towards O’Connell Street. The streets are crowded with shoppers heading home with their purchases. Then, as we pass a kebab shop, Erika shouts, ‘Wait!’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s him… it’s Gus!’ Erika whispers excitedly. ‘In the fast-food place!’

  ‘Who’s Gus?’

  ‘Ingrid’s yoga teacher.’

  ‘Who’s Ingrid?’

  ‘Alex’s wife, of course.’ Erika darts over to a newsstand and buys a newspaper. She slinks behind a lamppost and peers over the top of the paper.

  ‘Why are we staring at a man eating a kebab, Erika?’ I demand. ‘We could be watching a film. A really good film.’

  ‘That we don’t
even know the name of,’ Erika hisses. ‘I need to see what he’s up to. I need to see if… if some woman joins him.’

  ‘Why? I mean, what if Gus is seeing other women? What difference will that make?’

  ‘I need to know, that’s all,’ Erika says. ‘If he’s seeing other women, he probably won’t run off with Ingrid.’

  ‘And why is it so important that he should run off with Ingrid?’ I sort of know the answer already, but I feel I need a proper explanation, especially now that chunks of tomato are landing on Gus’s sweatshirt. It’s almost impossible to eat a doner kebab with any sort of decorum. Gus has his blue yoga mat propped upright by his chair. He is wearing a beret and sandals and has the slightly gaunt, though extremely fit, look of someone who doesn’t spend sufficient time eating cream buns in front of the telly.

  ‘Because it would be so much simpler,’ Erika hisses. ‘If Alex runs off with me, it would really compromise his career. He writes books about trust and fidelity and working on marriages and being responsible. People just don’t expect him to run off in a camper van with another woman.’

  ‘It probably wouldn’t matter,’ I say, mainly to curtail this daft obsession. ‘He could write a book about love after love instead. It could be a whole new market. It would be for people who found they couldn’t live up to their romantic ideals. It could be all about the importance of forgiveness and…’

  ‘Oh, Sally, please…’ Erika looks decidedly pissed off. ‘Just shut up about it, OK?’

  ‘Let’s just go see that film,’ I say desperately.

  ‘Which film?’

  ‘Any film. The one about the big slug that tries to eat Los Angeles.’ I squint. ‘Look, it’s on in that cinema over there. People are queuing for tickets.’

  ‘I don’t want to see a film about a slug,’ Erika mutters.

  ‘Look, it’s late. We can’t be too picky,’ I say, exasperated. Erika is peering at Gus through a small hole she has made in her Evening Herald.

  ‘He’s having chips and Diet Coke, too.’

  ‘Erika, I’m sorry, but I’m going to go soon,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to spend the whole evening watching a yoga teacher dribbling mayonnaise down his front. You may find it riveting, but it just doesn’t float my boat.’

  Erika is still peering through the hole in the newspaper. ‘Oh, look, there’s a man joining him. He’s leaning over him… He’s…’ She gulps.

  I look over. ‘He’s collecting his tray, Erika. Get a grip.’

  ‘Do you think Gus is gay?’ Erika asks, clearly agonised. ‘He might be. I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Yes, he probably is, if he let someone clear his tray.’ I sigh. ‘That’s a tell-tale sign. I’m going now.’

  ‘OK, OK,’ Erika says reluctantly. ‘I’m coming too. You’d think a yoga teacher would have a better diet.’

  ‘The slug film could be fun,’ I say. ‘The queue isn’t long now.’

  ‘I need some chocolate. If I’m going to watch a film about slugs, I have to have chocolate.’

  I get chocolate-coated peanuts and Erika gets Maltesers, and we each buy a packet of fruit gums, because it is a known fact that if only one person buys a packet of sweets she will spend the first half of the film trying to get the other person to eat it.

  ‘I wish we were going to see a romantic film,’ Erika says mutinously as we leave the shop. She already has four Maltesers in her mouth.

  ‘I bet there’s some romance in the slug film,’ I say. ‘I bet some man saves a woman from being eaten.’ And then I stop.

  Nathaniel is in the queue. And he’s standing beside Eloise, the cabinet-maker he was talking to at the reception – beautiful bossy Eloise with the purple fringe and big Bambi eyes. They are laughing, and his hand is on her elbow. I turn sharply away before they can see me. I can’t face meeting him – not like this, not when he’s with her. My breath catches in my throat. This is ridiculous. I hardly know him.

  ‘Sally! Sally, where are you going?’ Erika grabs my sleeve as I start to walk away.

  ‘I can’t go to that film, Erika. I’m sorry. I’ve changed my mind about it.’

  ‘Why?’ she almost shouts. ‘You’re the one who suggested it.’

  ‘I’ve seen someone – someone I don’t want to meet. I can’t talk about it here.’ I’m walking quickly away from the cinema, towards O’Connell Bridge.

  ‘Who is it?’ she puffs.

  ‘It’s… it’s someone called Nathaniel.’

