The Truth Club

by Grace Wynne-Jones

  ‘It’s good to see you again, Sally.’

  ‘And likewise,’ I say. When did I last say ‘likewise’? We fall easily into step beside each other. Why is it always like this with him? Why couldn’t it have been like this with Diarmuid?

  I begin to feel awkward. I begin to feel I should be saying important things, but I don’t know what they are. ‘Are… are you over here on holiday?’

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘What do you mean, “sort of”?’

  ‘Well, I’ve finished the job I was doing in London, so I suppose that means I’m sort of on vacation – though Greta will be roping me in to help with her press receptions any minute.’

  ‘I… I thought you’d settled there.’ I look up at him.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In London, of course.’ I’m getting irritated.

  ‘No, that wasn’t the plan.’

  ‘So what was the plan?’

  ‘To make some money so that I could buy some new shirts.’ He smiles at me. Why does he never answer my questions properly?

  ‘You’ve got a hole in your jumper,’ I say pointedly.

  ‘I know,’ he replies calmly.

  We just keep walking. I don’t even know where we’re going; we’ve passed the small road that leads to Greta’s house.

  ‘Were… were you in London on your own?’ I feel I have to ask it, even though it’s somewhat nosy.

  ‘No, I shared the city with millions of others. Far too many people, really. I think some of them should move to Manchester.’ I look down at the sand and the tiny pebbles. I’m tired of this game of hide-and-seek he plays with me. I’m tired of his teasing. ‘I didn’t find love there, if that’s what you mean.’ He glances at me quickly and then looks away.

  I should tell him I love him, I think. I should get it over with. He’ll be understanding and sweet; he won’t make me feel rejected. He’ll say he values me dearly as a friend, and I’ll tell him I can’t just be his friend. I don’t want to be good old Sally who, unlike the others, wants nothing from him. It’s gone way beyond that. It’s time he knew the truth.

  I open my mouth to say this, only what emerges is, ‘I suppose you’ve sold your car.’

  ‘No, I’m getting Gloria all done up,’ he says.

  ‘Gloria?’

  ‘Yes. That’s what I’ve decided to call her. She’ll be as pretty as a picture. Of course the people in the garage have been trying to frighten me with talk of sprockets and valves and suchlike, but I’ve told them I’m not intimidated and I’ve studied karate.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘Of course not. I tried tai chi once, only I couldn’t remember any of the movements afterwards.’

  I look at a yacht in the distance. How can we be so alike and yet so different? It doesn’t seem fair. The pebbles are crunching beneath our feet, and every so often I stumble slightly. The wind is stinging my cheeks. It really is time I headed home. I have a long article to write about vases.

  ‘So what about you, Sally? Have you found love again?’ Nathaniel suddenly asks, apparently casually.

  For some reason I think of the time Diarmuid found us together on my sofa. I recall Nathaniel’s horrified expression, his embarrassment, how eager he was to reassure Diarmuid that nothing had happened between us. Even when I told him Diarmuid had gone off with Charlene, he still acted as though I was firmly married. He just doesn’t fancy me; that’s the truth of it. He seems to, sometimes, but that’s just because he’s so good at intimacy. He’s expert at making people feel special.

  I decide not to answer his question. I want to be a woman of mystery for a change. I stare moodily out at the sea and leave him wondering.

  ‘Greta tells me you’ve been dating a very rich, dark and handsome man called Brian.’

  So Greta has been gossiping behind my back, and making Brian sound much more desirable than he actually is. I find that I’m grateful, if baffled.

  ‘Yes, I’ve been dating a man called Brian,’ I say. ‘I think I’ll head home now. It’s really getting rather late.’

  Nathaniel suddenly reaches out and brushes a stray hair from my face. His hand briefly touches my cheek. It feels strong and warm. I wish he wouldn’t do things like that. All the old glowing feelings are coming back, the pointless, beautiful longings. Fred runs back to us and shakes himself vigorously. We are suddenly covered in droplets of water.

  ‘So you thought I could leave Fred without a backward glance?’ Nathaniel says, picking up a flat stone and skimming it across the water. ‘You thought I could just completely forget him?’

