The Truth Club Read online

  ‘No. Not recently. I used to when I was little, when I first heard about her…’ I am suddenly remembering why I stopped asking Mum about DeeDee. The last time I asked her, she actually cried. I was about eight at the time, but surely I should have remembered her tears. How could I have forgotten?

  ‘I don’t understand it,’ I say softly. ‘It’s like DeeDee’s changed the family somehow. But how could she? She isn’t even here.’

  Nathaniel looks at me carefully. ‘Sometimes things need to be healed that go back through generations. People don’t realise how families can form habits, secrets, lies, because of someone like DeeDee.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It affects how people love each other. That’s what I think, anyway. Once you’ve closed your heart to one person, you can do it to others; you can even do it to yourself.’ He fiddles with his watch strap. ‘But maybe I’m wrong… It’s just my opinion.’

  I find myself staring at him. He’s right. I sense it.

  But I don’t want him to be right. Suddenly I want to be like the rest of them; I want to forget about DeeDee, too. I want to find out more about Nathaniel, who’s here, sitting beside me. I yearn to reach out and touch the smooth olive skin of his hands.

  I have never felt so mixed up about anyone. Sometimes I long to kiss him, and sometimes I think it would have been easier if we’d never met. Maybe he feels the same way about me. He looks at me so intensely sometimes, but he just treats me like a friend… Maybe he doesn’t know what he wants either.

  I decide to try to lighten up.

  ‘So what exactly do you do, now that you’re not a social worker?’ I ask, dipping a chip in the pool of tomato sauce on my plate. The minute I’ve said it, I regret it. It sounds like the sort of ‘explain yourself’ thing Marie would say. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound… you know…’

  ‘I help Greta out in the office most mornings. I’m sort of her temporary PA.’ Fred jumps onto the sofa between us and puts his head on Nathaniel’s lap. ‘The rest of the time, I try to get on with my psychology course.’

  ‘You’re studying psychology?’

  ‘Yes. I’m a perennial student; last year I was doing philosophy.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And I also play the guitar in a restaurant.’

  I gawp at him. I have never met someone who can actually play the guitar properly.

  ‘Mostly flamenco music. I’m not that good, but I think the owner likes me.’

  ‘I bet you are good,’ I say. ‘I don’t think anyone would let you play the guitar in restaurants if you sounded like crap.’

  ‘Thank you. We really need some wine, don’t we?’

  ‘No. Some water would be fine.’

  ‘I have a bottle someplace.’ He gets up, and Fred leaps off the sofa, follows him into the kitchen and starts pushing his food bowl towards him. ‘OK, Fred, OK!’ Nathaniel says. ‘I came back here and fed him before I went out for the DVD. I really should be more firm with him.’

  Fred cocks his head and fixes Nathaniel with a liquid, chocolate-brown stare.

  ‘Oh, all right, then.’ Nathaniel extracts a tin of dog food from a cupboard, and Fred dances around excitedly. ‘I envy him his enthusiasm,’ Nathaniel says, as Fred attempts to jump onto the kitchen sideboard. ‘It’s just as well I don’t have children. They’d be delinquents. I’d be far too lenient.’

  I think of Diarmuid and our arguments about diaphragms. ‘Did you and… Ziggy…’ I wonder if I’ve remembered his ex-wife’s name correctly. ‘Did you and Ziggy plan to have children?’

  ‘We weren’t sure. Ziggy worried about overpopulation and the world’s resources, and she said she didn’t have any real need to spread her genes. We thought we might adopt a street child from India.’

  ‘That sounds… admirable.’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t think she could have dealt with the paperwork of adopting a child. She would just have wanted to grab one and bring him or her home. She hates form-filling and bureaucracy; she finds it offensive to be asked all those questions.’

  ‘Is she a… a social worker too?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Nathaniel laughs. ‘She’s an actress and a dog-walker. She was the person who showed me that maybe I didn’t have to be one particular thing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, my family is full of doctors and solicitors and accountants and high-class civil servants. They’re very disappointed in me, even though they try not to show it. Social worker sounded sort of OK to them, but now that I’m nothing in particular, they are mightily pissed off. They’re very civilised about it, though.’ He smiles at me ruefully.

