The Truth Hurts Read online

  “Where are the real drinks?” asked Gina.

  “Booze?”

  Gina nodded her head and pretended to pant like a puppy. “I’m parched.”

  “Um,” Poppy said, thinking of all the perfectly chosen bottles of white wine in the wine fridge. It was only just midday. “There’s some vodka in the larder. And rum, I think.” There was in fact an entire tray of bottles in the dining room.

  “What are you having?” Gina asked.

  “Probably just this,” said Poppy, pointing at the jug of water.

  “Really?”

  How was she supposed to tell Gina that the idea of Drew coming back to find her and her friend pissed on the expensive wine he’d bought made her feel intensely guilty? “Why don’t we go for a walk?”

  “He’s got you on a short leash.”

  The comment stung. “It’s not that,” Poppy said. “You’re super welcome to drink; I’m just not really in the mood.”

  Gina was smiling now. “Oh my God . . . are you?”

  “No! God no. Absolutely not. I’m on my period right now.”

  She had run out of pills just after they’d arrived back in England, and when she told Drew he had offered to get a concierge doctor to prescribe some. “Or,” he had said, “if you’re ready, you could stop taking them. No pressure. Just a thought.” So she had stopped. But nothing had happened yet, and when her period arrived a couple of days ago it had brought a gentle sort of sadness where once upon a time it had brought relief.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Gina picked up the jug. “It wouldn’t be the end of the world if you were, though. You’ve got enough bedrooms. Come and sit outside so I can have a cigarette.”

  Poppy followed Gina out onto the terrace, down the stone steps and along the path. “I know it wouldn’t,” she said. “I just don’t know if I’m ready.”

  “Have you talked about it?”

  Poppy shook her head, wanting to keep the little fantasy world full of children between her and Drew.

  Gina had rolled a cigarette and put her legs up on the wooden table. Long streams of smoke came from her lips. Poppy picked her way over to sit with her. Her skin pimpled in the cool air. It would be too cold to sit out here before long.

  She could feel the silence between her and Gina stretching thin.

  “I’m sorry, Gee. I don’t mean to be boring. I’m just kind of still on best behavior.”

  “Does he know about what happened?”

  She shook her head again.

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “We’re not really like that,” she said.

  “Like what?”

  As the words left Gina’s lips, Poppy regretted what she had said. This was not the kind of arrangement that Gina would agree with.

  “We have this thing: we agreed we weren’t going to talk about stuff that happened before we met.”

  Gina sat up. “What?”

  “Basically, we’ve both dated people where it’s been all about the past, and we didn’t want that. So we thought we’d skip over all the stuff that happened before and just be in the now.”

  Gina looked horrified. “And you don’t want to know what he’s hiding?”

  “Hiding?”

  “Why else would he agree to that?”

  “I agreed to it.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Gina!” Poppy got to her feet. “Low fucking blow.”

  Gina stood up. Poppy resented how long she was, how her height lent her an unquestionable sense of authority. “Oh come on. You know exactly why you went for this ‘deal.’ You know what you’re hiding. You don’t think he’s got his reasons too? Normal people don’t do this. Normal people don’t make bargains—”

  “I’m going to go inside. It’s cold.”

  “Poppy,” Gina called after her. Poppy didn’t turn around. Her chest was tight and her head even tighter and all she wanted to do was get back to the house, away from Gina’s words.

  Poppy knew that what Gina was saying was true. There must be a reason that Drew didn’t want to talk. There must be something lurking in his past. She had known the very moment he had suggested it, and that feeling had gotten worse ever since they came back to England. It was there constantly, a little tension in the back of her neck, a little weight at the back of her stomach. She managed to ignore it most of the time but Gina had turned the volume up on it, made all the little worry-whispers into screams.

  Didn’t Gina realize? How could she fail to understand how precarious this all was? Poppy didn’t deserve Drew; she knew that. She didn’t deserve Drew’s love or his money or his kindness. So it didn’t matter what the secrets were. One day he would find out. He would know who Poppy was and what she had done and then it would all be gone.