  He hasn’t even asked who Brian is or what I feel about him, I think. Even a friend should show some curiosity.

  ‘There’s also a young man called Sammy,’ I find myself adding, wanting to prove to Nathaniel that he’s not the only person who can have a number of admirers. ‘We… we’re getting quite close, actually. He gives me wonderful advice about cheese.’

  ‘What?’ Nathaniel frowns.

  ‘He works in the local deli.’

  ‘I see.’ Nathaniel looks worriedly at an approaching terrier, who is growling. ‘Come here, Fred,’ he shouts. Fred returns obediently. He doesn’t do that for me.

  The wind is stronger now and the waves are larger. I move away from them, onto the stretch of sand that is covered in seashells and stray bits of wood and seaweed. It’s utterly pointless trying to make Nathaniel feel jealous.

  ‘What were you actually doing in London?’ I finally ask. We are heading back towards Greta’s house and my cottage.

  ‘I was a social worker. It was just for five months. The guy I was replacing needed some time off to finish his PhD. Now I plan to see if I can get a social-work position here. If I can’t, Greta thinks I could make a good flower-arranger. I’d enjoy getting big displays ready for VIP parties, and helping famous people choose orchids. I’d love bossing people around.’

  I look at him wearily. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

  ‘All right, then, I wouldn’t. I want to be a social worker again. It’s kind of interesting… and it’s better than working for Greta. She’s very bossy.’

  I pick up a stick and throw it. Fred runs after it and carries it into the sea.

  ‘So how have you been, Sally?’

  ‘Oh, you know… busy,’ I say brightly. ‘I’m involved with refugees and ethnic recipes, and I’ve got the columns. And Erika’s pregnant now, so she likes being fussed over. My parents are getting a new lawn, and…’

  ‘No, I mean how have you really been?’

  I pick up a small white seashell. ‘I’ve just told you.’

  ‘No, you haven’t.’

  I consider walking away from him, onto the nearby road with its cars and its traffic lights and its crowded buses. Instead I just walk more quickly, trying to put some distance between us. He catches up with me easily.

  ‘Do you fancy a Chinese takeaway?’

  ‘No.’ It’s getting darker; the orange and pink sunset is marbling the sky.

  ‘Burger and chips?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Chocolate cake and tea?’

  I hesitate. ‘No. I’m not really hungry.’

  I start to walk again; in fact, I’m almost running. I can’t bear this any longer. I keep wanting to reach out and touch his cheek, bury my face in his shabby jumper. I keep wanting him, but I mustn’t. I enjoy being single. I don’t need him. What I really need is a very long bath.

  ‘Stop running away from me.’ He grabs my arm roughly, and I flinch.

  ‘I’m not running away from you.’

  ‘Yes, you are…’ He sighs. ‘And I might as well admit it.’

  ‘Admit what?’ I snap.

  ‘You’re shouting at me.’

  ‘Yes, I know I am. And that’s because you can sometimes be extremely irritating, Nathaniel. Extremely annoying, and… and quite uncaring, actually.’

  And then Nathaniel leans forward and kisses my lips for the briefest of moments. ‘Shut up, S
ally,’ he says softly. ‘Please just shut up and let me speak.’

  I’m so dumbfounded that I just stare at him.

  ‘What I was going to admit,’ he begins slowly, ‘is that I suppose I’ve been running away from you, too.’

  My breath catches in my throat.

  He places his hands firmly on my shoulders and looks steadily into my eyes, unblinking. ‘Let’s face it, Sally: we scare each other shitless. Because if we get into this – this weird thing we have, it’s going to be really hard to get out of it.’

  There are butterflies doing the rumba in my stomach.

  ‘In fact, we may never want to get out of it,’ he continues. ‘We may be stuck with each other.’

  ‘But… but why haven’t you said this before?’ I gasp.

  ‘I’ve given you countless hints that I care for you, but you’ve perversely ignored them.’

  ‘What hints?’ I demand defensively.

  ‘I have scoured Dublin for Chinese takeaways for you. I have helped you find two lost great-aunts and a wedding ring. I saved you from having your bottom spanked at that reception, and stopped you from flying off to California, and –’

  ‘I wouldn’t have allowed him to spank my bottom!’ I declare indignantly.

