‘Aggie so much wants to see you too.’ The words come out of my mouth in a torrent of hopefulness. ‘It would mean so much to her, DeeDee. I don’t know how much longer she’ll be with us. She’s desperate to tell you that she loves you.’
DeeDee looks down at the table.
‘I know about Joseph.’
DeeDee grows even more still and silent.
‘I read your notebook.’
‘What notebook?’
‘The one with the recipes.’
She just looks at me.
‘Someone must have found it,’ I say quickly. ‘It was in my parents’ attic. You’d gummed together the pages that were… were more personal.’ Suddenly I feel guilty. ‘I would never have seen those pages if they hadn’t got damp and opened on their own.’
She is still looking at me strangely.
‘Don’t you see, DeeDee? It’s like I was meant to read them. So many strange things have been happening lately, it’s almost like…’ I take a deep breath. ‘It’s almost like we were meant to find you because of Aggie. You must visit her. Please say you will.’
‘I don’t know if that’s really called for.’ She says the words slowly, flatly, almost as if she’s decided already. ‘I want you to keep this a secret, Sally. I don’t want you to tell anyone that you have met me.’
I stare at her, aghast.
‘I just wanted to meet you because Nathaniel has told me so much about you.’ She touches my arm gently. I maintain a mutinous silence, but I decide not to argue with her. Maybe when we know each other better I can persuade her to see Aggie. ‘Do you like Extravaganza?’ Her eyes search mine keenly.
‘Yes, I do. I love it. It’s… it’s just great.’
‘Oh, good. Some people say I should get rid of the sofas and the hats and the cushions, and put in more chairs and tables.’
‘Oh, no!’ I protest. ‘The hats and the sofas and the cushions are… are essential.’
She laughs. ‘No wonder Nathaniel says you and I are so alike.’
I wish I’d made a list of the questions I want to ask her. There are so many that I don’t know where to start.
‘What happened to your baby, DeeDee?’ I say softly.
She gazes out the window at the rain and the cars and the people walking home from work. ‘That’s a long story, Sally.’
‘I want to hear it.’
I’m afraid she may be about to tell me that’s a secret too. But then she begins to speak.
Chapter Forty
‘It was an awful situation, of course,’ DeeDee tells me calmly as I eat my omelette and chips. I’m amazed that I can eat, given the circumstances, but something about DeeDee is so loving and gentle that my hunger has returned. I even remembered to ask for tomato ketchup.
‘I hadn’t planned to have a baby for years, if ever,’ she says. ‘I was never the sort of woman who felt she had to have a child.’
I just listen. As DeeDee speaks, the light from the pink candle on the table seems to glow a deeper gold.
‘I didn’t really even know Joseph. He wasn’t my type at all. He was rather solemn and lugubrious, to be honest with you.’ DeeDee sighs. It sounds like an old sigh, one she has sighed many times already. ‘He was the type of man who actually liked wearing pinstripe suits and braces. And he regularly talked about his large collection of cufflinks. He seemed to bask in the comfort of conformity. He and Aggie were engaged at this point, but I really never understood what Aggie saw in him. There was no spark to him. No bounce.’ DeeDee’s voice rises slightly in indignation. ‘I wanted Aggie to find her prince, but she seemed perfectly contented with that smug, plump frog.’
The music in the room has changed to jazz. As the silver notes of a saxophone cavort through the air, DeeDee smiles at me with mild apology and rises to attend to a new customer who is clearly also a friend. This place is a kind of haven, I realise. People come here sure of their welcome. London can be a lonely place, but there is nothing lonely about this room. There is no rush about it; there is time for what needs to be attended to. There is a rhythm and a faith in its sounds and its silences. It has what no interior decorator can ever offer: it has love – a wise, embracing love that is there for whoever needs it.
