The Truth Club by Grace Wynne-Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

dramatically.
    ‘What are you sighing about?’
    ‘About Diarmuid. About how unfair I’ve been to him. Sometimes I wish he’d been able to marry Becky.’
    ‘Who’s Becky?’ Fiona leans forward.
    ‘A girl he loved. They met when he was fourteen and she was twelve. They went out for five whole years.’
    ‘And where is she now?’
    ‘In New Zealand. Her family moved there. She and Diarmuid kept in contact for a while, and then she got engaged to a guy over there. It broke Diarmuid’s heart – I’m sure it did, though he hardly ever speaks about it. His mother says they were an ideal couple.’
    ‘Diarmuid’s mother sounds like a right old bag,’ Fiona snorts, and I do not disagree.
    ‘She’s never really liked me,’ I say, through cake. I am now on my second helping. The icing is a kind of creamy chocolate fudge and extremely tasty. ‘She even has a silver-framed photo of Becky in the sitting-room. She’s in a canoe, looking all outdoorsy and cute. Diarmuid’s mother calls her “the daughter I never had”.’
    ‘That’s outrageous!’ Fiona splutters. ‘You’re her daughter-in-law. She could be a bit more… tactful. ’
    I know she is right to be annoyed. Diarmuid’s mother, Madge, has never treated me as though I belong in her family. Any time I’m in a room with her, she greets me, talks for a few moments and moves on to someone else. Diarmuid has to keep reminding her to introduce me to their friends and relatives. When he does, she exclaims, ‘Oh, yes, of course – this is Sally. Diarmuid’s…’ And there is always a small pause before she adds, ‘Wife.’ I’ve often asked Diarmuid to have a word with her about it, but he hasn’t done it yet. He’s really worried about hurting her feelings, because apparently she is very ‘sensitive’ and doesn’t mean to be rude, so I ‘shouldn’t take it personally’. I don’t really believe him, because I haven’t noticed her being like that with anyone else.
    I’m amazed at how much I’ve tolerated Madge’s behaviour. Maybe it’s because, deep down, I think she’s right. Becky is the person Diarmuid should have married.
    And I think he knows it too.

Chapter Four
     
     
     
    I am staring at the aquamarine curtains in Diarmuid’s bedroom. I think of it as Diarmuid’s bedroom even though it is still, theoretically, ours. I took ages choosing those curtains. I wanted them to be textured and soft, and they are. They are also lined in thick cream cotton. It’s expensive lining, because I wanted the curtains to last and not get bleached by sunlight. Everything in this room was chosen with such care and such concern about its durability – apart from the man sleeping beside me. I rushed into my marriage, because I thought no one else half decent would want me, and I was scared of being alone.
    Diarmuid must have felt that way too. He still does. He as much as admitted it just ten minutes ago, before he fell into what seems to be a restive sleep: he twitches every so often, and his face does not hold that childlike softness of forgetting. ‘You can’t believe how lonely I’ve been.’ That’s what he muttered, just before his head deepened on the pillow. ‘I need someone to hold… someone to love.’ And then his eyes closed and he drifted away from me. I wish I knew where he’s gone. I wish I knew so much more about him than I do.
    I am still in a daze. I can’t believe what has just happened. There is something dreadful and lovely about it. Just for a while, when I walked into this room again, I felt such relief that he had made my mind up for me, that all the indecision was over. And now I don’t know what I’m feeling any more. All I know is that I may be pregnant. I do not carry my diaphragm around in my handbag. And I know I must have chosen this, because I let it h appen. I must have wanted something to happen to help me make my mind up about my marriage.
    This week my visit to Aggie was unexceptional, until she started