  It was easy for Gina. She had a huge, loving, loud family in south London who took the piss out of her for working in Chelsea and having famous employers. They were proud of her, even though they’d never say it to her face. Gina had tried to bond with her over it once, misunderstanding about Poppy’s family, thinking they were the same. “I know what it’s like,” she’d said. “But the second I walk out that door, it’s all ‘Gina’s done so well.’ They just won’t say it to your face.” Poppy had nodded and agreed and pretended that the advice had made her feel better because she didn’t want to be rude or hurt Gina’s feelings. But it wasn’t like that.

  Loving Drew, being so desperate to keep him—she knew it was a cliché. Predictable. Daddy issues. She knew all of that. But she also couldn’t remember the last person who had held her for any length of time, or caught her arm as she walked past and pulled her in for a kiss. When was the last time she’d had sober sex? She couldn’t take another night of someone’s teeth clashing against hers, their fingers pushing inside the dry folds of her vagina and asking, moments later, “Did you come?” She never wanted to wake up in a stranger’s house with furry teeth and a dead phone battery and start walking in a random direction out of the front door in the hope that she’d reach a tube station, because she was too ashamed to admit that she didn’t know where she was.

  Everything in Drew’s world was clean and pure and right. Someone came to pick up their laundry and then brought it back folded and ironed and neat. Nothing ever smelled of damp. Nothing was plastic or broken or shit. She never had to wonder if twenty quid was too much to pay for a white T-shirt. Drew cared if she came. He listened when she spoke. He noticed if her mood was low. Once he’d seen her crying at a stupid program on TV while he was reading his book and he’d put the book down and wrapped his arms around her. Never in her life had she been touched so often or so kindly. And so Gina might not get it, she might think that Poppy was stupid and naïve to let Drew keep his secret, but she had no idea what it was like to be alone in the world.

  Chapter 22

  Drew had given Poppy plenty of notice that he would be going to Frankfurt for a week, but as his departure drew nearer she found herself dreading it. She was surprised at how dependent she had become on his presence. It had been frighteningly easy to get used to.

  “Do you really have to go?” she asked, sitting on their bed.

  “I do,” Drew replied, taking a shirt from the wardrobe. “But it’s only a week. I’ll be back by the weekend, and I’ll call you every night.”

  “I suppose.”

  “It won’t always be like this. I promise. Once I’ve finished setting up this project I’ll be able to work from home, and I won’t need to work every day. It’s a means to an end.”

  “I know,” she said, her voice small.

  He brushed some dust from the shirt’s left shoulder. “That wardrobe is filthy.”

  “I’ll clean it while you’re away.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  “I don’t mind. I’ll be bored anyway.”

  “You’ve got Gina?”

  “True.”

  Things between Poppy and Gina had been strained since their row. In fact, she’d barely seen her. Drew had
seemed pleased by her absence. He’d come home the night of the row and asked where Gina was. Poppy had guessed she was at the pub quiz, making friends in the village, and told Drew so. He had seemed mollified by it, as though his concerns that Gina was going to follow them around the house interrupting their couple time had proved unfounded. Poppy had toyed with telling Drew about the argument, about how hurt she was that Gina seemed to disapprove of their relationship. But she knew better than that.

  Since Poppy had told her about the deal, Gina had avoided Drew. If he was in the kitchen, Gina would take her drink outside, ostensibly because she wanted to smoke. If he was reading in the sitting room she would pretend she’d gone in to get a magazine and then retreat upstairs. It wasn’t just Gina either. While Drew was always pleasant and polite toward Gina, he didn’t seem able to fake warmth toward her.

  “Darling,” said Drew, putting socks in his suitcase. “You look miserable. It’s only five days. Please try to cheer up.”

  He doesn’t know about Gina, she tried to remind herself. “It’s fine,” she said, getting up. “I’m going in the shower.”

