“You are,” he said. “Of course you are. I love you, Carey. That’s what makes the difference.”
“I know.” She cuddled into the crook of his arm even though the wooden floor was now killing her back. “Uncomplicated sex is great fun, but loving the person makes it a whole heap better.”
“I love it being complicated,” he told her.
“Will there ever be a time you don’t love me?” Her voice was serious.
“No,” he said simply. “There won’t.”
Freya Russell walked into the bar and looked round her. Already it was filling up with the after-work crowd and the students from the college across the road. Friday nights, she thought. When everyone goes out looking for a good time and hopes against hope that they’ll find it.
Ben and she would sometimes joke about the Friday-night crowds — the crush of singletons thinking that things would be better if only they found the perfect partner; the couples in varying states of their relationships, from those who couldn’t keep their hands off each other to those who couldn’t think of anything to say to each other anymore; the contented men and women who knew that they had found someone but who were now having a good time on their own…Ben always said that with Freya he didn’t have to look like one of the desperate singletons and Freya told Ben that at least she had found someone, even if they’d got to the stage of not talking to each other very much. But different, she’d say, from the bored couples together simply because they hadn’t managed to find the courage to split up. Brian and she didn’t need to constantly communicate with each other by talking. They knew how they felt. Ben would laugh at that because he often called his sister’s boyfriend “Boring Brian.” Brian worked in the bank where Freya had once worked too. He was, she told him, extremely good at his job and took it seriously. And she’d punch Ben playfully on the shoulder and tell him that despite how well the shops were doing, he didn’t always take things seriously enough.
But he had now, she acknowledged, as she scanned the throng of people again. He’d taken things so bloody seriously that he’d married a girl whom no one knew and who sounded the complete opposite of anyone he’d ever gone out with before. The complete opposite of Leah, in fact.
She spotted Leah now, sitting in the corner of the bar, a bottle of lemon Bacardi Breezer in front of her. The younger girl looked miserable, thought Freya, and she bit her lip. How could he possibly think that marriage had never been on the agenda?
“Hi, Leah.” She pushed her way past an unnatural blonde who was wearing too much make-up and too few clothes and sat down beside Ben’s ex-girlfriend.
Leah turned her bitter-chocolate eyes to her. “Hello, Freya.”
“Want a drink?” Freya opened her bag and rummaged for her purse.
“No,” said Leah. “I’ve just got one.”
“I’ll be back in a second.” Freya knew it was pointless waiting for someone to take an order. She went up to the bar and returned with a gin and tonic. Then she settled herself beside Leah again.
“So how’ve you been?” she asked.
“Do you really have to ask?” Leah’s voice held an undercurrent of anger.
“I guess not.”
“You know I met him?”
“Yes.” Freya nodded. “He told me.”
“He said that we were just good friends.” Leah chugged back half the bottle of alcohol. “Good friends, Freya! After all we went through together.”
Freya looked at her sympathetically. “I know.”
“We weren’t just good friends,” said Leah scathingly. “God, Freya, you know how I would’ve done anything for him. I thought he felt the same.”
“So did I,” admitted Freya. “When you two got back together I thought it was just a matter of time before you got married.”
“I don’t know what I thought,” said Leah. “But it wasn’t that he’d sleep with me one night and turn up with a wife a week later.”
Freya grimaced.
“Maybe we wouldn’t have worked out,” said Leah. “I know we were on–off a lot. But — but how could he do this to me, Freya? How could he humiliate me like this?”
“I don’t think he meant to humiliate you,” said Freya. “And he hasn’t, Leah. Not really.”
“You don’t think it’s humiliating to be dumped for someone he doesn’t even know? On–off it might have been, but it was nearly four years!”
“I’m sorry,” said Freya. “I really am. This girl has obviously entranced him.”
“What’s she like?” asked Leah.
