The Truth Club (45 page)

I trudge along the seashore and wonder what I can do to help her. I decide that just being supportive is the most sensible approach. It’s best not to interfere in other people’s marriages, especially if they have managed to stay under the same roof. A
gust of wind turns the waves into white horses. I gaze at them and
wish there was a dog I could borrow. I love the way dogs dart into
the waves and fetch sticks and scamper along the sand. They are
a wonderful reminder not to take things too seriously.

Thinking of dogs reminds me of Fred, and Fred reminds me of
Nathaniel. I am walking in the direction of his flat. I should pop in and see if he’s there and hunt for my wedding ring. I start to
walk more quickly; there’s an ice-cream van parked by a Martello
tower, and I need to get away from it. People are munching cones w
ith chocolate stuck into them. I fix my eyes on the horizon. I simply must lose some weight before Marie’s party.

I am relieved to see Nathaniel’s bashed-up old Citroën in front of
Greta’s house, but then I get a sudden urge to just go home. What
am I to do with these feelings he calls out of me?

I stare at the large red-brick building with its luxuriant garden.
Then I gingerly approach the wrought-iron gate and try to open it. As is often the case with gates like that, it involves a certain amount of tussling.

As soon as I’m in Nathaniel’s spacious sitting room, he starts
squinting suspiciously out the window. ‘I think that ice-cream van
is stalking me. Look, it’s just pulled up outside the gate. It turns
up outside this house every afternoon, playing some tinny
Viennese waltz.’

‘I want to hunt for my wedding ring.’

‘Yes, but let’s buy some 99 cones first.’ He smiles at me. ‘The
guy won’t go away until I relent.’

He starts to hunt for some change on a bookshelf. I glance out
the window. ‘He’s pulling away.’

‘Bugger!’ Nathaniel says. ‘He usually waits.’

‘So you
want
an ice-cream cone.’

‘Of course. He’s been pushing the stuff at me for weeks. I’m addicted.’

Fred is snoring on a large cushion by the window. Every so
often he growls. He is probably dreaming of chasing rabbits.
‘So you’ve been visiting Aggie,’ I say.

‘Yes. I promised I would. I get the impression she thinks I’m
Diarmuid, but I don’t mind. John, Cedric, Gervaise – she can call
me anything she wants, as long as it isn’t Maisie. I’d like to retain
my gender.’

Nathaniel heads for the kitchen and starts making tea, washing
mugs, sniffing milk and staring cautiously at the sugar bowl.

‘Ants,’ he mutters. ‘Bloody ants. They treat this place like a hotel.’

‘I have them too,’ I sigh. ‘I suppose I could resort to heavy chemicals to get rid of them, but it seems rather drastic.’

‘I agree.’ Nathaniel opens a window and flings a handful of ants and sugar into the shrubbery. ‘I suppose we’ll just have to freeze them out with our disapproval.’

There is a silence. An easy silence. Then he says, ‘Have you been trying to phone me?’

‘No.’

‘Just as well. Fred buried my mobile phone somewhere in the
garden. Sometimes I think I should have him shot at dawn.’
Nathaniel hands me a turquoise mug. He didn’t ask me how
much milk or sugar I take; he remembered. ‘I’ve been asking people to ring me and skulking around the garden trying to find
it… Greta thought I was listening to the geraniums, until I
explained what I was up to.’ He sits down beside me and takes a
large gulp of tea from his mug.

‘Who cut your fringe?’

‘Eloise.’ He languidly stretches out his legs. ‘I think she made
quite a good job of it.’

‘An excellent job.’

Fred suddenly jumps up from his cushion. ‘Walk time.’
Nathaniel looks at me wryly. ‘He’ll start howling if he has to wait
too long. He’s awfully bossy.’

Fred is now dancing around our feet with excitement. ‘Let us at least finish our tea,’ Nathaniel tells him sternly. Fred runs off
into the hall and jumps up and down until he manages to dislodge
his lead from a coat hook.

‘It’s ridiculous,’ Nathaniel says. ‘I am being bossed about by a
mongrel. I’m going to have to let him take me for a walk. You can
stay here if you want.’

I drain the last drops of tea from my mug. ‘Well, I had planned
to look for my wedding ring…’

‘I’ll look for you.’

I smile gratefully. ‘Really?’ He nods. ‘OK, I’ll come with you.
I’ll walk home along the beach. I’m trying to get more exercise.’

It’s nice walking along the strand with Nathaniel. I find myself
thinking that, if I were on a bus and saw us, I might think we were a couple, a real couple with their crazy dog.

‘I’m so glad you called round,’ Nathaniel says. ‘I really enjoy
our talks.’

‘So do I.’