  Drew caught her arm and gently tugged her back. “Hey—what’s going on? You seem upset. It’s only four nights, I’ll be back late on Friday. You’re not annoyed, are you?”

  It was simpler to pretend that she was angry at him for leaving than it was to explain that Gina’s comments had wedged themselves in her brain and played on repeat for the last week, that she was scared everything they had built was on a shifting foundation and that she was going to end up right back where she had started—alone. “I just didn’t realize you’d be away so much. It’s not fair.”

  Drew looked hurt. “I’m sorry. You’ve got the car and you have Gina here. You’ve got the cards—is there anything I can . . .” He seemed to be struggling for words. Or rather, for a solution. Poppy remembered Gina explaining something she’d read in a book once, while they sat in the garden watching the boys ignore the wooden learning toys and play with sticks they’d found: that men needed to fix things. “It’s so easy to keep them happy. You have to give them a small challenge that they can overcome,” she had said. Poppy had rolled her eyes at the time and said that men weren’t all the same and that you couldn’t learn to date one from a book. But now Poppy wondered if there might have been some truth to it. There was no problem that Drew didn’t want to fix.

  “It’s not that,” she said, wishing she hadn’t started the conversation at all. “I just need something to do.”

  “Why not find something?” asked Drew. “Have you seen my brown shoes?”

  “In the wardrobe,” she said, reveling at how married they had become in only a couple of months. She’d only ever seen it happen the other way around. Another person’s tongue in her mouth, hands in her underwear, breath on her skin and then the next day, nothing. Intimacy undone entirely. Sometimes she’d go to a party with Gina and see someone across the room whom she’d slept with and marvel at how it was possible to give your body over to someone for a few hours, sleep next to them with a naked face and naked body, and then not even smile at each other across a crowded room.

  “I am trying to find something. I’m not just sitting on my arse all day.”

  “No one said you were.”

  Drew stood behind her, looking at her face in the mirror. His chin was the exact same height as the top of her head. “You can do anything you want. Maybe my going away will give you some space to think about what it is you want to do?”

  Poppy wrapped herself in a towel. “We need new towels,” she said. “The ones Ralph bought are scratchy.”

  “Order new ones,” said Drew.

  “That’s not the point.”

  “You just said you dislike the towels?”

  “It’s not about the towels.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  Poppy made a long, exasperated noise. “It’s about living here; it’s about not having anything to do. I feel like I belong in some Victorian novel. None of this stuff is mine. I didn’t choose any of it. When your friends come they’re going to take one look at this place and know I don’t know what to do with it.”

  Drew’s face clouded with hurt. “I thought you were happy here.”

  “I am!” she protested. She’d spent the last three weeks fighting her reservations about the house because she didn’t want to disappoint Drew, who clearly felt like he had come home. “But it’s like a museum of someone else’s life,” she said gently. “The drawers are still lined with old newspapers. The plants in the garden were chosen by someone else. Every day I find things in cupboards that don’t belong to us.”

  “I could have someone come in and clear the house? I just thought that it would be best; we didn’t have any of our own things . . .” He trailed off. “I can have Ralph send someone to get rid of it all.”

  Poppy shook her head. “I don’t want Ralph to do anything. I’ll sort it out—I’ll fix it, I just . . . It’s a lot. Moving here, being here. It’s a big adjustment. That’s all.”

  Drew nodded. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry.”

  “I just want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy.”

  “You don’t seem it.”

  “I’m just starting a row because you’re going away. You should ignore me. It was just that Gina said—” She stopped immediately before she said too much.

  Drew didn’t look impressed. “I didn’t realize we were living in a harem.”

  “We’re not.”

  “So I’m not accountable to Gina. And neither are you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Drew sat down on the bed next to her. “Don’t be sorry. But, my love, Gina doesn’t always know best. You’re clever and brilliant and bright. You can think for yourself.”

  She leaned into his chest, feeling the warmth of his torso. She could hardly remember what her point had been in the first place.

