The queue for the taxis was unexpectedly short. Carey opened the door of the third cab that arrived and looked at Ben. “I’ll call you when I’m finished,” she said.
“I’d better give you my mobile number,” he told her.
“God, yes!” She looked surprised. “I didn’t think of that. I feel as if your number’s somehow automatically stored on my phone.”
“Well, it’s not. Here you are.” He handed her a business card. It was white with a border of intertwining green leaves. His name was embossed on it, along with the title Managing Director, Herbal Matters, and his phone numbers.
“This is beyond freaky,” she said as she slid the card into the pocket of her jeans. “I’m putting my husband’s business card away because otherwise I don’t know how to contact him!”
He laughed, then leaned towards her and kissed her. “See you later, Mrs. Russell,” he said.
“See you later.” She kissed him again and then got into the car.
She told the driver where she was going and then turned to look out of the rear window. Ben was getting into the next taxi. She closed her eyes, suddenly tired despite having slept through most of the flight. She’d woken as they’d begun their final approach and, as always, had visualized them as they appeared on the radar in the control center, a green blip with their call sign and altitude beside it. She could hear the controller giving instructions to the pilot, see the blip vector along the runway until finally it disappeared as it was handed over to ground control again. Ben had watched her as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and told her he was glad that he wasn’t on any plane under her control that afternoon.
She’d be fine when she’d had her shower and washed her hair. She was more dehydrated than tired really, because she hadn’t drunk as much liquid as she normally would on a long flight since she’d needed to sleep. A pint of water would sort her out. She yawned and stretched her arms out in front of her as the taxi driver drew up outside the two-bedroomed house with its tiny front garden. She paid him, then hefted her bags out of the boot.
Gina was out. Because she worked in the office, Gina kept normal hours. It was a pity, thought Carey, because it would have been nice to have been able to tell her friend about Ben before she arrived in for her shift. She pursed her lips as she thought of Gina’s reaction. She’d be stunned. Shocked. And maybe she’d also be annoyed that Carey hadn’t said anything before now. Carey hadn’t been in touch with Gina since the night of Ellie’s party. She’d told her friend that she’d probably stay in New York for a day or two, or possibly come back to Ireland and spend a few days with another friend who lived in Shannon. So Gina wouldn’t have been put out by the fact that she hadn’t spoken to her since last week. But when she learned of Carey’s marriage, when she found out how it had all happened, she probably wouldn’t even believe her. She’d have to believe her, thought Carey as she rubbed her wedding ring, when she saw all her stuff packed and ready to go.
She walked into her small bedroom and pulled open the curtains. Clothes and books and CDs were piled high on every surface. There were more piles of stuff downstairs. Carey loved shopping even though she invariably bought jeans and jumpers because they covered her body the best. Her weakness, though, was shoes. She had boxes and boxes of shoes in all sorts of shapes. Some were expensive and bought for style rather than comfort. They were in the car-to-bar pile — shoes that could only be worn if she didn’t have to walk anywhere. Some were chain-store shoes — bought because they were such good value that she couldn’t say no. Some shoes hadn’t even been worn yet. She grimaced. Ben would have a fit when he saw her shoe collection. In addition to the ones she’d bought to go with the purple dress for Ellie’s party and her flimsy wedding dress in Vegas, she’d acquired another three pairs in New York, but he’d assumed that was because she was capitalizing on the sales.
Yawning and feeling grubby, Carey peeled off her clothes and walked into the bathroom. She switched on the electric shower and scrubbed her body with an exfoliant cream. By the time she stepped out from under the hot water she was glowing and refreshed. She dried her hair, pulled on a pair of black jeans and a black roll-neck jumper, and slid into her most comfortable ankle boots. Then she rubbed tinted moisturizer onto her face and lip gloss on her lips. She never wore anything else by way of make-up in work. When you were shut in a windowless room with a dozen or so people whose job was to stare at a radar screen, there didn’t seem to be much point. Then she went downstairs and made herself a cup of strong coffee. She drank the coffee in three gulps, reapplied her lip gloss, and went out to her car.
