The Truth Club (47 page)

‘I did love you.’ He sounds sad now, bereft and bewildered.

‘But you don’t any more?’

There is a lengthy pause; then he says, ‘Surely this can’t be too much of a surprise to you, Sally. You’ve found someone else too.
We’ve both moved on. You don’t even wear your wedding ring any more.’

So he noticed. I decide this is not the right time to mention that
I suspect Nathaniel’s dog may have eaten it.

‘If you’d
talked
to me, Diarmuid, you would have discovered that I haven’t moved on and I haven’t found someone else. Nathaniel is just a
friend
.’

‘As you said in your telephone messages.’ Diarmuid sighs wearily.

‘Look, Diarmuid…’ I take a deep breath. ‘You think I’ve been having an affair with Nathaniel, but I haven’t. He was only here
because we went for a walk by the sea and a wave drenched us.
He came to my cottage to dry off a bit. That’s why he was
wearing my dressing-gown.’

‘And I’m supposed to believe that?’

‘Yes. If you’d stayed for a moment, you would have seen his jeans on the heater.’

There is a significant pause; then Diarmuid says, ‘Look, I don’t
know if his jeans were drying or not –’

‘They were, honestly they were.’

‘But that doesn’t change the fact that you love him. I knew it from the first moment I saw you two together. You love him, Sally. You love him in a way you’ve never loved me.’

I feel like he’s punched me. Am I really that transparent? Can o
ther people see things that I can hardly admit to myself? ‘He’s a
friend
.’
I decide to be defensive. ‘That’s all he is, Diarmuid. That’s
all he wants to be.’

‘I think you should confirm that with him,’ Diarmuid says.
‘I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I saw the way you were both
snuggled up on that sofa.’

‘
What?
’

‘I looked through the window before I rang the doorbell.’

‘
You were
spying
on me?’

‘Yes, and who would blame me in the circumstances?’

‘What are the circumstances, Diarmuid?’ I feel a sob rising in
my stomach. ‘I really don’t know any more. I thought we were both taking time out to think things over.’

‘You’re the one who wanted to do that.’

‘Yes, but then you said you wanted to do it too.’

‘I don’t know what I said.’ Diarmuid sighs. ‘You got me so muddled about the whole thing, I could have said anything.’

I suddenly feel desperately tired. Why on earth couldn’t
Diarmuid have called at a civilised hour? I can’t even bear talking
to him any more; it seems utterly pointless.

‘I don’t want to talk to you any more right now.’ I just say it.

‘Oh.’ He sounds surprised. ‘I thought you wanted me to talk more to you.’

‘Not about this kind of thing!’ I scream. ‘Not about how you
don’t love me any more. I’ve never felt you loved me.’

‘
Did you love me?’

I don’t answer. That’s the thing about wanting to be loved: you
don’t spend enough time thinking about giving love back. And just wanting to be loved isn’t real love. I start to cry. How can I have been so ignorant about being a wife?

Diarmuid hears me crying. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been far too blunt. I
thought it would make it easier.’

‘What do you mean?’ I sniff.

‘I… I didn’t want to think about all the things I like about you. I thought it might make me change my mind about Charlene.’ His
voice lowers. ‘Do you want me to change my mind about her?’

‘No.’ It’s a whisper, but I mean it. I say it before I even think about it. The word just scoots out of my mouth.

‘I didn’t want it to end like this.’

‘Neither did I.’ I clench my hanky in my hand. ‘I’m sorry,
Diarmuid. We just kind of lost each other somehow. I don’t think
either of us meant to – to be so careless.’ I start to sob.

‘No.’ Dear God, Diarmuid is crying too. ‘I’m so sorry about the mice, Sally. I kind of got obsessed with them. At first I was
just fascinated with the research, but then each one of them
seemed like a little friend, somehow. They always seemed so glad
to see me.’

‘And I didn’t?’

‘You seemed disappointed, Sally. I couldn’t stand seeing you so
disappointed with me.’

‘I disappointed you too.’

Diarmuid doesn’t answer.

‘At least we’ve
talked
,’ I say. ‘This is the most open conversation we’ve ever had.’

‘Do you want me to ring the estate agents?’

‘OK.’

‘Bye, Sally. I’ll phone again soon.’

‘Bye, Diarmuid.’

The line goes dead.

I go back to bed and cry until my pillow is soaking. I just cry,
letting the tears leave me – big, fat tears that stream down my
face. Some of them find their way into my ears. I can’t name the
feelings behind them. There are too many. I just know I need to cry.

