‘Not quite that many.’ I hiccup. This champagne is particularly fizzy.
‘But I don’t think we can understand everything. Some things are just mysteries.’
‘Yes.’ I look at her. April doesn’t normally talk about this sort of thing.
‘I think you should start dating again.’
‘You’ve told me that a number of times already, April, but I just don’t feel like it. If I can’t be a partial wife, I want to be a contented and eccentric spinster. I’ll keep busy trying to help my friends; they seem to get themselves into all sorts of weird situations.’ I think of Fiona and Milly, and Erika, and Diarmuid… Oh, God, am I already thinking of Diarmuid as a friend?
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come to your wedding,’ April says abruptly.
I don’t know what to say to that. It perplexed us all, frankly, but naturally we didn’t talk about it. My parents remained tight-lipped and disappointed, and I was too busy worrying about crucial things like how many layers should be on the cake and whether it could, just possibly, contain chocolate. (I left the chocolate out, eventually; the bakery said it might affect the texture.) Marie was the only member of the family who kept phoning April for an explanation.
‘It’s all right, April,’ I say from my champagne haze. ‘We understood. You… you had that conference.’
‘No, I didn’t. I just couldn’t face them.’
‘Who?’
‘Mum and Dad.’ April’s face is wan and tense, and her lower lip is trembling.
I lean forward and touch her arm. ‘But they love you, April. They love you so much.’
‘Oh, Sally… Haven’t you ever guessed? Haven’t you ever even suspected?’
‘What?’ I am feeling extremely jumpy.
‘That’s what I came here to tell you. I couldn’t keep it a secret any longer. It’s been so lonely.’
‘What?’ By now I’m almost hopping around in my seat.
‘Al is my father. Mum and Dad have known for years.’
I am completely dumbfounded. I gawp at April as though I have just swallowed the hotel’s very large and fancy chandelier.
‘They had the test done when I was one. That’s why we went back to Dublin. Dad said he couldn’t stand having Al hanging around wanting to visit me – and Mum, of course. He decided we should all go back to Ireland and pretend I was his child.’
‘How… how did you find out?’ I am almost whispering, though what surprises me most is that I am not more surprised. Because when I look at April now, really look at her, I see she doesn’t look like my father at all. I must have convinced myself of the similarities because I wanted to, and my parents must have encouraged the deception; but, deep down, I must always have had my suspicions.
‘I found out when I was twelve. I overheard Mum and Dad talking about it one day. They thought I was off with friends, but I’d come back to ask them for money – a whole gang of us had decided to get our ears pierced. They were in the sitting room, talking about when they should tell me, and I walked in on them and said, “Well, now you don’t have to.” Mum burst into tears. She made me promise to keep it a secret.’
I feel numb. The whole landscape of my past has been altered. It seems to me that April shouldn’t have just announced this. There should have been more of a build-up. There should have been some hints.
But, of course, there probably were hints – loads of them, if I had chosen to see them. I think of the hushed conversations that ended when I walked into the room; the way Mum kept repeating how alike April and Dad were. I even remember, suddenly, the day April shouted, ‘You’re not my proper father!’ at Dad when he said she couldn’t get a tattoo. I put it down to teenage petulance. I just thought we were a normal, slightly dysfunctional family.
‘Mum kept saying she was sorry and it had no effect on how much they loved me.’ April twists the leather strap of her bag round her fingers. ‘But I knew it did. I knew that was why they’d always loved you more.’
I gawp at her. This declaration is almost as surprising as the last one. ‘But they’ve always loved you more, April,’ I correct her. ‘They really have.’
‘That’s nonsense, Sally! They didn’t care when I went off on my mountain bike for hours. They didn’t even ask what I was getting up to.’
‘That’s because you were that kind of child. You seemed to need to whiz around the place.’
‘They wouldn’t have let you do that.’ She looks at me accusingly. ‘They gave you piano lessons. They drove you there and brought you home, and Mum always gave you a mug of tea and biscuits after the class. She never gave me tea and biscuits like that.’
