The Truth Club

by Grace Wynne-Jones

  ‘What I think is incidental,’ Nathaniel replies. ‘It’s what DeeDee thinks – what she feels, to be precise – that matters.’

  Suddenly he reminds me of Erika’s sporadic and very annoying even-handedness. He should agree with me about this. We should be discussing ways to make DeeDee change her mind.

  ‘I know we could use emotional blackmail on her, but she’s had quite enough of that already,’ he says, as though he has somehow read my thoughts. ‘There’s absolutely no point in pushing her, Sally. She’s trusted you to keep your meeting with her a secret.’

  ‘Yes, but what if she regrets it – you know, later on?’ I persist.

  ‘DeeDee is the sort of woman who decides what she needs to do in her own good time.’

  ‘Yes, but what if she decides too late?’ My voice has risen in consternation. ‘She can’t dawdle about this, Nathaniel. Aggie needs to see her as soon as possible.’

  ‘Let’s not argue about this, Sally.’ He picks up the in-flight magazine and starts perusing shopping tips for visitors to Copenhagen. I feel like grabbing it from him. It reminds me of Diarmuid and the mice and all the times he just didn’t want to talk about things I needed to talk about.

  But of course men are like this, I find myself thinking as I pick up my own copy of the in-flight magazine. I flick through articles about luxury weekend breaks in rural England, the joys of spaghetti and the amazing stonework on some cathedral in Belgium. Talking to them is pointless; any semblance of closeness is basically just a mirage. I pour myself another glass of champagne. They back off as soon as they feel uncomfortable.

  ‘I think it was unfair of her to make me promise not to tell anyone,’ I mumble mutinously, more to myself than to Nathaniel. ‘If she knew she was going to say that, she shouldn’t have seen me at all.’

  ‘But you did promise not to tell anyone, and I’ve promised too,’ Nathaniel says. ‘And I don’t know about you, but I take my promises very seriously.’

  I can’t stand this. If we were on land I would get up and march right out of the room. He’s not just referring to DeeDee; he is also referring to my marriage. He’s reminding me that I left a perfectly good husband, whom I promised to love forever, because of a bunch of mice. He, on the other hand, left his marriage because his wife had fallen in love with a man who wore dresses. In this competition, he is the clear winner.

  I can’t bear to sit with him a moment longer. I get up sharply and stumble towards the toilet. I sit on the lid for a full five minutes until someone starts to yank rather desperately at the door.

  When I get back, Nathaniel stares at me bemusedly. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You know perfectly well.’ I glower. ‘Let’s just not talk, OK? It’s easier that way.’ I stick my nose into the magazine.

  ‘Are you really that interested in snowboarding in Aspen?’ he enquires, peering over my shoulder.

  ‘Yes. I am absolutely fascinated by it,’ I reply. ‘Please don’t interrupt me.’

  ‘When I said that thing about promises, I really was just talking about DeeDee.’ He nudges my arm gently. ‘I’m sorry if it seemed like I might be referring to – you know… other situations.’

  I glance at him cautiously. He’s said just the right thing, yet again. I feel a sudden urge to ask him all the things I have wanted to ask him all day. I want to know what he got up to with Fabrice and why. I want to know more about Ziggy and Eloise and Sarah. I want to know why he shares his affections so easily with so many people. And I want to tell him that it isn’t really fair, in some ways, because it would be so easy to form the wrong impression. It would be so easy to think that one is somehow special to him – more than just a friend.

  I put the magazine away and start to rummage in my handbag.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘Some marble cake that DeeDee gave me. It’s probably turned into crumbs by this stage. I should have eaten it on the train.’

  ‘Have you tried your coat pocket?’

  ‘It’s up there.’ I point wearily to the overhead rack.

  He stands up, finds my coat and delves into a pocket. ‘Is this it?’ He shows me a small plastic bag.

  ‘Yes. I think so.’ I take it from him. ‘Thank you.’

  He grins. ‘Is there anything else you’d like me to locate, now that I’m at it?’

