Read Online The Truth Club by Grace Wynne-Jones - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Grace Wynne-Jones
Ads: Link
how are things between you and Diarmuid?’
I know I should expect this, but it is always a surprise, because no one else in the family asks me about Diarmuid. I think they just don’t know what to say.
‘Oh, grand,’ I say grimly. ‘We’re in frequent communication.’
‘But I just don’t understand it, dear. Why aren’t you living in the same house? What happened?’ She is cradling her blue mug. ‘Did he hit you?’
‘Of course not.’ I shudder.
‘Or have an affair?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Was he a secret gambler? Or…’ She lowers her voice and looks around furtively. ‘Or did he have some… dreadful sexual deviances?’
I shake my head. Marie is like a terrier when she wants to find a reason. In Marie’s world, women do not just leave their husbands on a whim – especially not women like me. I’ve always been the responsible one. April was the one who stole lipstick and jeans and records from shops, as a teenager; she was the one who came home drunk and argued about wanting to have a tattoo. I was the good girl. I still want to be the good girl – only I’m not any more. I can see it in people’s eyes.
Marie is still waiting for some sort of reply, so I say, ‘It’s complicated. It’s not that I’m avoiding your question; it’s just that… well, it’s all very complicated.’
‘But why is it complicated?’ Marie leans forward. ‘None of us understand it.’
I think guiltily of my relatives in their finery outside the church. The wedding was on a sunny day. Erika and Fiona were bridesmaids, and Erika ran like an Olympic sprinter when I threw my bouquet. She didn’t catch it. It was caught by a cousin whose name I keep forgetting; what I do remember about her is that she has a post-graduate degree in business studies and, at Marie’s last family gathering, informed me that she planned to work in personnel. I assume she’ll tell me all about it at the next gathering in September. And I may have to tell her that I am separated and pregnant and that my crisp addiction has returned. My crisp addiction always resurfaces at Marie’s parties; I grab whole handfuls of them and stuff them into my mouth. Sometimes I wish these cousins weren’t quite so well adjusted. If only one of them could become a lesbian, or start a degree and then leave it because of an unsuitable man…
Pregnant. The impact of the possibility suddenly hits me. Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad if I was. It would supply some sort of answer – give my life the direction it so clearly needs. I suppose it is possible to get pregnant even if you’re expecting your period – which should, by rights, have already started. I place my hand gently on my stomach. All that bingeing at Fiona’s has given it a noticeable bulge.
Marie is staring at me. There was a time when I thought I had to answer her questions, but now I know there are some questions you can’t answer. She is getting frustrated; there is annoyance in the way she sweeps some bread-crumbs from the table. She’s probably under orders from the family to prise these details out of me. I know I am a frequent topic of conversation; I have even learned that Uncle Bob, Marie’s husband, refers to me a s ‘the Bolting Bride’.
Marie’s cloyingly sweet body-spray is wafting towards me. Some of her determination must be drifting in the air too, because I take a deep breath and say, ‘Marie, sorry to bring this up again, but why does no one want to talk about Great-Aunt DeeDee?’
She just sits there, motionless. ‘We don’t talk about her, Sally,’ she says in a steely voice. ‘I thought I’d made that clear.’
‘But why? ’I lean forward, like Marie did herself. ‘I just don’t understand it.’
Marie’s bright little eyes get the distant look that Diarmuid has perfected. She starts to fiddle with the zip on her yellow tracksuit, pulling it up and down distractedly.
‘ Why? ’
‘Oh, stop asking me that.’ Her voice is hollow,
I know I should expect this, but it is always a surprise, because no one else in the family asks me about Diarmuid. I think they just don’t know what to say.
‘Oh, grand,’ I say grimly. ‘We’re in frequent communication.’
‘But I just don’t understand it, dear. Why aren’t you living in the same house? What happened?’ She is cradling her blue mug. ‘Did he hit you?’
‘Of course not.’ I shudder.
‘Or have an affair?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Was he a secret gambler? Or…’ She lowers her voice and looks around furtively. ‘Or did he have some… dreadful sexual deviances?’
I shake my head. Marie is like a terrier when she wants to find a reason. In Marie’s world, women do not just leave their husbands on a whim – especially not women like me. I’ve always been the responsible one. April was the one who stole lipstick and jeans and records from shops, as a teenager; she was the one who came home drunk and argued about wanting to have a tattoo. I was the good girl. I still want to be the good girl – only I’m not any more. I can see it in people’s eyes.
Marie is still waiting for some sort of reply, so I say, ‘It’s complicated. It’s not that I’m avoiding your question; it’s just that… well, it’s all very complicated.’
‘But why is it complicated?’ Marie leans forward. ‘None of us understand it.’
I think guiltily of my relatives in their finery outside the church. The wedding was on a sunny day. Erika and Fiona were bridesmaids, and Erika ran like an Olympic sprinter when I threw my bouquet. She didn’t catch it. It was caught by a cousin whose name I keep forgetting; what I do remember about her is that she has a post-graduate degree in business studies and, at Marie’s last family gathering, informed me that she planned to work in personnel. I assume she’ll tell me all about it at the next gathering in September. And I may have to tell her that I am separated and pregnant and that my crisp addiction has returned. My crisp addiction always resurfaces at Marie’s parties; I grab whole handfuls of them and stuff them into my mouth. Sometimes I wish these cousins weren’t quite so well adjusted. If only one of them could become a lesbian, or start a degree and then leave it because of an unsuitable man…
Pregnant. The impact of the possibility suddenly hits me. Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad if I was. It would supply some sort of answer – give my life the direction it so clearly needs. I suppose it is possible to get pregnant even if you’re expecting your period – which should, by rights, have already started. I place my hand gently on my stomach. All that bingeing at Fiona’s has given it a noticeable bulge.
Marie is staring at me. There was a time when I thought I had to answer her questions, but now I know there are some questions you can’t answer. She is getting frustrated; there is annoyance in the way she sweeps some bread-crumbs from the table. She’s probably under orders from the family to prise these details out of me. I know I am a frequent topic of conversation; I have even learned that Uncle Bob, Marie’s husband, refers to me a s ‘the Bolting Bride’.
Marie’s cloyingly sweet body-spray is wafting towards me. Some of her determination must be drifting in the air too, because I take a deep breath and say, ‘Marie, sorry to bring this up again, but why does no one want to talk about Great-Aunt DeeDee?’
She just sits there, motionless. ‘We don’t talk about her, Sally,’ she says in a steely voice. ‘I thought I’d made that clear.’
‘But why? ’I lean forward, like Marie did herself. ‘I just don’t understand it.’
Marie’s bright little eyes get the distant look that Diarmuid has perfected. She starts to fiddle with the zip on her yellow tracksuit, pulling it up and down distractedly.
‘ Why? ’
‘Oh, stop asking me that.’ Her voice is hollow,
Similar Books