Her heart was beating rapidly as she drove to the airport. She pulled into the car park in front of the control center and walked through the blue gates that surrounded the prefabricated concrete building. The first thing people would say to her was, “How was the holiday? Any news?” and she knew she’d have to tell them about her marriage straight away. But it already seemed as though it had happened to someone else, as though the last few days were a dream. She found it difficult to believe that she’d actually done it — she’d married Ben Russell, a man she hardly knew, and now she was officially his wife.
“Hi, Carey.” Tim Benson, the security guard, greeted her as she pushed open the entrance door.
“Hi, Tim.” She stood hesitantly in the reception area for a moment. She was early and wasn’t quite ready to go into the center yet and face everyone. Instead, she decided to go to The Piggery (as the kitchen was known) and make herself another cup of coffee.
“Carey!” The door opened and Gina stepped into reception. “I was looking out for you. How are you? How was the holiday?”
“I’m great, Gina,” said Carey. “The break was fantastic.”
“Did you see any more of that handsome hunk?” asked her friend. “My God, Carey, he was one of your best yet. Really attractive. I know we teased you about him, but Finola and I said afterwards that he was dead gorgeous. If it all goes belly-up with the love of my life, I might just fight you for him.” She grinned. “Did you see him again, or was it really just a one-night stand?”
Carey moistened her lips. “Not exactly,” she said.
“Not exactly?” Gina beamed at her. “Oh, tell us — what happened? Did he stay for a few more days in New York? Or did you come home with him?”
“Sort of. And yes,” said Carey.
Gina frowned. “Sort of?”
“We went to Las Vegas,” said Carey.
“Las Vegas!” Gina laughed. “What did you do? Gamble your hard-earned savings away? Or rush into some tacky church and get married!”
“Yes,” said Carey.
“Yes?” repeated Gina.
“Yes, we rushed into a tacky church and got married. Only it wasn’t actually tacky, it was really very nice. They treated us well, didn’t rush us or anything.”
“You’re joking.” Gina stared at her.
The other girl shook her head. “No, I’m not.”
“You must be joking!” Gina looked down at Carey’s left hand and then grabbed it. “Oh, come on, Browne, I know you. You’re pulling my leg.” She laughed. “You really had me going there for a minute, but don’t tell me that’s a real wedding ring on your finger.”
“It’s a real wedding ring on my finger,” said Carey. “And my name’s Russell now.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Oh my God.” Gina covered her mouth with her hand. “I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it. You married him?”
“Married who?” Trevor Hughes walked up to them. “Hi, Carey, how was the holiday?”
“She got married,” said Gina.
“What!” Trevor’s tone was as shocked as Gina’s.
“She got married,” repeated Gina. “To a bloke she met on the plane on the way over.”
Trevor laughed. “She’s having you on.”
“I’m not having anyone on.” Carey had expected this sort of reaction, but it was difficult all the sam
e. “It’s perfectly true. I met a guy and I married him. No big deal.”
“Carey Browne! It’s a huge deal!” cried Gina.
“Carey Russell,” Carey corrected her.
“I think it’s a great idea,” said Trevor. “No messing about. No romantic nights out while you try to pluck up the courage to talk about it. Just meet, make love, and get married. Perfect.”
“Well, yes,” said Gina. “Except you haven’t the faintest idea who you’re marrying.”
“Thanks,” said Carey shortly.
“Oh, Carey, sorry. I didn’t mean — you know what I meant.”
“You met him,” said Carey. “You know what he’s like. You know why I married him.”
“No,” said Gina. “Actually I don’t. He’s gorgeous, I’ll give you that, and he seemed really nice and amusing and all that — but I don’t know him. And surely you don’t really know him either.”
“I know him enough,” said Carey steadily.
“If it’s all right by you, then it’s all right by me,” Trevor told her staunchly.