“I haven’t a clue,” Freya replied. “She works in the airport, shiftwork, we haven’t managed to get together. Not that I really want to, other than to see what she’s like. I know it sounds old-fashioned but I really don’t approve of what he’s done.”
“She must be a real looker then,” said Leah.
“Actually no,” Freya told her. “He showed me photos. She’s nothing to write home about at all. Masses of curls and a lanky body.”
Leah twisted a lock of her own gleaming tresses around her middle finger. “Then she must be great in bed.”
“Leah!”
“Sorry.” The girl made a face. “But what else is there?”
“You’re right, I suppose.”
“I lost my temper with him, you know, when he told me. I screamed and shouted at him in the café.”
“He didn’t tell me that.” Freya smiled at Leah. “But you were probably right.”
“D’you think it’ll last?”
Freya sighed. “I find it hard to believe,” she said. “And I don’t relish picking up the pieces when it’s over.”
“And I don’t know whether I want to be around to help pick up the pieces either,” said Leah as she looked into her glass.
The two women sat in silence for a while, then Freya went to the bar and brought back another couple of drinks.
“I have to tell you something,” she said as she set the drinks on the table. “I’ve offered to host a party for them.”
“What?” Leah looked at her in astonishment.
“Well, I thought that they needed to do something to prove to everyone that they’re married, and I thought the best way of doing it was to have some kind of do, you know. Family and friends, that sort of thing. So I offered to organize it.”
Leah’s eyes darkened further.
“I can’t pretend it hasn’t happened, Leah. I have to acknowledge that they’re married even if the whole thing is utterly ridiculous.”
“And they’ve said yes?”
“I only suggested it to Ben today. But he seems happy with the idea.”
Leah picked at the Bacardi Breezer label. “Are you going to invite me?”
“Do you think that’s a good idea?” asked Freya. “Let’s face it, you’ll hardly want to see him and this girl together.”
“Oh, but I do.” Leah nodded. “I want to see what the usurper is like.”
“I couldn’t tell him to his face that he’s a shit,” said Freya. “But I think he’s been a bloody bastard about this, Leah. Even though I want to understand him.”
Leah tucked her straight black hair behind her ears. “Aren’t they all?” Her smile wobbled.
“You won’t say anything awful to him at the party, will you?” Freya looked at Leah in sudden panic. “When you lost your temper with him, you didn’t turn into a bunny boiler, did you?”
“Glenn Close had the right idea,” muttered Leah. “But I won’t cause a scene if that’s what you’re afraid of, Freya. You’re my friend and I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“Thanks,” said Freya. She got up and ordered another round of drinks. The two girls sat in a companionable silence. This was why she liked Leah so much, Freya mused as she sipped her gin and tonic; she was easy to be with. She was a friend. Freya thought it was important to be friends with Ben’s girlfriends, but Leah was the only one she’d ever really got on with.
“What did Brian think about Ben’s marriage?�
�� asked Leah suddenly.
“I think it terrified him,” Freya chuckled. “He keeps looking at me as though he expects me to demand a huge engagement ring and an immediate date for the wedding.”
Leah laughed shakily. “And will you?”
“Do you think it’s a character flaw in the Russells?” she asked. “Until Ben’s sudden rush up the aisle, neither he nor I were much into the marriage thing.”
“It’s strange,” mused Leah. “You’d think that because you didn’t have much of a family life yourselves that you’d actually both be the opposite.”
“Maybe,” said Freya, “but I never felt much like marrying anyone. I’ve always been…” Her voice trailed off and she swirled her drink in front of her. “I suppose I’ve been afraid that they’ll leave me. Maybe it is a throwback to Mum and Dad and the fact that their dying left us on our own, I don’t know. But I’ve always been happiest by myself.”
“And Brian?” asked Leah.
“It suits him.” Freya shrugged. “He has someone to go with him to all his banking functions but he doesn’t have to worry about being home at six o’clock every evening for a quiz on how his day’s been.”
“Haven’t you ever wanted children?”
