Free The Truth Club by Grace Wynne-Jones

and her face has that slightly melting look about it that happens when someone just might cry.
    ‘OK. I’m sorry.’ I pat her hand. ‘It’s just that Aggie says she wants to see her. She virtually begged me to find her.’
    ‘That poor woman! She doesn’t know what she’s saying any more. Her memory must have almost gone.’
    ‘No, it hasn’t,’ I say. ‘She remembers lots of things. She even remembers…’ I’m about to say that Aggie remembers my mother’s affair in California, but this is another thing we are not supposed to mention.
    Marie stands up abruptly and goes to wash her mug, running it brusquely under the tap. ‘Look, Sally, if Aggie was herself she wouldn’t want to see DeeDee ever again. She only wants to see her now because she’s forgotten.’
    ‘Forgotten what?’ I’m almost jumping up and down on my chair with curiosity.
    ‘That DeeDee broke her heart.’ Marie grabs a tea towel and starts to dry the mug roughly. ‘So please don’t ask me any more about that woman. It’s just too painful.’ She appears to be addressing a geranium on the windowsill. Then she turns round sharply, as though expecting me to remonstrate. ‘That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.’
    At that moment Mum comes into the kitchen. ‘Hi, dear!’ she beams. ‘Sorry I was so long. The tennis club is having a charity dance and we were discussing the prizes for the raffle.’ She bends to kiss me on the cheek. ‘Will you stay for dinner?’
    ‘I’d love to,’ I say, ‘only I’m going hillwalking with Fiona.’ I am buzzing with questions about DeeDee, but I realise that it will be impossible to lure Marie back onto the subject.
    ‘Hillwalking!’ Mum exclaims. ‘Good for you. There’s nothing like getting out into that fresh country air.’
    As I listen to Mum and Marie having a mild argument about the therapeutic benefits of gardening, I wonder how DeeDee broke Aggie’s heart. Was it because she disappeared without a trace… or was it something else? And surely they should be more worried about what happened to her? The fact that they aren’t implies that they know more than they are letting on about where she may have gone. I also wonder whether not talking about DeeDee has made it easier for the family to avoid other uncomfortable subjects.
    If I’m pregnant, they’ll probably avoid talking about that, too. Instead they’ll buy me things – baby clothes, special skin cream for stretch marks, attractive blouses that are somehow supposed to make me feel I have not lost my womanly allure. They won’t want to know what I’m feeling. And when I try to tell Aggie about it all, she’ll say, ‘Oh, look, there’s another floating sheep!’
    I help myself to another calorie-loaded cookie. I ask Marie if she wants one, and she says, ‘Oh, no, dear,’ as though she has never touched a cookie in her life.
    ‘Do you mind if I have a quick look in the attic?’ I say.
    ‘Go ahead. What are you looking for?’ Mum enquires.
    ‘That music box, the one Aggie gave me and April. I think Aggie would like to see it again.’
    ‘Heaven knows where it’s got to.’ Mum sighs. ‘I don’t think it’s in the attic, but have a look if you want.’
    I go upstairs and negotiate the narrow, rickety ladder that leads to the attic. It’s fastened to the ceiling and you have to pull it down. The dust makes me sneeze. I push open the old, unpainted door and fumble around for the light switch.
    I look around, expecting to find boxes and sentimental objects my parents aren’t quite sure what to do with; only they aren’t there. The attic is almost empty, apart from a jumble of sports equipment – badminton racquets, croquet hoops, a riding hat. There is also an old lagging jacket my father keeps planning to put on the hot-water cylinder. There are no old teddy bears, none of the stuff one should find in a place like this. I remember now: my parents did a major clear-out when they moved to this house