  ‘Does it frighten you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Being a… a disappointment?’

  ‘Well, I have a little cluster of cousins who are disappointments too. That helps. They’re off hill-trekking in Nepal and that sort of thing.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful!’

  ‘Yes, to us. But they don’t own houses or cars, or want to do anything very impressive with their degrees, and none of them seem to have any plans to get married. I’m very grateful to them.’

  ‘I wish I had cousins like that.’ I sigh. ‘There was a time when I thought one of them was a lesbian, but it turned out she just liked short hair and dungarees. She’s a diplomat now. She’ll probably have her own embassy any day.’

  Nathaniel grins. ‘Here’s the wine. That should cheer you up.’

  ‘How did you learn to be like this?’ I stretch out on his sofa, cosily clutching a soft yellow cushion.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘When did you learn not to let things get on top of you?’

  ‘Do I seem like that? I feel like I go around looking like all sorts of things are on top of me.’ Nathaniel hunts for the bottle-opener. ‘In fact, there are days when I think I look like a skip. Eloise agrees with me about that. She says my shirts are shameful.’

  I don’t like the sound of the way Eloise seems to be treating him. ‘Your shirts seem fine to me.’

  ‘That’s because you’ve never had a good look at them. There are buttons missing and the cuffs are frayed, and some of the collars are almost falling off.’

  ‘You’re exaggerating again.’

  ‘Yes, but only slightly. When I left my apartment in New York, I just grabbed the first clothes I saw. All the good stuff was in the laundry basket, and now I can’t afford new clothes.’

  ‘Why did you leave in such a hurry?’ Fred is snoozing on my lap. Every so often his nose twitches excitedly, as if he’s dreaming of chasing rabbits.

  ‘I thought if I didn’t leave in a hurry I mightn’t leave at all. I thought… you know, that I might find myself thinking it was all OK. That I could get used to it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Ziggy falling in love with that guy.’

  ‘The transvestite?’

  ‘Yes. He’s called Richard. He looks great in fishnet tights.’

  ‘You’ve actually seen him wearing them?’

  ‘I came home early one night, and there they were, cuddled up on the sofa. He was wearing a short black dress with purple sequins, and the fishnet tights. He has good legs, though he’s a bit hefty around the calves.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I don’t mind him having good legs. He would have to, to go around dressed like that. Ziggy enjoys dressing him up.’

  ‘No, I mean I’m sorry that Ziggy didn’t love you properly. Not in the way you needed.’

  Nathaniel pulls the cork out with a pop. ‘She believes in open relationships. She thought she could date Richard and still have me, and maybe fit in an affair or two when she got bored. She likes variety.’ He reaches for two large glasses.

  ‘Why did you marry her?’

  Deep-red wine gurgles into the glasses. ‘I loved her. At least, I thought I did.’ There is a silence. ‘I’d still be with her if she could be faithful to me, but it’s just not in her nature. I’d have
to share her, and I can’t do that.’

  I wonder if he talks to Eloise about Ziggy. He always speaks of Eloise so matter-of-factly. He enjoys her ruggedness, the way she just grabs what she wants; it’s almost as if he enjoys being taken in hand by her, finds it amusing. I wonder if one day he’ll resent it. I wonder if he loves her, or if she’s just helping him to forget Ziggy.

  ‘Ziggy was so shiny and bubbly and enthusiastic, in that American way,’ he says, ‘and so friendly to almost everyone – though some of that was fake. Nice fake, though. I’d never met anyone like her before.’ He hands me a glass. It’s so full it might spill. ‘Don’t worry; the carpet is very accommodating about spillages. It enjoys a good Chardonnay. It disappears into the fabric without a trace.’

  I take the glass carefully and sip it. ‘You must miss her.’

  ‘Not as much as I thought I would. I miss the Ziggy I thought I’d married. It was fantastic at first; Ziggy is great at beginnings.’ He sits on the sofa beside me and stretches out his long, denim-clad legs. ‘She loves the discovery, the excitement. But the next part bores her – the bit where you’re deciding whether you need more shelving, or whether you should try that new supermarket with the special offers. Buying food bored her. She wanted to eat out and meet people. We always seemed to have dinner with at least ten friends.’

