The Truth Club (39 page)

Because I see, now, that when my parents turned their love to
April I decided something. I decided that, when it came to love
and I had a rival, I would always end up second best. I would
not be the first choice, but the backup. That’s why it made perfect sense to marry Diarmuid, even though I thought he preferred Becky, and it’s why I can accept Nathaniel’s love for Eloise so calmly: because it’s what I know. It’s what I’m used to
.

I gaze up at the skyscrapers. I used to think I wanted love like the house we had in California – love that was big and rambling
and somehow cosy too; love with lots of rooms and sunshine, and weird sentimental stuff laid out on the mantelpiece. But the house
lacked storage space and the wooden floorboards creaked, and the big lawn often got too brown and wild and scraggly. That’s
why we left California eventually: Mum began to long for a semi-
detached home in the Dublin suburbs. She wanted to go home to
a house that was orderly and tidy, and this is what she now has. And maybe she’s right; maybe that kind of home is better. It
makes life simpler. You don’t have to decide what colour mug you
want, because they’re all the same, and Mum and Dad must save hours each month not having to mow the lawn. As you get older,
you begin to long for convenience. Maybe love is like that too:
when you get to a certain age, you need it to be tidier. That’s why
I should be glad Nathaniel has Eloise. He is too boisterous and messy for me. Life with him would never be settled.

The cab reaches the hotel. It’s a tall white building with potted
palms on each side of the large glass door. I pay the driver, and the hotel’s uniformed doorman puts my small suitcase onto a trolley. I
follow him into the foyer. It’s cool and airy, and there is a large glass
chandelier hanging from the high, sky-blue ceiling. The reception
desk has a white marble top, and the auburn-haired woman behind it is immaculately manicured and smiling at me somewhat fixedly.

‘I’m Sally Adams,’ I say. ‘My friend Fiona O’Driscoll made the
booking, so it could be under her name. She’ll be arriving in an hour or so.’

‘Fine. I’ll just check for you.’ The woman smiles. She’s wearing
very shiny red lipstick, and I’m so tired that I can’t help staring at
it. It has obviously been applied with great care; you can see that
she used a lip-liner to emphasise every curve.

As she’s reaching for the keys to my room, I feel someone
nudging my elbow. I turn around sharply and find myself facing
April.

Chapter
Twenty-Six

‘
You know how you
keep telling me I should be more open?’
April says. ‘Well, I’ve decided that maybe you’re right. It’s
time you knew.’

‘Knew what?’ We’re sitting in the hotel’s swanky lounge, and I’m
drinking a cup of tea. I am light-headed with jet lag. I feel as though
I’m dreaming – but April does look very real, sitting there in her trim
navy trouser suit. I can even smell her. She always wears very
expensive perfume. She looks very blonde and tanned and grown-up.

‘I’ve bought Mum’s birthday present.’

‘Oh.’ I sit back in my seat. I don’t know why she should think
this is a secret, but the workings of April’s mind have always been
a mystery to me. ‘That’s nice.’

‘Will you take it back with you? I don’t know if it’ll arrive in time if I post it.’ She opens her handbag and hands me a small box. ‘It’s a diamond brooch. I think she’ll like it.’

‘Goodness, yes. I’m sure she will.’ I stare at the box. It is exquisitely wrapped in gold paper and has curly pink ribbons cascading from its top.

‘It was expensive.’

‘Yes, I’m sure it was. She’ll be thrilled with it.’

‘It’s a kind of guilt-gift, really. I know I’ve upset her.’

I think of Diarmuid’s music box. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘
Let’s have some champagne.’

‘OK…’
I look at her warily as she bounces to her feet and marches towards a waiter. I’m feeling drunk already, but seeing
April again surely calls for some kind of celebration. I still can’t quite work out why she flew over from California on the spur of
the moment. Perhaps the brooch really is very expensive and she
wanted it delivered personally.

‘This is such a lovely surprise, April,’ I say as she returns. ‘You
must have dashed to the airport as soon as I phoned.’

‘I have some business to do here anyway.’ Her voice is crisp and toneless.

The champagne arrives, and the waiter opens it expertly with a quiet pop. I put down my cup of tea and reach for my glass. April empties hers in one determined gulp.

‘You look great,’ I say.

‘You’ve put on weight… but it kind of suits you.’ She gives me
a calculating glance. ‘I’m sorry about Diarmuid. I didn’t quite
know what to say to you about him. And, anyway, I think
marriage is outdated, don’t you?’ She fills her glass again. ‘What
we have these days is serial monogamy. Most people just aren’t meant to stick with one person forever.’

I want to disagree with her. I want to say that sticking with one
person forever must be wonderful, if you know how to do it. It’s
a skill – I know that now. It’s not just icing and cake; it’s also weird casseroles and leftover quiche and low-fat biscuits.

‘I’ve got used to being a partial wife.’ I smile at her. ‘In a
strange way, it sort of suits me. The sudden reconciliations can be
quite exciting… and sexy. And you get nice presents.’

‘Do you think you’ll stay a partial wife?’

‘You know something?’ I stretch my legs out languorously. The
champagne is already going to my head. ‘If Diarmuid agreed to it,
I just might. Some people do that, you know. They get married and live in different houses.’

‘It wouldn’t suit you,’ April says. ‘You’re too much of a romantic for that kind of thing. You’d begin to yearn for long, rambling midnight conversations about the meaning of life and love and laundry.’

‘Laundry?’
I tilt my head sideways. It feels very heavy
suddenly.

‘You want to understand
everything,
Sally. Haven’t you noticed
that? I bet you could already write a thesis on why you got
engaged to Diarmuid and why you married him and why you left
him. I bet you already have about a thousand theories.’

‘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.’