  I just stare up at him and think, Yes, I’d like you to find the belief I used to have, that there was someone out there for me. Someone like you, actually, Nathaniel. Someone just like you. Instead I say, ‘I insist that you eat some of this cake. It really is delicious. I shared a slice of it with DeeDee.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Nathaniel sits down beside me, and I feel that soft feeling I sometimes get when he’s near. I want to be angry with him, so I won’t feel this yearning. Surely he can see that this visit to DeeDee has, in some ways, changed nothing? The thrill of actually meeting her has waned, now that Nathaniel has reminded me starkly that I can’t tell anybody about it apart from him. In fact, I suddenly realise that finding her like this is almost harder to live with than her dramatic disappearance.

  I hand Nathaniel half the slice of cake and he pops it into his mouth. ‘Delicious!’ he declares. ‘Do you have the recipe, in that notebook?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I could bake it for Aggie. It would be a… a sort of link to DeeDee, wouldn’t it? A little – you know – secret acknowledgement.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says softly.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About sounding so haughty about DeeDee a while back. To tell the truth, I’m disappointed that she doesn’t want to see Aggie, too.’

  ‘Really?’ I gaze at him with relief.

  ‘It’s just that I also feel that, if she’s meant to see her, she will.’ He searches my eyes. ‘Does that make any sense to you? We must leave it up to her. She’d resent it if we tried to influence her. But I think meeting you may have helped to make her consider it, at least.’

  ‘OK.’ I fold the white paper napkin the cake was wrapped in. ‘It’s not simple, is it? Finding DeeDee. It’s really just the start of something else. I don’t know why I thought that finding her would be enough.’ And what I want to add, only I don’t, is that maybe it’s a bit like love. It’s not enough to find it; you have to know what to do with it, how to nurture and cherish it. I gaze with a sudden, terrible yearning at the deep curve of Nathaniel’s eyelashes. Surely he must see it in me? Surely he must know what I feel for him?

  His eyes stay on mine for a moment, and then he leans back. ‘So how do you feel about going to California now?’ he asks.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I mumble. ‘I mean, if April has made up her mind to come over to Marie’s party and make her grand announcement, I don’t really think I can stop her. Going out to California to talk to her about it might even make her dig in her heels. She’s very stubborn.’

  Nathaniel looks at me solemnly.

  ‘And my views on America are rather mixed, these days, anyway,’ I say. ‘I don’t really know what it stands for any more. It doesn’t seem to be like… like it was. It’s even sent me off on protest marches.’

  ‘I think there are many Americas,’ Nathaniel says dreamily. ‘There are things about it I love and things I hate, but it’s a special place for me. I love its buzz and enthusiasm. I love the innocence and honesty you can find there, when you get away from the crap… and there’s plenty of that.’ He yawns and rubs his eyes.

  ‘I think mainly I just loved the house we lived in there. That’s what I wanted to go back to,’ I whisper. I would love to lean over and rest my head on his shoulder. We are both sleepy; it’s been such a very long day.

  ‘I wish I could have met Craig,’ I say drowsily, ‘but he was off getting some tiling put up in the villa in Tuscany, the one Alfredo left to DeeDee. It has an olive grove and orange trees. She showed me pictures of it. She spends part of the winter there.’

  Nathaniel doesn’t reply. I glance at him warmly and find myself th
inking he seems more like DeeDee than Craig did in the photo. He is exactly the sort of son I imagine she would have. It is extraordinary how he found her so easily He is asleep, his head tilting towards mine. He moves closer and closer, until his cheek is resting on my shoulder. I don’t move away.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  ‘There really are thousands of hotel accessories on offer, ranging from the popular Corby trouser-press to the very latest in wall-mounted coffee units and even fine bone china! The right accessories can play a crucial part in a hotel’s success, for they offer a panache and sense of comfort that discerning guests will note and savour.’

  Phew! I press the Send button, and the feature is on its way to Greta with only minutes to spare. I hardly know what it says. I think the main theme was that hotel accessories are frightfully important.