Freya frowned. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “Sometimes I want them so much I could cry. And yet the feeling passes and I remember that they’re hard work and that I’m getting a bit on the old side to have them in the first place. So I can’t really say it’s a big thing for me anymore.”
“I thought about getting pregnant once,” admitted Leah. “I thought it might be the thing to finally push Ben into making a commitment to me. But then I decided against it.”
Freya looked horrified. “I didn’t realize you’d had those kinds of thoughts.”
“Only once,” sighed Leah. “After all, I did have other boyfriends besides Ben. It’s just — well, I thought he might be the one, that’s all.”
“You’ll get over him,” said Freya comfortingly. “You did it before and you’ll do it again.”
“How will you feel?” asked Leah. “If and when his marriage to this woman breaks up?”
“Sorry for him, I guess. Even though he doesn’t deserve it.”
“I’ll feel sorry for him too,” said Leah. “It’s not nice coming down to earth with a bump, is it?”
Chapter Seven
PINE
A stimulating oil with a fresh, sharp scent
The green light of the radar swept across the screen as Carey spoke into her headset. “Shamrock 119, Dublin, good morning. Identified on handover.” She rubbed the base of her spine, which ached. Since she rarely felt sore from sitting at her suite, she rather felt that it had something to do with having had some wonderful sex with Ben on the floor at home over twelve hours ago. She adjusted her mike and continued to speak to the descending aircraft. “Your position is thirty-three miles east of Dublin, number one, straight in.” She followed the blip of the plane on her screen as it approached the airport. “ILS approach Runway Two Eight. Descend three thousand feet.”
The pilot’s voice crackled in her ear. “Dublin, Shamrock 119. Good morning. Continue descent till three thousand feet.”
She watched the screen as the plane’s altitude decreased and he lined up to the westerly Runway Two Eight, which was Dublin’s most commonly used runway. “Shamrock 119, Dublin,” she said. “Descend two thousand feet. Turn left heading two hundred and fifty degrees. Establish localizer Runway Two Eight. Report established.”
The pilot repeated her instructions and confirmed that he was established on the runway’s localizer.
“Eight miles from touchdown,” she told him. “Cleared ILS approach Runway Two Eight. Contact tower, 118.7. Goodbye.”
“Roger,” said the pilot cheerfully, and Carey knew that he was probably finished work for the day too. “Tower, 118.7. Cheerio.”
She looked up and smiled at Andrew Murphy, who was taking over from her and who’d been standing behind her watching the Aer Lingus flight make its approach. Carey didn’t know who’d originally decided to call all Aer Lingus flights Shamrock, but that’s how they were known. The same as all British Airways flights were known as Speedbird. She liked the nicknames. It made it all a little more personal.
“How’re things?” asked Andrew as he plugged in his own set of headphones.
“Quiet enough,” she told him. “One slightly bumpy ride for a charter flight bringing back some supporters from the football match. No drunken brawls on board, but the pilot was apparently getting a bit concerned about the dancing in the aisles when they should’ve been strapped in.”
Andrew laughed. “We won, didn’t we?”
“Did we?” Carey hadn’t the slightest interest in football and hadn’t been aware, until one of the other controllers had told her, that Ireland had been playing Spain in Barcelona’s Nou Camp Stadium. It was a match from which Ireland had desperately needed the points but wasn’t expected to win. Unusually for the Irish team (which was known for giving away goals at the last minute), they’d scored in the dying seconds of the match to notch up a 2–1 victory over their Spanish rivals. There had been quite a few flights laden with happy supporters on their way back to Dublin from Barcelona during the night.
Carey stood up and stretched. Her back was definitely sore; she wondered should she visit the chiropractor. Then she grinned to herself as she imagined telling him why she thought it hurt. Maybe not, she decided as she picked up her bag. Some things were better left unsaid.