DeeDee’s sudden disappearance is almost useful: it gives me time to recall my own impression of Joseph. I always thought of him simply as Aggie’s husband. He didn’t intrigue or even interest me; he was just there, and at Marie’s family gatherings he was the only one who relished her soggy lemon meringue pie. He seemed a man of cherished routines and habits – routines and habits that he and Aggie shared. By the time I knew him, he had moved on to smart navy suits; even in retirement, he kept up his sartorial standards on trips to town. When pottering around the house he favoured a rather shabby blue cardigan and slacks, and sometimes he wore gumboots in the garden. He was usually very polite, even friendly, but he didn’t give the impression of a man who wanted to be known by all and sundry. He saved his intimacies for Aggie, whom he appeared to love and who clearly loved him back. They did crosswords together and went to bridge parties and always had some plan or other to improve the garden. They planned their yearly holiday well in advance and in great detail, and sometimes they even tried to acquire a perfunctory knowledge of the local language via books borrowed from the library. There was a regularity to their relationship that was almost comforting. Joseph seemed like a man who could be relied upon to remain much as he was. This is the story we told ourselves about Joseph. We didn’t question it, because we had no reason to. He fooled us all. Perhaps he even fooled himself.
As I am thinking these things, DeeDee returns with two steaming mugs of tea. She also brings a bowl of sugar and a small jug of milk, and an orange plate full of the chocolate chip cookies. ‘Help yourself, dear,’ she says. I reach for a cookie and crunch it gratefully. All thoughts of my diet have gone, though I don’t feel any need to munch my way through the entire plate. That is another kind of hunger, one that is satisfied by simply being in this room with DeeDee.
As she sits down on the sofa she winces slightly. ‘The creaks and groans of age, I’m afraid,’ she says. ‘Sometimes my joints make as much noise as a loose floorboard.’ She laughs – an exuberant, almost youthful laugh. She wears her years wonderfully. She doesn’t flaunt them and she doesn’t deny them; she is simply herself. She is wearing cerise lipstick and a light brush of mascara, and in the low light her tan looks real and glowing.
I think of Fabrice – her low décolletage, her showy jewellery and the caked powder that covers her wrinkles like uneven cement. Fabrice’s eyes are so covered in mascara and eyeshadow that I can’t even imagine what she might look like without it. If only she could meet DeeDee, I find myself thinking. Then maybe she would realise that age can be beautiful.
‘Of course, the family all thought Joseph was wonderful,’ DeeDee continues. She is clearly used to picking up the threads of a conversation after interruption. She takes a cookie herself; small crumbs fall onto the floor, and the Labrador jumps up from his slumbers and watches her eagerly. ‘They liked his neatness. I was never neat enough for them. I wasn’t one thing or another. I suppose I’ve always been a bit like this room, really – full of ideas and plans that don’t seem to quite fit together.’ She looks around her as though trying to see the room through another’s eyes. ‘Only they do fit together. They do in my heart.’
I reach out and touch her hand. As her face softens, I realise this is what I have been wanting to do: just reach out and touch her hand like this, to let her know she can share her truth, and it will not be ridiculed or questioned.
‘What happened, DeeDee?’ I almost feel guilty asking. ‘How did he… you know… how did you find yourself in that situation with him?’ I find I can’t bear to mention Joseph’s name.
The air seems to stiffen. ‘I was working in a hat shop off Grafton Street,’ she says slowly. ‘Joseph came into the shop one day. I was surprised to see him, but he said he wanted to buy a
beautiful hat for his beautiful Aggie. I was delighted, of course. I thought maybe he had some dash about him, after all – a bit of romance. We laughed about how it would surprise her and how she mightn’t even want to wear it – she had this set idea of herself as a person who didn’t do certain things…’ DeeDee’s words trail off miserably.
‘I told him a famous hat-maker had said that the courage to wear a grand hat came from wearing it. Once you put it on, you could do it. The hat gave you the conviction.’ She sighs. ‘I even joked that he would have to steal up behind Aggie and put it on her, so that this transformation could happen. What I wanted him to understand was that Aggie had a wildness in her – a wildness she wouldn’t allow.