‘It’s only because she knew I hated my piano lessons!’ I get the vague sense that we’re going off on a tangent, but suddenly this seems terribly important. ‘You should have seen the way Dad held you when you were a baby.’
‘That’s because he thought I was his.’
‘No, he didn’t, April. He really didn’t. I can see that, looking back on the time just after you were born. At first he didn’t want to have much to do with you, actually…’ I wish I didn’t have to say that, but it’s true. ‘Then one day you were crying and Mum was out, and I couldn’t comfort you. You were screeching.’ I take her hand. ‘Dad was about to walk away when he looked at you – and something happened. He fell in love with your big, bright spirit and the way you wouldn’t be ignored. He fell in love because you pulled it out of him, and that’s so special. It’s never gone away. Mum and Dad stayed together because of you, I’m sure of it. You taught them how to love again – in a different way, maybe, but they found they could stay together.’
April is sniffing and dabbing her eyes. ‘You just made that up, didn’t you?’
‘No, really. It’s true.’ I feel terribly tired. I wish I could go to Central Park and sit under a tree and collect my thoughts. Instead, I say the first thing that comes into my head.
‘Maybe they love us both equally, but in different ways.’ It’s only when I’ve said it that I realise it’s probably true. ‘They decided you were the wild one, and I was quiet and studious and dutiful. I suppose it was more convenient. You know how Mum likes things to be tidy and orderly. They somehow didn’t see that we were both mixtures of all sorts of other things, too.’
April sniffs dubiously.
I decide just to say it. ‘I love you, April.’
‘And I love you,’ she says. ‘Even though I wish you’d stop wearing that awful lipstick.’
I have to laugh. I laugh because sometimes I love April’s rugged unsentimentality, and sometimes I hate it.
April remains serious. ‘I came to California because I needed to get to know Al – I call him Al; I don’t call him Dad. I didn’t really plan to stay, but I like it there. I know Mum and Dad are disappointed that I’ve got close to Al.’
‘Have you ever talked to them about it?’
‘No.’
‘I think you should.’
April just says, ‘You should visit me. I’d love you to visit me.’ She looks at her watch. ‘I’ll have to go soon. I’ve got to meet someone and then I’m getting a flight back to San Francisco.’
Just as she announces this, Erika and Fiona arrive. ‘So here you are!’ Erika exclaims. ‘We’d thought you’d be in your room…’
‘Or in the Jacuzzi,’ Fiona adds. ‘We even checked.’
They look at April.
‘This is my sister, April.’
Fiona smiles. ‘Oh, yes, of course. How lovely to see you again, April. You look fabulous.’
April does in fact look extremely glamorous and cosmopolitan, and Erika stares at her with undisguised awe. ‘We only met once,’ she says shyly. ‘You probably don’t remember, but I made a cat for you when you left for California – or, at least, I made it for Sally to give to you. I came round to your house with it and –’
‘Wow! I love that cat!’ April interrupts. ‘It’s on my mantelpiece. Loads of people admire it.’
Erika almost purrs with joy, and I look at April gratefully. She seems to be telling the truth. Though her eyes are a bit puffy, she is regaining her usual poise and briskness. In fact, I suspect she’s happy that we’ve been interrupted. I don’t think she could have dealt with that emotional intensity for much longer.
‘So what have you two been talking about?’ Fiona says as she sits down. ‘Catching up on all the gossip?’
April and I glance at each other. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘We’ve had a great chat. She just decided to fly here to see me – isn’t that great?’
‘Wonderful.’ Fiona beams.
‘So are you over here on business too?’ April enquires. There is something lighter about her. Though her eyes are sad, I can see she’s relieved she has finally shared her secret with me. The tension has gone from her face; she looks less guarded.
‘No. Fiona and I are here to shop for shoes,’ Erika says solemnly. You can see she’s savouring this declaration.
April begins to give her advice on shops, and Fiona listens eagerly, since she is the one who can actually afford to buy herself top-class Italian footwear. The thing is, she is also wondering if she should go back to the airport and fly straight home. She’s fretting terribly about Milly, even though she left a supply of expressed breast milk in the freezer – she has been methodically storing it since Milly’s birth and sometimes feeds her using a bottle. Her breasts are aching; in fact, her whole body is yearning to hold Milly, immediately if not sooner.