  ‘Look at you now, Sally! I’m telling you I love you, and you’re turning it into some kind of argument.’

  ‘You love me?’ I almost fall over onto a large, wet bit of seaweed.

  ‘Yes. So now you can go off to Brian, or Sammy, or whoever your latest beau is, and forget about me. But at least I’ve said it.’ His eyes are blazing with emotion.

  I don’t know what to say. I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming. He can’t love me. A man like Nathaniel wouldn’t love me. Men like Diarmuid love me – or think they do for a while. This kind of thing doesn’t happen to me. Or maybe it does…

  Suddenly I feel absolutely terrified. I am actually shaking. ‘It’s not true. You’re making it up.’

  His blue eyes suddenly soften. He reaches out and enfolds me tenderly in his arms. ‘I know,’ he whispers into my hair. ‘It’s kind of awful in a way, isn’t it? Kind of scary and sweet, all at the same time.’

  ‘Yes,’ I whisper back.

  His lips brush the nape of my neck. He pulls back and looks at me quizzically; then he kisses the tip of my nose.

  ‘But what about the others?’ I press my face into his jumper. ‘Greta told me all about them,’ I continue, though my voice is slightly muffled. ‘She made it sound as if you were besieged with female admirers.’

  ‘Of course there aren’t hordes of women chasing me, Sally. If there were, I’m sure I would have noticed.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘I suppose there are some women who like me,’ he continues, running a hand gently across my back. ‘But nothing like as many as Greta suggested. She decided to talk me up, like she talks up her PR clients. I think she thought you’d be impressed.’

  ‘But… but why would she bother to do that?’ I frown.

  ‘Because she knew how I felt about you. She wanted to be a matchmaker. She confessed on the phone yesterday… and then she went on about this Brian Mulligan fellow. Who is he?’

  ‘No one you need to worry about.’ I smile, and hold him more tightly.

  ‘That’s why I rushed over. I wanted to prise you from Brian’s clutches.’

  ‘I was never really in his clutches at all.’

  ‘Good.’ Nathaniel hugs me so tightly I gasp for breath.

  ‘I wish all this had happened a bit earlier,’ I say. He takes my hand and we walk towards my cottage.

  ‘Yes, so do I,’ he sighs, pressing me snugly to his side. ‘But I backed off because of Diarmuid. I really felt that, if you could make your marriage work, I should let you. And then Diarmuid went off with…’

  ‘Charlene,’ I supply.

  ‘Yes, Charlene. And I thought I should wait for a while. Your marriage was so on and off, I thought it might start up again. I didn’t want to pounce on you.’

  ‘Oh, dear… I wish you had.’ I kiss him again. I want to kiss him all over.

  ‘And then I had a secret I couldn’t tell you, about DeeDee,’ he continues. ‘And you suddenly got all distant and haughty –’

  ‘Only because I thought women were virtually throwing their knickers at you in Grafton Street.’

  ‘Then I decided that you were emotionally vulnerable and I shouldn’t exploit the situation, so I took the job offer in London to see if I could forget you.’

  ‘Why?’ I frown.

  ‘Well, I think we’ve both had some sobering romantic experiences recently. I didn’t want us to end up together on the rebound… and you didn’t seem that interested in me, anyway.’

  ‘I must be almost as good an actress as DeeDee,’ I say.

  ‘But I think I made my own feelings pretty obvious, as I said earlier.’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ I protest. ‘You behaved as though you saw me as a friend.’

  ‘I probably thought about it all far too much. I’m sorry.’ He smiles at me sheepishly. ‘My head was buzzing with complications. And then DeeDee told me to calm down and listen to my heart instead. It worked. I suddenly knew that I had to see you.’

  ‘DeeDee?’

  ‘Yes, I went to talk to her about all this yesterday.’

  ‘Oh.’ I can’t quite take it all in. I feel quite giddy with disbelief and relief, and joy. I need to be somewhere warm. I need to let all this sink in, with Nathaniel beside me – and Fred, of course. He has been watching us very quietly, almost hopefully.