Half an hour later I dry my face. I get up and pad down to the
kitchen in my thick pink socks. I make myself a very large mug of
tea and stare numbly out the window at the potted plants in my back garden – the geraniums and sweet peas, the large terra
cotta pot full of lavender. There is a water lily flowering in a blue
glazed bowl.

The phone rings. I almost let the answering machine take it.
But it could be Diarmuid. Maybe he’s changed his mind…
It’s Nathaniel.

‘Hi, Sal. I’ve found your wedding ring.’ He sounds very bright
and perky. ‘It was wedged into a chocolate chip cookie in a
particularly complicated part of the sofa’s upholstery. I also found
three euros and a packet of mints.’

‘Oh.’ My voice must sound like it’s travelling through cement.
I try to raise it a few octaves. ‘Oh! That’s
great
.
Thank you.’

‘What’s up? You sound kind of down about something.’

‘Really?’ I try to sound surprised. ‘Maybe it’s because I haven’t
had my second cup of tea yet.’ I don’t like this any more. I don’t
like it that Nathaniel knows all these things. It makes me want to
tell him everything, but I can’t – not after how appalled he was
when Diarmuid found him on the sofa in my dressing-gown. He
even wanted to phone Diarmuid, to reassure him that nothing had
happened between us. He even collected Diarmuid’s roses and insisted I put them in a vase. Any secret hopes I had had about Nathaniel vanished in that moment. He looked so scared and
guilty, so upset that Diarmuid had jumped to the wrong conclusion.

So had I, for a while. Nathaniel is naturally affectionate, and
he exaggerates. I used to like his exaggerations, but now I don’t;
they’re very misleading. I am just one of his little coterie of female
confidantes.

‘I have to go, Nathaniel,’ I say quickly. ‘I must make myself some breakfast.’

‘How’s Diarmuid?’

‘He’s… he’s fine. We’ve just had a long talk on the phone.’

‘
Oh.’ He sounds surprised. ‘That’s good. You said you wanted
him to be more open.’

‘Well, he was,’ I say. I try to make my voice sound chirpy. I don’t want Nathaniel to know what Diarmuid and I said to each other. I might start bawling and he might want to come round,
and I couldn’t bear that. I don’t want him to feel so close and yet
so far away.

‘What do you want me to do with the ring?’

‘Could… could you just post it?’ I get a horrible hollow feeling
in my stomach. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to collect it. I’m very busy at the moment.’

‘Fine.’ He sounds a little puzzled. ‘I’ll send it recorded delivery.’

‘
Yes. Yes, that would be good.’

There is an uncomfortable pause.

‘How’s Eloise?’ It seems appropriate to mention her. Nathaniel
should mention her more often. He should use the ‘we’ word:
We
went to the cinema, we went to the park
…
It would remind his female friends of his true affections.

‘Busy too. She’s got an order from a posh hotel in Connemara.
We went to Scowly Henry’s restaurant to celebrate. She’s determined to make him smile.’

We
.
‘Oh. That’s great.’ I try not to feel too jealous.

‘Yes, she’s really getting known now.’ It seems to be a morning
in which men extol the merits of other women to me.

I’m just about to say I have to go, again, when Nathaniel adds,
‘You should get to know Fabrice.’

‘Oh, really?’ I say dubiously. ‘And why is that?’

‘You’d like her. And she likes you. She told me on the phone.’

‘
You
phone
her?’

‘Yes. When I met her with Aggie, she gave me her phone number. She said we should meet for tea and cake.’

‘And did you?’

‘Yes. It was great fun. She’s a breath of fresh air. She’s led the
most amazing life.’

God,
I think.
Now Fabrice is part of Nathaniel’s little coterie
o
f female friends too. She probably fancies him. She probably
likes her men young and nubile. Maybe I should warn him about
her. He’s so trusting.

‘You’d like her, Sal. You two have a lot in common.’

I clench the phone in outrage. I think of Fabrice – her tall stories, her layered make-up, her rattling, showy costume jewel
lery; her solemn, calculating, calm eyes. How dare he compare me
to her? He mustn’t know me at all.

‘I think she could be a good friend,’ Nathaniel continues. ‘Aggie has her mobile number. You should give her a call.’

I am so flabbergasted that I just stare out the window. What
does Fabrice
do
to people? Both Nathaniel and Aggie can’t stop
talking about her.

‘She’ll be going away soon, on business; she might be away for
a while. You should phone her soon.’