The Truth Club (64 page)

‘
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.’

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.’

I stare at Erika long and hard. She seems to have got over the disappointment of not being Milly’s godmother. I have not, of
course, told her that Fiona wanted me to be the godmother, only
she was worried that it would make Erika feel rejected. We had a
long discussion about it and agreed that it might be best if she asked a cousin called Louisa to be the godmother instead.

‘Sorry I didn’t phone you back,’ I say, vaguely recalling Erika’s
indignant message about Lionel and his Chinese takeaway. ‘Things have been pretty busy. In fact, I had to go to London a couple of days ago.’ If only I could tell her what happened there!

‘Oh, that’s OK.’ Erika tosses off my apology with rather too
much nonchalance. ‘Your hair really does look nice, Sally.’

‘
Did he turn up?’

‘Who?’ She looks at me innocently.

‘Lionel. Did he arrive with the Chinese takeaway?’

Erika looks at me blankly, as though I have asked her to recall
a distant and not particularly significant detail. ‘Yes, he did,
actually.’ She gets up and goes over to the window again. ‘Where
on earth is that taxi?’

‘Something happened between you and him, didn’t it?’ I say.

‘Who?’

‘Lionel, of course.’

‘Yes, I had a meal with him.’ She takes out her make-up bag
and carefully freshens up her lipstick. ‘It was a very nice meal – one of those meals for two you can buy; it must have cost him at
least thirty euros. We had –’ She is clearly about to list every morsel.

‘Did he bring some wine?’ I ask.

‘No, he didn’t, actually. He wanted to go out and get some, but
I told him we didn’t really need it.’

‘What did you drink instead?’

Erika shifts uneasily in her seat.

‘You gave him some of that wildflower liqueur, didn’t you?’
She looks sharply away from me.

‘
That’s
why you’re looking so satisfied!’ I exclaim delightedly.
‘You slept with him. You slept with Lionel!’

There is a potent silence; then Erika sighs. ‘Yes, I did sleep with him, actually. I suppose I might as well admit it.’ She peers at me,
worried. ‘Do you think it was very foolish of me, Sally? I really didn’t mean to.’

‘Was it nice?’

‘Yes,’ she answers, without the slightest hesitation. ‘It’s just
that it came as quite a surprise; I never really saw him in that way
before, you know. To be honest, I was going to tell him that I
hadn’t the slightest interest in him and he should go after
someone else.’

‘What made you change your mind?’

‘I think it was the ear-nibbling. He’s a very good nibbler. He’s
actually been getting lessons.’

‘In
ear-nibbling
?’

‘
No!
’
she laughs. ‘In overcoming shyness. He must be a fast learner.’

‘That’s because he adores you, Erika,’ I say softly. ‘He is
gorgeous and extremely desirable and far nicer than Alex. I hope
you see that now.’

She still looks doubtful. ‘We had a very nice evening, that’s all.
And we’re going to a film at the weekend. I suppose he’ll do for
the time being.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I just can’t take our relationship that seriously… though
he really is an excellent lover.’ A broad and extremely satisfied smile spreads across her lips. ‘And he takes direction without a murmur of complaint.’ I can almost sense her toes curling
contentedly. Then the taxi arrives, and we both sprint to the door.

Five hours later, I lurch slightly tipsily into Aggie’s bedroom. I have been neglecting her lately. I want to sit and hold her hand and talk to her; only I find that she is sleeping.

I sit by her bed anyway. The christening was magnificent. Fiona
eventually hired a small and highly professional team to attend to
the more important details – ‘It was either that or muesli for the
main course,’ she laughed. She was wearing a soft apricot and rose
jersey dress that looked like it had just been flown in from Paris,
and she, naturally, looked very beautiful. There seemed to be hundreds of people there, but it wasn’t a frightening kind of
gathering; nobody left it wondering if they’d said the right thing or
worn the right clothes or brought the right presents. The
christening, of course, was solemn and beautifully poignant, but t
he party that came after it was greatly aided by ebullient hits from
the 80s and large quantities of excellent wine and food. Guests wandered happily between the large dining room, whose more
ample furniture was stored elsewhere, and the huge sitting room
with its vast windows and views of one of the area’s grander leafy
squares. Fiona’s mother seemed particularly attracted to the
kitchen; she watched in awe as plates of stuffed leaves and sushi
and prawns wrapped in filo pastry were carried guestwards.

‘What are these, exactly?’ she asked Erika and me before she
ate anything. Then she added, ‘Didn’t little Milly look wonderful?
She really takes after our side of the family.’

And Milly did look lovely. She only cried, very briefly, when
she was leaving the church. She seemed to enjoy the attention. At
one point during the ceremony she appeared to be smiling and gurgling.

‘Erika slept with Lionel,’ I whispered in Fiona’s ear, when the
party was winding to a close. She looked knackered and
extremely contented and she had a milk stain near the right shoulder of her new dress.

She looked at me with a mixture of joy and amazement.
‘Wildflower liqueur,’ I muttered. She beamed from ear to ear.
No further explanation was required.

I am just about to kiss Aggie and go home when she stirs and looks up at me. ‘Is that you, Sally?’

‘Yes, Aggie.’

‘How lovely to see you, dear. What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you for a while.’

I ache to tell her about DeeDee. I still can’t believe that I have
to keep it a secret. It seems so unfair.

‘Oh, I’ve been pretty busy with this and that,’ I tell her
cheerfully. ‘In fact, I’ve just been to a christening. Fiona – you
know, my friend?’ She nods vaguely. ‘Well, she’s had a lovely little
daughter called Milly, and –’

Aggie reaches out and clutches my hand. ‘I’m sorry about Diarmuid, dear.’

I gulp. ‘What do you mean?’

‘That he ran off with that other woman. Your mother told me all about it.’

‘Well, actually, I sort of –’

‘Yes, yes, I know. You left him and went back to your cottage,
but that’s only because you sensed things weren’t right between
you.’ She holds my hand more tightly.

‘The details are a bit odd, to be honest with you,’ I mumble. ‘Mum seems to want to blame him, but it was my fault too.’

‘Let her be biased, dear,’ Aggie says softly. ‘She enjoys standing
up for you.’

‘We didn’t really love each other, you see,’ I say. I don’t know
why I’m telling her this. It must be all the wine. She was always
my confessor. ‘He only became involved with that woman when
he realised that. He asked me to come back many times.’

‘Your heart wasn’t in it, dear. I sensed that.’

‘Did you?’ I stare at her.

‘Yes. Sometimes, when you talked about him, I felt you were
talking about someone else.’

I blink hard. Age hasn’t diminished her intuition. I think of Nathaniel. That’s who I was talking about: the man who will always be just a dear friend.

‘Anyway, we’ll stand up for you at Marie’s party,’ Aggie announces gutsily. ‘Don’t worry. If anyone starts pestering you about Diarmuid, I’ll tell them about the angels in my bedroom.’