She hurried out of the building and towards her car. It was still bitterly cold and she pulled up the collar of her suede jacket. The idea of sliding into a bed warmed by Ben’s body was very appealing. She flung her bag onto the back seat and almost immediately retrieved it as her mobile rang. She looked at the caller ID warily. Whenever it rang now she was expecting it to be Peter Furness because she knew that he was a persistent man. Besides, he’d sounded so desperate that she couldn’t imagine he wouldn’t call back. There was a certain pleasure in knowing that the man who had hurt her so much wanted to see her again but she didn’t want to see him. Peter’s time had gone; he was too late. But it wasn’t Peter this time, it was Gina, who’d hit Carey’s speed-dial number by mistake.
“No problem,” Carey assured her when Gina apologized. “See you soon.” She put the phone on the passenger seat, then switched on the ignition and drove out of the car park.
She still hadn’t got used to heading south to the city instead of north to Swords. She yawned as she turned onto the motorway and wondered how on earth she was going to persuade Ben to move from Portobello to the northside. She wasn’t a southsider at heart. She couldn’t imagine herself on the wrong side of the river for the rest of her life. Of course, she thought guiltily, Ben might feel the same way. The side of the river where you lived was an important issue for many Dubliners. She hoped Ben was more flexible about it than she seemed to be.
The house was in darkness as she let herself in. She closed the front door as quietly as she could and slid her boots off her feet before tiptoeing up the stairs. When she pushed open the bedroom door, her husband was asleep, buried beneath the heavy duvet and snoring gently. She smiled to herself and went into the bathroom. It was cold in the house. She got undressed and into bed as quickly as possible.
“Uh!” Ben grunted as she snuggled into him. “You’re freezing.”
“Cold outside,” she whispered.
“Cold inside too,” he complained. “You could’ve warmed your hands. And your feet,” he yelped as she put them on his legs.
“Sorry.” But her tone wasn’t in the slightest bit penitent.
“Come here.” He turned towards her and drew her to him. “I’m sharing my body warmth with you because I love you. But just this once.”
“Thanks,” she murmured sleepily. “I’ll warm them up first the next time.”
“It’s OK,” he said. “I like warming you up really.”
She giggled.
“Busy night?” he asked.
“Sort of.”
“You didn’t allow any planes to plow into the runway?”
“No,” she yawned widely.
“That’s my girl,” he said as he cradled her in his arms.
He realized that she was asleep. But what with her cold hands and cold feet, he was now thoroughly awake himself. He wondered whether one day he’d mind that she might come home cold and tired and wake him up. He didn’t think so.
She woke to the enticing aroma of sizzling sausage and bacon. She blinked a couple of times and looked at the bedside clock. It was nearly one in the afternoon. She’d had five hours’ sleep. Not quite enough, she thought, but since she had the day off it didn’t really matter. She got out of bed and pulled her dressing gown around her.
“Good afternoon.” Ben was turning sausages on the grill as she walked into the kitchen. “How’re you?”
“Great.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “And what are you doing?”
“Brunch,” he told her. “Thought you might appreciate a cooked brekkie. You were a block of ice when you got home.”
“I know.” She wrinkled up her nose. “I’m a cold extremities kind of girl. Sorry.”
“Oh, that’s all right.” He wasn’t going to tell her that he hadn’t been able to get to sleep after she’d come home. In fact, he’d been up since nine and had done a lot of paperwork for the shops.
“Surely this is totally against your principles,” she said. “I’d have thought that massive fry-ups were anathema to health food freaks.”
“I told you before, but you don’t want to believe me.” He smiled as he cracked an egg on the side of the pan. “I’m not a health food freak. The shops are a business, not my mission in life, though I do like to eat healthily if I can. But I also succumb from time to time.”
“I didn’t buy any of this stuff yesterday.” She watched him crack a second egg.
“I know,” he said. “I nipped down to the shops earlier and bought it.”
“You really are a marvel.” She grinned at him, then kissed him on the ear.
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