‘I hope Milly’s all right,’ she says, for the hundredth time.
‘Look, you left five pages of notes about her for the nanny,’ Erika points out. ‘And Zak is there, and your mother. The poor child is probably longing for some time to herself. And, anyway, we’ll be flying home tomorrow. You’ll be seeing her in a few hours.’
Fiona calms down slightly.
‘So what kind of shoes are you looking for?’ April turns to Erika.
‘Flip-flops. They’re the only kind I can afford.’ She bursts into embarrassed giggles.
‘I know a place where you could get fabulous flip-flops. They decorate them with all sorts of stuff – flowers, mermaids, cats…’
‘Have you any advice on where to buy really good socks?’ I ask April, when Erika has drawn a small map of where to find the flip-flop shop and is peering at it cautiously. She doesn’t really understand maps; she prefers to keep asking people for directions.
‘Socks?’ Erika and Fiona stare at me.
‘Yes. Since I can’t afford new shoes, I want new socks.’
April bursts out laughing.
‘You know something, Sally?’ Fiona says grandly. ‘I think we should discuss this important matter over some more champagne.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Erika has a fabulous new pair of flip-flops and I have a magnificent new pair of socks. They are hand-knitted cashmere and have an intricate design in a variety of pleasing colours. They’re the kind of socks rich women from Connecticut wear on skiing holidays to Aspen, and because I own them I feel richer and blonder and more tanned. April bought them for me. She dashed through her ‘business meeting’ in fifteen minutes and joined us.
It has been a wonderful afternoon – even though, by rights, it should be late evening. Somehow the fact that time has got jumbled up is helping me to adjust to the news that April is my half-sister. If time can rearrange itself like that, other things can too. It’s almost as if I believe April was my full sister until I met her in the hotel, and then the details suddenly altered, so I just had to adjust to this parallel version.
It takes me time to absorb huge information like this. I only truly realised I was married a month after the wedding. This will probably happen in stages, too, until one day I’ll say, ‘Oh my God, Al is April’s father!’ in the middle of an interview about wallpaper. In the meantime I’m in semi-denial and trying to comfort Erika, who is crying because she’ll always be on the sideboard. We are all in another swanky room in the hotel, having coffee and cakes.
‘I loved him so much,’ Erika is telling April. ‘I can’t imagine life without him.’
The waiter arrives with the cakes. They look gorgeous, like ornate and luxurious hats with strange, delicious things poking out of them. The chocolate ones are virtually sculptures. Erika briefly forgets her almost unbearable grief and decides she wants the meringue, which is stuffed with fresh cream and raspberries and tiny chocolate truffles.
‘I just can’t believe it,’ she says. ‘I really did think he’d leave her… Oh, this cake is delicious. Do you think they make them or buy them in?’ Her mouth is stuffed with it and she has a bit of cream on her nose.
‘I don’t know if I’ll ever be happy again after Zak leaves me,’ Fiona says. ‘It’s so unfair that she can’t be his child. He’ll probably leave after the christening. He’ll put on a good show, and then he’ll go.’ She chooses the chocolate cake, rather than the virtuous pastry full of tropical fruit, and stares at it.
‘At least you got a really nice pair of shoes, Fiona,’ Erika says. ‘That shop was so huge and gleamy – and did you see that assistant’s nails? She must spend hours looking after them. That’s why I could never live in New York.’
‘Because of the nails?’ April looks at her.
‘Yes, and the hair and the teeth. They’re all so magnificently groomed. I wouldn’t be ready until five o’clock, and then the day would be almost over.’
‘A lot of them get the grooming done professionally,’ April says. Her own sleek blonde hair has all the hallmarks of a salon blow-dry.
‘Yes, but I can’t afford to go to a hairdresser every three days,’ Erika replies. ‘If my cats sold better, I might be able to, but the sales are very sporadic.’ She bites into her cake again and looks at me. ‘Remember the time you tried to cut your own fringe, Sally? And you ended up with almost no fringe at all.’