  I now have less than an hour to get to the church for Milly’s christening. At least I’ve already showered and put on deodorant. I rush up to the bedroom and tumble into a thermal vest, a pair of tights and the Mediterranean-blue cotton dress I’ve bought for Marie’s party. I am the sort of person who favours layers, even in summer. This dress is covered in small pink roses and looks suitably seasonal, but it’s long-sleeved and loose enough that I can secrete a thin woollen jumper underneath it, should this be called for.

  I check my answering machine and mobile, just in case Nathaniel phoned me while I was typing frantically. He hasn’t. In fact, I haven’t heard from him for days, not since we returned from London. He’s probably off with Fabrice or hunting for Greta’s gold bracelet in the garden. Whatever he’s up to, he clearly hasn’t had time to ask me how I am doing with my enormous and extremely cumbersome secret. I feel like I’m dragging it round with me. I keep wanting to tell someone. I mustn’t drink too much at the christening party or it might burst out of me. How did my life become so complicated?

  I find myself thinking of the long talk I had with Mum last night in her spotless kitchen. She kept saying that I mustn’t allow Diarmuid to put me off marriage. She is very angry with Diarmuid. She seems to have forgotten that I left him first. I haven’t gone into the mice situation with her, but I have admitted that, during the first months of my marriage, I felt somewhat neglected. I think she suspects that Diarmuid became romantically involved with Charlene shortly after the wedding. I have tried to tell her that I think this is enormously unlikely, but she won’t listen. ‘I never really trusted him,’ she said, even though I know this is untrue and she thought he was very loyal and steady. ‘He seemed shifty somehow. And he never really looked you in the eyes.’

  I helped myself to a shortcake biscuit as she listed his shortcomings. It was fascinating to watch her editing her memories, tweaking the details into a story that suited her.

  ‘Mum, do you remember the house we had in California?’ I said during a brief pause. Of course, I knew she must remember.

  ‘Yes.’ Mum gave me a strange look. ‘Why do you mention it?’

  ‘It was lovely, wasn’t it? So big and soft, somehow. Remember how there was a hammock in that old oak tree?’

  She busied herself filling the kettle.

  ‘And the sprinkler on the lawn… I used to love running into the jets of water in my swimsuit.’

  I realised I shouldn’t have mentioned the word ‘lawn’. It’s a loaded word in our family. My mother can’t hear it without feeling she is being reproached.

  ‘The garden was nice, but it was too big,’ she said briskly. ‘I was the one who had to look after it. I was the one who had to rake the leaves and water the flowers and cut the grass.’

  But you enjoyed it, I wanted to say to her. I know you did. I saw it on your face. You even went to the garden centre to buy complicated plants that came with long lists of instructions. But I didn’t say this, because she has forgotten. It is part of the world she left behind.

  ‘I know about April’s father.’ I decided to just say it.

  Mum remained with her back to me, staring out at the concrete.

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ I went over to her and put an arm gently around her shoulders. ‘It was just something that… that happened. It happens to lots of people.’

  ‘How did you find out?’ she said in a whisper.

  ‘April told me when I was in New York. When she gave me your birthday brooch.’

  ‘Oh.’ She didn’t move away from me. I could feel the sadness in her, but I could also feel the relief. ‘Well, I suppose you had to know sometime.’ She turned to face me. Her eyes were glistening. ‘We should have told people before, I suppose, but then we left it so long that it became… it became harder to explain, somehow. And anyway, who would understand it? We don’t really come from that kind of family, do we? They all seem so very…’

  ‘Well behaved?’

  ‘Yes, exactly.’ She smiled at me. ‘But I don’t want you to worry about Marie’s party. I’ll be there for you. If they get too nosy about Diarmuid, I’ll interrupt and tell them about that wonderful solo concert your father gave the other day. Some of them are quite impressed that I married such a talented musician.’

  I felt a stab of guilt that I hadn’t made it to the concert myself, but it was a lunchtime concert in a faraway hall and I was very taken up with hotel accessories. I should have found the time to attend, I realised. My father enjoys being a member of an orchestra, but his occasional solo concerts are what really buoy his spirit. He rehearses for them for months.