‘Anyway, Joseph and I were having such a pleasant conversation about this hat he wanted to buy for Aggie that I agreed to go out for a drink with him. The shop was just about to close, and I thought it would be nice to get to know my future brother-in-law better, especially since he seemed so much nicer than I’d thought he was. So we went to a pub. I only meant to have one glass of wine, but it was the kind of evening that happens sometimes – you know, when you keep meaning to go home, but you end up getting tipsy and giggling and smoking French cigarettes. Joseph bought them for me.’ She smiles wearily. ‘I suppose I mainly stayed drinking with him because I was often bored in those days. At least this was something different.’
A couple wearing thick knitted jumpers under open wax raincoats come into the shop. They both have fair hair streaked with rain. They are hand in hand; they are close and obviously happy. DeeDee smiles at them, and they smile back.
‘Hi, DeeDee,’ the woman says. ‘We came in for some of that scrumptious marble cake of yours.’
‘Help yourself, dearie,’ DeeDee smiles. ‘I think there’s a few slices left. There’s been quite a run on it today.’
‘You… you were saying that you were in the pub with Joseph…’ I prompt, afraid that she may decide not to tell me the story after all. Surely she has tried very hard to put it behind her.
‘Yes.’ She turns towards me again. ‘We talked about Aggie – how special she was, how loving, even though she sometimes hid it out of shyness. We talked about the wedding, and of course we talked about hats. Joseph was laughing, and he seemed so carefree. Then suddenly I knew I should go. I’d stayed too long with him. I wanted to get the bus; I didn’t want him to drive me.’
‘Why?’
‘Because when I looked into his eyes, really looked, I saw he wasn’t being truthful. He didn’t want to discuss hats or Aggie. He wanted to forget himself. He wanted to leave behind the Joseph everyone had come to know and expect. He was hearing whispers from another life he might lead, one that wasn’t so bound by convention. It must have been devastating to him; he was usually so controlled and correct. I brought it out in him, you see. I was everything he disapproved of and suddenly wanted.’
The words seem to cool the air around us. I sit stock-still. I can almost feel Joseph’s fear and longing, the heat in him, the confusion. ‘What happened then?’
‘We started to have a stupid argument about public transportation. We suddenly wanted to place a distance between us – the one that had always been there before. I said there should be more buses and Joseph said there were quite enough already. And I said he only said that because he had a car. He debated this hotly. All affection between us seemed to have evaporated. I got up and went out of the pub, but he followed me and insisted on driving me home. It was raining outside and I didn’t have an umbrella. I got into his car.’ She looks away towards some unseen point in the distance.
‘And in the car he asked me why I had been flirting with him. I told him that I hadn’t been flirting. I reminded him that it was he who had come to the shop; I hadn’t sought him out. Then he asked why I had agreed to have a drink with him. I said it was to discuss Aggie’s hat, and he laughed as though I was lying. It was like we were in Eden and I had handed him an apple.’ She smiles ruefully. ‘I suddenly realised he was the kind of man who saw women as saints or wives or whores, and I was pretty sure which category he had placed me in.’
She cradles her blue mug. ‘He lived in his head, you see. His mind was trained to categorise and judge and apportion blame. He couldn’t live with ambiguity. All he felt was his own hunger, and his need to tame what he felt I was doing to him. It was the cruelty of weakness.
‘Of course, I wasn’t thinking these things at the time,’ she continues, almost briskly. ‘I just wanted to get home and away from him. He was drunk – I saw that suddenly. He started to drive me home, and I noticed we were taking a strange route, one that wandered off on small side roads into the mountains. I asked why, and Joseph said we were in no hurry, after all. He said he wanted me to see the lights of the city in the distance. I said I just wanted to get home, but he didn’t listen. When he was changing gears, his hand brushed against my leg; I moved it away from him, and I saw his hand trembling as it moved back to the steering-wheel. I told him I was thirsty and asked him to stop at a pub so that I could get a drink of water – though, of course, I would have run away from him if he had.’
She looks towards the window. The rain is pouring down, belting against the window in small, deft droplets. I haven’t moved for five minutes. I wish I could step back in time and yank her from the car. I wish I could have saved her.