  ‘I think you mentioned something about chocolate cake and tea,’ I find myself saying. ‘There’s a nice café off that side-street. If we hurry, it might still be open.’

  ‘Can I come back to your cottage afterwards?’ Nathaniel’s eyes have darkened; he grips me more tightly.

  ‘No.’

  I can feel his disappointment.

  ‘We’re going to Bull Island in Erika’s camper van.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I giggle. ‘I’ll explain over a large slice of Black Forest gâteau.’

  ‘I’m not sure if this was such a good idea,’ I say, much later.

  ‘Yes, why did you suggest this, Sally?’ Nathaniel grins at me. ‘This van isn’t particularly comfortable.’

  ‘I… I think I wanted to show I could be as impetuous as you are. It was stupid.’

  ‘Yes, very stupid… but kind of nice.’

  ‘At least it got us here,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t sure it would. Erika was very surprised, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, and grinning from ear to ear.’

  ‘It’s lovely to be so close to the sea, though. God, is that a flea?’

  ‘Maybe. Come here.’ He grins dangerously.

  ‘But –’

  I don’t complete the sentence because his lips are on mine. My head is bent back with the force of his kiss. His tongue is searching my mouth. He is holding me with such passion, such longing. I want him to ravish me, see all of me, search me out. The thing is, I’m not sure either of us can wait to get undressed.

  ‘Take off your blouse,’ he orders.

  ‘Only if you take off your shirt,’ I order back.

  We disrobe silently, determinedly, staring at each other. It’s like an exquisite striptease. As each layer goes, I feel more desperate to have him close, so close that he is part of me, in me and around me – no escape, just him kissing my eyebrows, the back of my shoulder, the little wrinkled spot on my elbow. Not just going for the obvious. Taking care.

  ‘Now,’ I say. ‘Please, now!’

  I gasp at the force of him, the hard, impatient passion; the depth of it. No one has ever reached that far. That far into my heart.

  The camper van rocks. There is nothing I want to hide from him. Glorious sensations are rippling through every molecule of me, and I feel them building until a flood of ecstasy fills me. I let go, and he does too.

  For a moment we are t
oo dazed even to register where we are or what has just happened. Then we look at each other and laugh.

  Half an hour later we are sitting up in bed, cosily eating chocolate biscuits. Nathaniel bought them on our way here. As I eat them, I decide I’m going to take up DeeDee’s offer. She wants to open an Extravaganza in Dublin – she has enough savings to fund the enterprise for a year, to see if it takes off – and she’s asked me to be the manager. I’ve told her that I’d like the emphasis to be on tea rather than coffee, though of course we would offer both – and hats, and Erika’s cats, and sofas, and heaven knows what else. It will be our version of the kind of shop they used to have in Ireland, where you could get a pint of beer and a new shirt and a bag of coal to keep you warm. We need more warmth, in this strange new world with its reality TV and loneliness, where we know more about eight people locked in a house for a month than we do about our own neighbours; where we can hardly summon up the courage to look a stranger in the eye. We need more contact, more connection. We need more beautiful strangers.

  Nathaniel is sleeping like a little boy now. Tears of amazement and relief prick my eyes. Nathaniel, my Nathaniel, the most beautiful stranger I have ever met, is lying right here beside me. We are covered in love and chocolate biscuits. I wipe a cascade of crumbs from the pillow and softly kiss his cheek.

  Also by Grace Wynne-Jones:-

  Ordinary Miracles 1905170647 £6.99

  Praise for Ordinary Miracles

  ‘Ordinary Miracles has that rare combination of depth, honesty and wit…and all of this backed by a deliciously soft, gentle and loving humour…If you try one new author, try Grace Wynne-Jones.’ - OK! MAGAZINE

  ‘Ordinary Miracles is about relationships and love and sex and a little bit of guilt. Jasmine is a worried and witty heroine…an engagingly high-spirited and perceptive debut.’ - THE IRISH INDEPENDENT

  ‘Wynne-Jones’s sense of humour and the self-mockery of her heroine makes it both funny and touching.’ - TIMES LITERARY SUPPLEMENT

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