  “I really have to go,” Drew said to her back. “Unless you want me to book another flight? I can go later . . .”

  He meant it. She knew that. If she told him to miss his flight for the sake of fifteen minutes with her, he would. “It’s OK,” she said. “Go. Just promise you’ll come back safe.”

  She closed the door behind her and stood under the spluttering hot water from the ancient shower, thinking about the expression of hurt on Drew’s face when she had tried to explain how she felt. He loved this house. It was everything he had ever wanted. She was the problem. She was the one the house didn’t like—the one who didn’t belong.

  “Gina?” she called up the little staircase to Gina’s room. She waited a moment. Nothing. Then, footsteps, light quick ones, coming down the stairs.

  “Do you need something?” she asked, appearing through the little wooden door. She was too long for it really, all limbs and neck. When they had walked in the park back in London, each holding a pram, Poppy had enjoyed the feeling of being comparatively petite. It didn’t happen often, at five foot seven.

  “I hate things being like this,” she said, looking determinedly between Gina’s eyes. “With us.”

  Gina made a noncommittal noise.

  “I know Drew and I haven’t had the most normal start,” she said. “But you were all up for this back when I was in Ibiza. What happened to ‘when you know, you know’?”

  Gina made the same noise. Poppy steadied herself. She was going to be like Drew, or at least how she imagined Drew would be in a meeting. Assertive. Firm. She wasn’t going to raise her voice or, even worse, cry. “Don’t you like him?” she asked.

  “It’s not that,” Gina replied. “It’s just—” She stopped, seeming to struggle for words, which was desperately unlike her. “I don’t know. I think something’s off.”

  “You’re right,” said Poppy.

  “Really?”

  “Yep. Something is off. I think it’s the house.”

  “The house?”

  “It’s like livin
g in someone else’s house. I feel like it’s a really fancy holiday rental. It’s all so temporary and none of it is ours. Every time I pick up a book or make coffee I feel like I’m on the set of a play and I should be wearing a costume and pretending to answer to Mrs. Spencer.”

  Gina didn’t look convinced. “You think it’s the house? Not the fact that you’re not allowed to talk about anything that happened before you and Drew met each other?”

  “I’m not saying it’s the only problem. I know Drew and I got married fast and I know we still need to get to know each other, but that’s between us. And it’s not that I’m ‘not allowed’ to talk about it. I can talk about anything that I want. We just agreed not to quiz each other about everything.” It wasn’t entirely true, but Gina seemed determined to disapprove and Poppy couldn’t face giving her any more ammunition.

  “I know you’re scared to tell him about everything that happened. But you should do it. It made us closer when you told me. Right?”

  Poppy pulled herself up to her full height and steadied herself. “Gee, this isn’t a negotiation. You know I want all of that stuff left in the past. I’m not talking to him about it. And much as I love you, we don’t have to prove our relationship to you.”

  “Look, babe, I’m just saying that whole deal thing is fucked up, it’s not normal . . .”

  “I know it’s not normal. But we’re not pretending to be normal. We’re doing things differently and if that makes us happy then that’s our business. OK?”

  “But—”

  Poppy forced the words out of her mouth. “Gina, I’m not asking. I need you to drop this. I love you and I want you to stay, but if you think this is a car crash or you don’t like Drew then there’s no point in you being here.” She wanted to keep talking, to say that Gina was her best friend, that she needed her now more than ever. She wanted to remind her that she’d seen Gina through a dozen horrific relationships. There was the time that Gina had been dating her dealer and he’d locked both Poppy and Gina in his car outside his apartment building for three hours because Gina had pissed him off. She hadn’t even broken up with him for that. Poppy had gone to the clinic with Gina after the same boyfriend had given her chlamydia three different times. She’d once taken all of the Winterson kids as well as the Henderson children to the park in the pouring rain for four hours, just so that Gina could spend a morning in bed with the Italian guy from Pret she’d fallen in love with, before he went back to Naples.