‘I find it easier to talk to women. Most of my friends seem to be women these days.’

I pick up a shell. How many women friends does he have? Am
I just one of a big bunch?

‘I know it’s a cliché, but women do tend to be more in touch with their emotions. Julia hates it when I say that; she says I shouldn’t generalise.’

‘Julia?’

‘Haven’t I mentioned her? She’s a computer whiz; I keep
ringing her for advice. She prefers sensitive men, but Eloise keeps
telling me that women don’t want their men to be wimpy. I sometimes suspect she’d like me to take up body-building.’

As he laughs affectionately, I wish he had found himself a gentler girlfriend. Eloise is clearly a pretty tough cookie. She’s beautiful and sexy and bright, but I don’t think I’d want to talk to her about my feelings.

Fred keeps bringing us sticks and demanding that we throw
them for him. Even though Nathaniel throws them onto the sand,
Fred scampers after them through the water.

‘Look at that.’ Nathaniel sighs. ‘He insists on getting drenched
every time we come here.’

I look at Nathaniel quickly, and then I look away, towards the
curve of Killiney Bay and Bray Head in the distance. ‘He’ll miss
you if you go back to New York.’ I almost add, ‘
So will Eloise,’
but I don’t. Maybe she’ll join Nathaniel there. She’ll have a whole new market for her cabinets.

‘Yes.’ Nathaniel frowns. ‘Greta said she’d take him on, but
she’d probably want to turn him into a party dog. Everyone in her
life gets roped into helping out at her PR receptions. She’d probably train him to hand out press releases.’

I bite my lip. ‘When would you go back – if you go back?’

‘I don’t know – I haven’t decided. Maybe in a couple of months.’

A couple of months
.
He says it so casually.

We aren’t taking notice, and we’ve wandered far too close to the water. A wave crashes over our shoes, drenching our socks and jeans. We both gasp with surprise.

‘Oh, feck!’ Nathaniel laughs. I giggle too. The water is
freezing. We must get some dry clothes on. I stare into the
distance. My cottage is only ten minutes away; we must have been
walking faster than we thought.

‘Come to my place and we can dry out. I’ll make you tea.’ I’ve
said it before I can even think about it.

‘OK.’ Nathaniel’s eyes meet mine.

We walk purposefully, silently, along the beach.

‘I really should take off these jeans,’ Nathaniel says, when
we’re in my untidy sitting room. ‘Do you have a radiator I could
put them on?’ He is already taking off his socks and shoes.

The afternoon seems to have acquired its own momentum. ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I’ll get you my dressing-gown.
’

Soon we are sipping tea. I have changed clothes, and Nathaniel
is in my blue gown, which is covered with tiny pink roses. Steam is rising from his jeans, which are on a plug-in Dimplex radiator.
I don’t know quite how this has happened. We could have just gone back to his flat, even though my cottage was closer. The
cushions on the sofa seem to be sagging towards the middle, sort
of shoving us together. My hand touches his knee when I offer him a biscuit. My skin drinks in the feel of him, the smell, the warmth.

Then I start laughing. It’s a belly laugh; it bursts out of me. I laugh so hard that I have to put down the plate.

‘What is it?’

‘You look so funny in that gown.’

Our eyes meet again. ‘Oh, Sally…’ Nathaniel says. But then the doorbell rings. It’s probably one of my small neighbours, wanting
me to retrieve a ball from my back garden. I am still giggling as I
go to the front door.

It’s Diarmuid, and he’s holding a bunch of flowers. My
stomach lurches. He mustn’t see Nathaniel; he’ll put two and two
together and get fifty.

‘Hi, Diarmuid! It’s good to see you!’ I want my voice to sound welcoming, but it’s a high-pitched squeak. ‘I – I was just about to
go to the shop for some milk. Could you give me a lift?’ The shop
is only a minute away by car, but it will give Nathaniel time to pull on his jeans and leave. ‘Then we can come back here and have a nice chat.’

I try to move out the door, but Diarmuid is standing in front of
me and he doesn’t budge. ‘But what about your visitor, Sally –
your
other
visitor?’ His voice is cold and angry. I gulp. How does
he know I have a visitor?

He pushes past me and marches into the sitting-room. He
glares at Nathaniel. Then he flings the bunch of roses on the floor,
turns on his heel and walks out.

Chapter
Thirty-One

‘I’ve moved in with
Charlene.’
It is eight in the morning, and the bedside phone has woken
me up.

‘Hello,’ I say vaguely, rubbing my eyes. ‘Is that you, Diarmuid?
I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you just said.’

‘I’ve moved in with Charlene.’

That’s what I thought he said, but it can’t be. Diarmuid
wouldn’t just say something like that so bluntly.