  After this there was a long silence, in which Mum tried to adjust to the news that I knew about April’s parentage. She did this by tidying things – wiping the table and drying cutlery, which she then placed carefully in a drawer. When the phone rang, she answered it and had a conversation about the charity shop where she sometimes works; from the snatches of conversation I heard, it seemed that they were going to have a really big sort-out soon, because they had far too many men’s jumpers on display and not enough ‘quality women’s wear’. It seemed to be just the sort of conversation my mother needed. She returned looking much more cheery.

  ‘Well, I suppose you had to know sometime,’ she repeated, mostly to herself, as she started making freshly ground coffee. ‘Of course, your father loves her as much as if she were his own child. He always has.’

  ‘I know,’ I replied, not adding that he probably loves her even more than that. There has always been a fierce bond between them. She demanded his love, and he gave it. He would feel so betrayed if April announced, in front of the entire family, that Al was in fact her biological father.

  ‘Mum,’ I began slowly. ‘You know April says she wants to come over for Marie’s gathering?’

  ‘Yes.’ My mother beamed. ‘It’s wonderful. We haven’t seen her for so long.’

  ‘I… I think she wants to tell people about Al.’ I forced the words out of me. ‘She’s angry that you haven’t told people. She’s been in therapy. She… she feels we’ve been living a lie.’

  ‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous!’ Mum shrugged this off. ‘She wouldn’t do that. April’s not like that. I’ve told her we’ll tell people when… when the time feels right.’

  ‘But you said you’d tell people when she was twenty-one, and you didn’t,’ I reminded her.

  ‘Maybe people don’t need to know,’ Mum said. ‘I think April realises that now. She knows; that’s the important thing. And she’s spent time with – with her father in California. It’s not like we’ve prevented her from seeing him.’

  ‘She told me she was going to make an announcement at Marie’s party.’

  ‘Of course she won’t!’ Mum declared. ‘She would have told me. She just says things like that sometimes. She has a dramatic side.’

  ‘Have you spoken to her?’

  Mum looked at me somewhat guardedly. ‘No. Not recently.’ She poured the boiling water on my tea bag and poured herself a mug of coffee from the gleaming cafetière. ‘Let’s not talk about it any more. When she comes over, we’ll take her out to a nice dinner.’

&n
bsp; And that is how we left it. My mother refused to believe that April had any plans to tell people about Al. But over dinner, she said, she and Dad and April would discuss how and when April’s parentage might be revealed. They would also give her her birthday present – a large, hand-cut Waterford crystal bowl – in advance; that would surely placate her. I wish I felt more convinced about this, but I don’t have time to think about it now. And I’ve just noticed that my hair looks like I’ve been through a hedge backwards.

  The doorbell rings as I am tussling with my tresses. I put some styling gel on my hands and pat it onto the more rebellious parts. I’ve put on too much; now my hair just looks plain greasy.

  ‘Sally, are you there?’ I hear Erika calling. We agreed that she would call round so that we could share the taxi fare. I rush to the door.

  ‘Don’t say anything about my hair,’ I say, as soon as I’ve let her in. ‘I know it looks awful.’

  ‘No, it doesn’t; it looks just fine,’ she smiles. ‘Very sleek and shiny.’

  ‘That’s some jelly thing I’ve put on it,’ I mutter. ‘Bits of it will start dribbling down my neck during the service.’

  ‘You look lovely,’ Erika insists.

  ‘And you look extremely…’ She looks different. I can’t quite find a word for it. ‘You look extremely pretty and – and satisfied, Erika.’

  She almost blushes.

  ‘What’s happened?’ I ask curiously. ‘Have you sold some more cats?’

  She lowers her eyelashes bashfully, places a foot in front of her like a ballet dancer and makes little sweeping movements on the floor.

  ‘Has Alex phoned you?’

  She goes over to the bay window. ‘The taxi should be here any minute, shouldn’t it? I really don’t want to be late.’

  ‘Have you actually managed to teach the refugees some English?’

  ‘I haven’t given them any classes – not yet, anyway.’ She sits down, almost skittishly, on the sofa. ‘I think it might be quite fun, really, once I’ve got used to it.’