  ‘It must have got sort of tiring.’

  ‘Yes, it did. It began to feel like we didn’t have a home; our flat was more like a base camp. We never seemed to have private conversations. She crammed our lives with other people. After a while, I realised she was scared of letting someone really know her. She didn’t want that intimacy.’

  ‘And you did?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course I did. That’s the point, isn’t it? For me, anyway.’

  I feel a tingle in my chest. There is a kind of brightness between us, almost like a caress.

  Nathaniel leans forward, and our foreheads almost touch. ‘I wish we’d talked at the party.’

  ‘Yes,’ I whisper. Suddenly I want to remove this space between us. I want to travel the miles from my soft blue cushion to his, take his hand and hold it to my cheek. I want to kiss his fingers softly…

  Then I remember Eloise and Diarmuid. It’s almost as if they are in the room with us, gazing at us reproachfully. I draw back and stare into my glass.

  Nathaniel pats Fred, running a hand along his back in gentle sweeps. ‘I wasn’t as romantic about marriage as Ziggy was. I knew we’d have to work at it, but she didn’t want that. She thought love just happened. So her solution was to find Richard and distract herself. We’d both got so lonely. That’s what we couldn’t deal with, really…’ His eyes are cloudy and sad, bewildered. ‘The dreadful, secret loneliness of being with someone but feeling alone. Not knowing how to reach them.’ He might as well be talking about me and Diarmuid.

  He empties his glass and gets up to refill it. ‘Do you want some more?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ I’ve been sipping my wine very slowly. I really don’t want to be a cheap drunk tonight. I want to have my wits about me.

  ‘Would you like a chocolate biscuit?’ He waves the half-eaten packet at me.

  ‘No. It’s OK.’ That’s the first time I’ve refused a biscuit in months.

  Nathaniel stuffs one into his mouth and returns to the sofa, bringing the biscuits with him. ‘So you’re going to let me get drunk and morose on my own, are you?’

  ‘You’re not morose.’

  ‘I get very depressed about it sometimes. I feel so guilty.’

  ‘You didn’t fall in love with a transvestite,’ I say. ‘What do you have to feel guilty about?’

  ‘I’ve always felt that most people give up on marriages too easily.’ He pops another biscuit into his mouth. ‘I feel like I should have bought the right book or gone to the right counsellor. I feel like I should have been able to change her, somehow – make her see that dating other people while you’re married is… well, unreasonable, I suppose.’

  ‘It’s like not being married at all,’ I agree.

  ‘And then she started on about adopting a child again. She got it into her head that we should do it within the year.’ Fred is trying to get at the packet of biscuits, pawing at Nathaniel’s knee. ‘I felt sorry for this kid we might have – dragged over from India to be brought up by a couple who could hardly meet each other’s eyes any more.’

  He looks into mine, and then he stands up suddenly. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry. I’ve been going on and on about myself, when you have your own problems.’ He tucks his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee… or tea? Or would you just like me to drive you home?’

  ‘What about the DVD?’ I can’t believe he has suddenly disengaged from me like that. I felt so close to him, and now he’s all business. I feel like I’ve been slapped.

  ‘Do you really want to watch a DVD?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Thought so.’ He reaches for his denim jacket.

  I stand up. I don’t understand what’s going on. Even Fred is staring at Nathaniel with a puzzled expression.

  ‘Nathaniel.’ I tug at his sleeve as he turns towards the door. ‘What’s happened? Did I say something wrong?’

  His shoulders soften. He reaches out and takes my hand. ‘Of course you didn’t. You’ve been… lovely.’

  ‘Is it because I asked you about Ziggy? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.’ I am looking down at the floor.

  ‘Oh, Sally.’ It is a deep, ragged sigh. ‘Do you really want to know the truth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That glass of wine made me want to kiss you.’

  I stare up at him. I feel like I might melt with longing and disbelief.