“And me too,” said Gina hastily.
“Come on, let’s have a celebratory coffee.” Trevor looked at his watch. “Twenty minutes before the best team in the world takes over the airspace. Let’s let them know all about it.”
She followed him to The Piggery, where some of the team were already drinking tea and coffee. Trevor pushed open the door and announced that Carey had some big news to impart. Once again, she found it difficult to speak. She cleared her throat.
“I just thought I’d let you all know that I got married last week,” she said diffidently. “In the States.”
“In Vegas,” supplied Trevor.
“To whom?” asked Conor Reid as he tore open a packet of chocolate chip cookies. “I thought you broke up with that guy you were going out with. Did you patch things up?”
“Of course not,” said Carey. “There wasn’t anything to patch up. No, this bloke is different.”
“This sounds fantastic,” said Elena Travers. “Where did you meet him, Carey? Have you known him for long?”
“For a few hours,” said Trevor. “She met him on the plane on the way over to the States.”
“Carey?”
Although Elena was the one who said her name questioningly, Carey felt six pairs of eyes staring at her. She shrugged.
“You know me,” she told them. “Good at making quick decisions.”
“Well, absolutely.” Richard Purcell looked at her searchingly. “This seems to have been a very quick decision.”
“Love at first sight,” said Carey lightly.
“There you go!” Trevor laughed. “It really happens.”
“It’s unbelievable,” said Elena. “Tell us about him, Carey. What does he do? Is he Irish? American?”
She felt better as she talked about Ben. Suddenly he became a real person again and not just the man she’d met and married without thinking about it. She told them about his time in the Internet company and setting up the health food shops with his sister, and as she spoke, she felt a warm glow of closeness to him.
“And you’re madly in love,” said Elena.
“Yes,” said Carey simply. “I really and truly am.”
“Then I wish you all the best in the world.” Elena kissed her on the cheek. Suddenly they were all clustering around her, wishing her well, telling her that they hoped she’d be very happy.
And she felt good about it all over again.
Ben stood in his living room and scratched his head. The pale February light filtered through the narrow front window and picked out the dust on the floor. At least, it picked out the dust on what part of the floor he could see. Right now, most of it was covered in boxes.
He’d bought his house in Portobello while he was still working for the Internet company. At that time he’d also bought a Saab convertible, a Yamaha Jet Ski, a flatscreen TV which hung on the wall, a customized sound system with Bose speakers, an ultra-slim Rado watch plus an assortment of electronic organizers and must-have gadgets, most of which he’d never bothered to use. After the company’s collapse he hadn’t been able to keep up the repayments on the car, the Jet Ski, or the TV. At least the sound system and the watch were his, since he’d bought them outright. And even though he’d had to negotiate a mortgage holiday with his bank when times were particularly tough, he’d managed to hang on to his house.
He’d fallen in love with it when he’d first seen it because it was an absolutely perfect bachelor pad. The previous owner, an architect — it was always architects who bought small houses close to the city, renovated them, and sold them for a small fortune — had gutted it completely. Downstairs now consisted of an open-plan kitchen and living area with matte white walls; the original floorboards had been sanded and varnished. Upstairs, the two medium-sized bedrooms had been altered so that there was one main room and a tiny guest room. The architect had taken the bath out of the small bathroom and replaced it with a shower so that there was more space. He’d originally intended to convert the attic area too, which would have made everything seem much bigger, but hadn’t quite got round to it before deciding to emigrate to the South of France and do up an old farmhouse instead.
Ben had made an offer for the house straight away and had then been forced to raise it when someone else had bid higher. But he’d been quite determined to get it, and even though he knew he was paying over the top, it was worth it to own such a lovely home with the added bonus of its being a five-minute stroll along the canal to his office.
Of course, when the company went belly-up the perfect location of the house was irrelevant. At first Ben hadn’t worried — there were plenty of jobs out there and he was well qualified — but he suddenly realized that the sort of job he wanted didn’t seem to exist anymore. And eventually he began to re-think his career and his future. At which point the repossessions had started.