‘Yes,’ I say, and tears suddenly spring to my eyes, because I am thinking of Nathaniel. I should have cut his fringe, and then I should have insisted that he kiss me. I should have demanded his love, like April demanded it from Dad.
No one comments on my tears. It’s that sort of day. ‘My hair is very unruly,’ Erika continues. ‘I’ve never learned how to blow-dry it properly. Lionel says it’s lovely, but that’s only because he has no sense of style.’
‘Who’s Lionel?’ April asks.
‘Oh, some stupid guy from the office,’ Erika says dismissively. ‘And now he wants me to help a load of refugees speak English. I mean, my English isn’t that good; how am I supposed to teach a bunch of foreigners about grammar? A lot of it’s instinctive. I don’t even know some of the terms.’ She scoops some cream from the plate with her finger and pops it into her mouth. ‘So I’ve decided I’ll bring my guitar along and sing to them, and then we’ll talk about the lyrics.’
Fiona and I exchange concerned glances. Erika can hardly sing, and she is awful on the guitar. What’s more, the only song she can remember is ‘The House of the Rising Sun’, which is a sad song and could have a depressing effect on people who may be feeling miserable already.
‘I suppose I might as well busy myself with good deeds, since I’ll never meet anyone else like Alex.’ Erika sighs dolefully. ‘Does anyone want that éclair?’
We shake our heads, and she grabs it. I’ve chosen a chocolate cake with layers of mousse; it’s creamy and light and delicious, and it doesn’t even taste fattening.
‘The sad thing about men…’ Erika pauses to munch on her éclair. ‘…is that they’re so unsatisfactory. Most of them just don’t understand us, and the ones that do are married or gay or monks.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Fiona protests. ‘Some men are lovely. I bet a lot of them feel the same way about us.’
‘Look, let me enjoy being unfair for a moment, will you?’ Erika says sharply. ‘I keep trying to be fair, and you know something? Sometimes it’s a right pain in the arse.’
I laugh, and the others do too. Erika l
ooks so fierce and ruffled, like a kitten.
‘Anybody want more coffee?’ I ask. I am droopy with jet lag. Fiona shoves her cup towards me.
‘I wish I could put on my flip-flops now,’ Erika says. ‘It feels wrong, being in New York without wearing my new shoes.’
‘And I want to put on my socks,’ I add. ‘My New York socks.’
‘Let’s all go down to the spa,’ Fiona says. ‘You can put them on there.’
‘But you’re supposed to take your clothes off in the spa,’ Erika says.
‘Yes, and then you put them on again.’
‘We should go to Central Park afterwards,’ Erika says. ‘It’s such a lovely afternoon, even though it’s a bit muggy. My flip-flops should feel lovely and fresh.’
‘But it will probably get a bit cooler later, and then my socks will be nice and cosy,’ I say.
‘You should all come and visit me in California,’ April suddenly announces. ‘There’s enough room in my condo.’
‘Condom?’ Erika frowns at her.
‘Condo. Condominium. It’s got a swimming pool. You could all fly out there tomorrow.’
We stare at her. Just for a moment, I can sense we are all feeling that this is a good idea. Once we’ve shopped for shoes and socks in New York, we need to move on, and California is ideal. We could hang out in San Francisco for a while, and then maybe travel south and drop in on L.A. We would naturally travel in an open-topped car and play loud music about love and cars and moving on down the highway. We’d stop in motels and have wild sex with hunky, bronzed men who drove beat-up Chevys. Then Paris would beckon… or Rio. I look at Erika and Fiona. Their eyes are soft and dreamy.
‘I have to get back to darling Milly.’ Fiona is the first to break the trance. ‘I can’t believe I just left her like that.’
Erika looks at me excitedly. ‘But we don’t have much to go back to, do we? We could stay in the condom for a while.’
‘Condo,’ April corrects her.
‘We could stay there for a while and then get a camper van, Sally. We could get a camper van and roar into the desert.’
The Truth Club Page 24