‘Of course, part of me just felt I was being foolish,’ she continues matter-of-factly. ‘Joseph wasn’t that sort of man. But, even so, my mouth was so dry with panic that I could hardly speak. He handed me a thermos flask – he said it had cold tea in it, from a picnic he and Aggie had gone on that weekend. I gulped back most of the contents without thinking – it was about a third full. Then I coughed and spluttered and screamed at him. It was neat whiskey. He apologised and laughed. He said he’d forgotten it was in there; he’d mislaid his hip flask. I didn’t believe him. I told him to stop the car; we were on a small side road in the middle of nowhere, but I said I would walk home, or go to the nearest house and call a taxi. I said I couldn’t stand being with him any longer. I said he was a liar and not good enough for my sister. Then I lunged for the door-handle. He stopped the car. We started to struggle. I bit his arm and scratched his face and kicked him on the shins, but it only seemed to make him more determined.’
DeeDee’s face is flushed, and she is twisting her thick silver bracelet round and round her arm. ‘I suddenly realised I was far too drunk to fight with him properly. He was very strong. I felt the weight of him on top of me; he was holding the door-handle. I realised I would have to stay in the car and try to humour him, tell him I hadn’t meant what I said. But he didn’t listen. He said, “I love you, DeeDee” – he actually said it; only of course I knew he didn’t. It was just an excuse to press his lips on mine. To force his tongue into my mouth. To undo my blouse and pull up my skirt. To force himself on me and not listen to my cries.’
She looks away. ‘It was over quickly. Afterwards he straightened his clothes and just sat there. Then he turned on the light in the car and told me to tidy myself up. He was cold, almost angry. He said I must realise that this hadn’t really happened. It had been a mistake. It was the kind of situation any man might find himself in, with an attractive woman of my type.’
‘Your type?’
‘Yes. He didn’t explain what he meant, but he didn’t have to. I had seduced him, tricked him somehow. He said I mustn’t tell anyone, and if I did they wouldn’t believe me. The whole family knew I was fanciful, prone to exaggeration, and they also said I was jealous of Aggie’s engagement to him – why else would I criticise him? He had heard what I’d said about him behind his back. Aggie had told him.’
The couple who came for marble cake are leaving. It seems like they arrived only seconds ago.
‘And then… you found out you were pregnant?’
DeeDee nods. ‘I couldn’t believe it at first. I’d kept the whole thing to myself, like Joseph had told me to. I’d been a virgin, but I f
elt ashamed somehow; I had almost convinced myself that I was the “type” of woman he’d talked about, and that it was my fault.’
‘But then you told your family, and they didn’t believe you.’
‘Yes. Joseph told Aggie that I’d tried to seduce him several times and that he had, of course, resisted. A few of his friends told her that I had tried to seduce them, too; he must have got them to lie for him. He portrayed me as a loose woman, someone who was quite prepared to steal her sister’s fiancé out of petulance. The family took his side because he was, after all, Joseph, a man of impeccable character, whereas I… Well, they didn’t know what to make of me, especially when I said I wanted to be an actress. I think they thought I was acting.’ DeeDee actually laughs.
‘But eventually my father did believe I was expecting a baby. I’d moved to a poky flat in Ballsbridge, and he visited one day and saw the bulge under my dress. He hit the roof. He said it was because of the kind of life I’d been living. He said he would give me money to go abroad and have the child and put it up for adoption. He would tell everyone I had been studying Italian in Tuscany – he wanted me to take Italian lessons, to make the whole thing more plausible.’ DeeDee’s eyes crinkle slightly at the absurdity.
‘My mother visited the flat a few times, and cried quietly and said the situation was terribly difficult for them all. And Aggie was furious with me. She said I had tried to blame her darling Joseph for my own foolishness; she said I had clearly got drunk and couldn’t remember who I’d slept with. Then she started to cry and said, “Why are you so jealous of me and Joseph? Why couldn’t you just find a nice young man for yourself?”’
‘Oh, DeeDee, I can’t believe they were so horrible to you.’ I feel like crying, though DeeDee seems quite cheerful.
The Truth Club Page 35