He didn’t mind the loss of some things. He’d hardly ever used the Jet Ski — he’d only bought it because at the time everyone in the company was buying one. He’d been sorry to see the TV go, but he’d replaced it with a 19-inch set which took up a lot less space. And he was heartbroken when he had to hand back the keys to the Saab. But in the end none of it really mattered as long as he kept the house.
But now…he looked round him. Since he’d gone into business with Freya he’d used his home as extra office space. They had an office above their shop in Rathmines, which was only a short walk away, but he did more work at home than he ever did there. Half of the living area was taken up with his computer, paperwork, and boxes of samples. The spare bedroom was also packed with samples and additional supplies. He hadn’t really noticed, over the past couple of years, that his home had almost completely been taken over by his business.
There’d never been much furniture in it to start with, partly because there just wasn’t room and partly because Ben had no interest in buying it anyway, but he suddenly wondered how Carey would feel when she turned up only to realize that there were two armchairs but no sofa, that the one table was a small gate-leg affair in the kitchen area, and that he’d never bothered to buy wardrobes but had simply hung his clothes on a pair of chrome rails which Freya had bought for him from Habitat.
He looked at his watch. He’d have to phone Freya soon and tell her that he was back. And then he’d have to tell her about Carey. He rubbed his face with his hands at the prospect. He knew that his sister would think he’d done something incredibly stupid. Freya was always telling him that he’d done incredibly stupid things — it was part of her role as his big sister, the girl who had practically raised him even before his mother and father had died.
He hadn’t spoken to Freya since he’d met Carey. He’d sent her an e-mail from New York, simply telling her that he was staying on for a few extra days and that he’d contact her when he got back. He’d known that it would puzzle but not worry her. At heart she always thought of him as slightly unpredictable, even though
he’d been extremely hardworking and predictable about the shops. But for him, disappearing for a few days was more in character than out of character. He’d originally intended to say something in the message about researching some new types of remedies but he simply couldn’t lie to her. So he said nothing.
He’d call her soon, he promised himself, but first he would have to tidy the place up a bit. It was unbelievably messy. The trouble was, he thought as he surveyed the room, he needed everything that was here.
In the end he filled two black refuse-sacks with rubbish in addition to packing his green paper-recycling bin to the brim. And that was just with stuff from downstairs. He hadn’t even begun on the spare bedroom. He filled the kettle to make some coffee, then flopped into one of the biscuit-colored armchairs and closed his eyes.
Two hours later, he woke up. Of course, he told himself as he jerked into consciousness, he was totally jet-lagged. Unlike Carey he hadn’t managed to sleep on the plane, although he’d drifted in and out of wakefulness. But he couldn’t completely switch off like her. He’d been astonished at the way she’d fallen asleep so easily.
She’d undoubtedly be tired when she got home tonight, he thought tenderly. Her shift ended at ten o’clock but she’d be able to sleep late the next morning because the rostering system meant that the following day she didn’t start until nine in the evening, although it meant working through the night until six the next morning. Ben scratched his head. It was a while since he’d gone out with anyone who worked really strange hours, although in his time with the Internet company his main girlfriend, a Web designer, had worked crazy shifts, often sleeping in the office overnight. He’d get used to it, he supposed. He worked some pretty odd hours himself sometimes.
Now he was hungry and restless. He decided to walk to Rathmines, grab something to eat, and then call into the shop. There was a chance that Freya would be there, which would mean he could break his news to her straight away. And afterwards he could come back to the house and tidy up the bedroom. He wasn’t looking forward to doing it. He knew that girls were fussy when it came to hanging up their clothes and finding places for their myriad pots of face-cream and make-up. He hadn’t noticed Carey bothering much with all that while they were away, but she was bound to have more stuff at home. They all did. Even the Web designer had kept a bag piled with potions in the office.
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