  ‘It was only the wine, of course. If I’d gone for Earl Grey, I might have started to spout my opinions on quantum physics.’ He moves closer. ‘But, because of the wine, I wanted to kidnap you and prise you away from Diarmuid. I’m very annoyed with Diarmuid – talking to mice, when he could have been cuddling you.’

  ‘And I’m very annoyed with Ziggy,’ I say quickly. ‘Going off with a man in fishnet tights, when she could have been…’

  He must read my thoughts. ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Why didn’t the wine make you kiss me?’ I have to know.

  ‘I decided it would be unfair. You’re vulnerable at the moment, and so am I. We’d be like two lost kids clinging to each other. Our friendship is important to me; I don’t want to risk it.’ Friendship. Is that all it is?

  His eyes darken. ‘And then, of course, there are Eloise and Diarmuid to consider.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘There are all sorts of things to consider.’

  ‘So it’s probably best if you go now and have that lavender-scented bath.’

  ‘Yes, of course it is,’ I say. ‘It’s the only sensible thing to do.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘And what happened then?’ Erika is almost falling off her chair with excitement. ‘Did Nathaniel kiss you?’

  ‘No. He hugged me, and then he drove me home and I had a lavender-scented bath. It was only when I was drying myself that I realised I didn’t have my wedding ring with me. I’d left it on his sofa.’ It’s been a few weeks since Nathaniel almost kissed me, but I didn’t feel ready to tell Erika and Fiona until today. I knew they’d pester me for details.

  ‘Oh, sweet Jesus!’ Fiona exclaims. ‘Did you phone him?’

  ‘Of course. And he looked and looked for it, but he couldn’t find it. Maybe it went down a crack in the floorboards.’ I sigh. This has become yet another farcical detail of my marriage. But, since Diarmuid hasn’t worn his wedding ring for weeks, I find myself being surprisingly philosophical.

  ‘You could get another one,’ Fiona says. ‘I know a jeweller who’d be able to make an almost exact replica. Diarmuid would never know.’

  ‘Thank you, Fiona.’ I haven’t the heart to tell her that the ring may not be needed anyway, even though she must have her suspicions
.

  Fiona seems somewhat distracted. ‘Sally, could you help me with the tea?’ she says. I follow her into her gleaming kitchen, leaving Erika to fuss over Milly in the sitting room. As soon as we reach her kitchen table, Fiona slumps onto a chair and sobs inconsolably.

  I’m the only friend who knows her secret, so I am the only person she cries with. ‘Zak is going to leave me,’ she whispers piteously. ‘He’s going to leave me and Milly when he finds out the truth.’

  ‘Of course he won’t.’ I decide to be very firm and authoritative, even though I have no idea whether Zak would leave or stay. ‘He’s not that sort of person. He’d be angry and think about leaving, but he wouldn’t. It’s not as if you’ve been unfaithful.’

  ‘But I have, in a way, haven’t I? He’s so convinced Milly is his baby.’

  ‘And she is, in every way that matters,’ I say. ‘Anyway, he’ll probably never find out that she isn’t.’

  Fiona’s eyes widen plaintively. ‘But he wants her to have a blood test.’

  This is worrying news, but I manage not to change my expression. ‘Why?’

  ‘It’s just something his family does, apparently. They keep charts with key medical details, including blood types. They’re very organised about healthcare.’

  ‘Well, tell him she’s a bit young. And then he’ll probably forget about it. Anyway, it’s not as if he wants them to do a DNA test.’

  ‘I think he will!’ she cries. ‘He’ll want them to do all sorts of tests. He believes in doing everything thoroughly. I had to go to four gynaecologists before he found one he liked.’

  I put on the kettle. Erika may come in at any moment and wonder where the tea is.

  ‘It’s his sperm, you see.’ Fiona’s eyes are puffy and red. ‘He’s worried that his slow sperm may have affected her development somehow – that it mightn’t have had enough oomph in it, or something.’

  ‘He’s just being a bit neurotic.’ I rub her back. ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to make him see sense.’

  ‘I think he’s suspicious, too. Sometimes he looks at Milly as if he suspects something. I bet that’s why he really wants her to have a blood test.’