  Erika studies my face swiftly, keenly. I don’t know what she sees, but she stops tugging at my sleeve. ‘OK, we’ll do something else.’

  ‘Maybe we could find another film.’ I look at her guiltily. ‘I don’t know why I felt we had to go into the first cinema we saw. I think I was just desperate to get you away from Gus.’

  ‘We’ll rent a DVD and go back to my flat.’ She smiles. ‘That slug film sounded awful anyway.’

  ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Erika threads her arm under my elbow. ‘When did you meet this Nathaniel?’

  ‘Yesterday,’ I sigh. ‘I did tell you it was a very busy day.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘He sounds nice,’ Erika says, after I’ve told her about how Nathaniel saved me from Larry. ‘He sounds nice and kind and fun.’

  ‘Yes, he is,’ I agree, ‘but he’s also very odd and stubborn. And his car looks as if he found it in a skip. I really thought it was going to disintegrate on the Howth Road.’

  Erika laughs.

  ‘He left his wife because she was having an affair with a transvestite.’

  ‘This gets more and more intriguing,’ Erika says, bright-eyed.

  ‘And he’s got an extremely beautiful girlfriend called Eloise.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Erika frowns.

  ‘He’s Greta’s cousin.’ I shudder slightly. ‘She’ll probably be furious with me for running out on Larry.’

  ‘Any sensible woman would have run out on Larry.’

  ‘But I’m not a sensible woman.’ I sigh. ‘I was before I married Diarmuid, but marriage has done something to me. I’ve… I’ve started leaking.’

  ‘Leaking?’ Erika leans forward. We are surrounded by at least twenty papier-mâché cats at various stages of completion, and they all seem to be staring at me too.

  ‘Yes. These strange new bits of me keep sort of seeping out. I keep thinking that maybe I don’t have to do things I clearly should do. Yesterday, when I was going to that reception, I thought for a moment that I could just keep on walking, walking across Dublin, and never go to it at all.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ Erika says. ‘Receptions can be a right pain in the arse.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s part of my job to turn up at these things and look interested.’ I stare at a bright-pink table Erika made from wooden fruit-boxes. ‘And then, when I was supposed to meet Diarmuid, I found myself walking to the bus stop; I actually had to make myself turn back and go to the pub.’

  ‘Well, you must have wondered why he needed to see you quite so urgently,’ Erika says soothingly.

  I look at her guiltily. ‘Sometimes, late at night, I even find myself thinking I don’t have to go to Marie’s big do in September. I could just say I have to attend a conference or something, like April.’ Erika starts sniffing the air. ‘And then I went off with Nathaniel like that – a man I don’t even know…’

  ‘Oh, feck – the pizza!’ Erika jumps up from her chair and races into the kitchen. ‘Oh, good… it’s just a bit singed.’

  I have never eaten a non-singed pizza cooked by Erika, so I can’t pretend to be that surprised. ‘Do you need some help?’ I call.

  ‘No, I’ve just got to cut some of the brown bits off.’

  As Erika attends to this task, I stare at her lemon-coloured walls and turquoise bookshelves. When she has a paintbrush in her hand she gets a bit carried away. The midnight-blue sofa came from a warehouse that sells charity furniture; it’s very squishy and so
ft, and she has scattered it with brightly coloured Indian cushions and a large teddy called Wilfred who always looks slightly depressed. The place is awash with ‘alternative’ things and books about how to love yourself more and connect with your guardian angels. Bloody Alex’s books about how to have a contented relationship are, naturally, on prominent display.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Erika says, when she returns with two large plates.

  ‘It looks delicious,’ I say, even though there isn’t that much pizza left now that the singed bits have been removed.

  ‘Maybe I should get some rice cakes… you know, to bulk it up a bit.’

  ‘Oh, no, Erika – this is lovely.’ I am not a great fan of Erika’s rice cakes.

  ‘We both need to have more fun,’ Erika announces, as she opens a large bottle of red wine. ‘We’ve become terribly earnest and worried. Nathaniel has the right attitude.’

  ‘I hardly know what kind of attitude he has, Erika,’ I say. ‘I barely know him.’

  ‘Yes, but he’s light-hearted and playful. We should be more like that.’

  I take a bite of pizza. ‘Maybe he’s only like that because he’s crazed with grief about his marriage.’

  ‘It doesn’t sound like it,’ Erika says. ‘Not if he’s already found himself a girlfriend.’ She goes over to the stereo, and soon salsa music is cavorting wildly around her flat, making me feel jiggly and excited. It’s the kind of music DeeDee would have heard in Rio. As I gulp another glass of wine and surrender to inebriation, I think of the fascinating life she must have led – not necessarily an easy one, but a life full of colour and variety. She probably danced and sang in sultry late-night cafés. She probably kissed her dark and handsome Latin lovers under the stars. Maybe they even swam naked in the sea, tossing off their clothes and rushing into the waves, laughing.

  Erika must sense my thoughts, because she suddenly says that the problem with our lives is that we don’t dance or sing enough. She adds that we also need to go to churches where they sing gospel music.