Too Good to Be True

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  “You’ll be warmer if we walk.”

  She shook off Ben’s supporting arm as she took tentative footsteps on the slippery ground. Their progress was so slow she was beginning to think that they’d be lucky to get to the house before daybreak when a cab finally responded to Ben’s wave and pulled in beside them. She fell thankfully into the back seat and wedged herself against the door.

  “Do you want me to apologize to you?” Ben asked curtly after he gave directions to the driver.

  “Apologize to me?”

  “For Leah.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you at all,” said Carey.

  “Why?”

  “Because you obviously had a much, much deeper relationship with her than you ever told me about. Everyone says so,” said Carey. “She hates me and she thinks I’ve stolen you from her and part of me can’t blame her.”

  “Everyone is wrong about her and me,” said Ben. “And she doesn’t hate you.”

  “Oh, don’t give me that.” Carey snorted. “She warned me off in the loo before you and she got into whatever clinch you got into.”

  “It wasn’t a clinch,” said Ben. “It was…it was a kiss, but she kissed me, I didn’t kiss her.”

  “Surely you can do better than that!”

  “And no matter who kissed who, it wasn’t important,” he said. “Look, I was going out with her. I came home married. She’s got a right to be upset.”

  “Maybe,” said Carey. “But she doesn’t have a right to act as though you never got married at all! She should just fuck right off and leave us alone. Although perhaps the reason she doesn’t is that you don’t want her to.”

  “You can’t just cut people out of your life,” said Ben. “Something you probably already know. And she’s been part of my life for a long time.”

  “Then why didn’t you marry her?” demanded Carey. “God knows, you seem to have had plenty of opportunity.”

  “I didn’t love her enough to marry her,” said Ben.

  “But you did love her?”

  “Don’t start,” he said. “Don’t do this girlie thing about degrees of love and who’s more important than who. Just don’t.”

  “OK,” said Carey, and she sat back in the seat. “I won’t say another word.”

  They passed the remainder of the short journey in silence. The driver gave Ben a sympathetic look as Carey got out of the cab and stalked up to the front door. Her fingers trembled as she tried to put the key in the lock.

  “Let me,” said Ben.

  “I can do it,” she snapped. “I’m not helpless, you know.”

  “I never said…oh, I don’t care anymore!”

  He waited until she eventually got the front door open and followed her inside. She kicked off the Perspex shoes and went into the kitchen, where she opened the fridge and took out a bottle of sparkling water. Her fingers trembled as she tried to unscrew the top and it took her ages to open it. She drank the water in three large gulps as she listened to the thud of Ben’s footsteps on the stairs.

  She knew that she was still angry and still upset. But more than that she was scared. Scared that she’d made a monumental mistake in marrying a man she didn’t even know. Scared that his friends were right about him. She wasn’t sure how she should tackle this, what she should say. But she knew that she wanted to sort things out tonight.

  She waited until her breathing had calmed down and the trembling in her hands had eased a little before she followed Ben upstairs. He was lying in bed, his clothes a jumble on the floor.

  “Ben,” she said sharply. “Are you awake?”

  The sigh from beneath the covers was gargantuan. “I’m tired.”

  “We have to talk about this.”

  “No we don’t.” His words were muffled by the sheets.

  “We do, Ben. This is a major problem.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake!” He pushed the bedclothes down and looked at her. “What is it with women? Why do you all overreact so bloody much? You want to fight with me, box me into a corner, get me to admit to something that’s not true. I’m not trying to figure out everything about your past and I don’t need you trying to over-analyze mine. I didn’t think you were like this, Carey. I thought you had more sense than stupid women who spend their lives obsessing about the tone of voice that their boyfriends use to them. I thought you were different.”

  “Different in that I don’t care if you start getting down to it with an ex-girlfriend?” demanded Carey. “Different in that it might not bother me that you’d only just left her bed before you hopped into mine? That kind of different?”

  “And I suppose you led this life of perfect purity before you met me?” said Ben. “I suppose there’s nobody in your past who might come crawling out of the woodwork and up the garden path?”

  Carey looked at him in horrified silence. Peter Furness, she thought. Had he seen her with Peter Furness? Did he know that she’d met him for lunch? Was he thinking the same kind of thing about her and Peter as she was thinking about him and Leah?

  “I had a boyfriend before you,” she said. “Peter. But we’d split up long before I went to New York. It’s over between us. Completely over. And I didn’t invite him to our wedding party. Of course,” she added, “I didn’t get the chance because your bloody sister did the guest-list and I’m sure she was only allowing exes from one side of the family.”

  “You told me about someone called James,” said Ben. “You never mentioned anyone called Peter.”

  Carey winced. She’d forgotten her original decision not to tell him about Peter.

  “But if this non-person Peter had been at the party, you wouldn’t have kissed him either?” continued Ben.

  He couldn’t have seen us together, thought Carey miserably. Nobody saw us together. It would’ve been impossible because we were hidden by the huge lilac bush near the gate. And even if Ben had somehow seen her kiss with Peter Furness he could hardly get upset about it. It had been a totally different sort of kiss to his clinch with Leah. She knew it had. It had been a farewell kiss and Ben’s had been something else entirely. So she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of even talking about Peter.

  “He wasn’t at the party so it’s a hypothetical question,” she said eventually.

  “Fine,” said Ben. “Let’s ignore the fact that you’ve just lied to me.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “I saw you. You went outside to meet him. And you’ve lied about it. But you’re the one trying to make me appear in the wrong,” said Ben. “Don’t even try to pretend it didn’t happen. I saw you. I assumed the man in question was probably your last boyfriend. James, as you’d told me. But, hey — James, Peter — who cares?”

  Carey felt as though he’d hit her with a brick. She rubbed her hands over her eyes and smudged her mascara across her cheeks.

  “He turned up. There was nothing I could do. I went outside after a particularly horrible encounter with your ex-fucking-girlfriend because I couldn’t bear to be in the same building as her.”

  “And he just happened to be there?”

  “Lame as it sounds, yes.”

  “So it’s OK for you to have a perfectly good reason for meeting and kissing an ex-boyfriend — and for lying about it — but not for me to kiss Leah and tell the truth about it.”

  “It depends on the type of kiss,” said Carey furiously. “And from all accounts yours was a very different type of kiss.”

  “You’re being silly.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “You want to make me appear as some kind of sex maniac.”

  “Your so-called friends think you are.”

  “Which friends?”

  She said nothing. She wasn’t going to tell him about the overheard conversation. It would be too humiliating.

  “What are you then?” she asked instead.

  “An ordinary bloke who’s had too much to drink and who wants to get to sleep, and would it be too fucking much to ask you to shut up
right now?”

  “Yes, it bloody would!” cried Carey. “I don’t believe what I’m hearing.”

  “And I didn’t believe what I was seeing when you decided to display your boobs for all and sundry,” said Ben. “But I didn’t throw a complete wobbler about it.”

  “Oh!” Carey realized that she had actually just stamped her foot. She’d always believed that it was just a turn of phrase, but she was so angry that that was exactly what she’d just done. “You’re utterly impossible! I can’t believe I married you.”

  “I can’t believe I let you,” muttered Ben, and then pulled the covers over his head again.

  She stared at his inert body beneath the sheets and realized that she was literally shaking with rage. She picked up Ben’s shoe from beside the foot of the bed and threw it at him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” He sat up.

  “You’re a pig!” she cried. “You don’t care about me. Your friends knew what they were talking about. You never cared about me.”

  “Damn right,” yelled Ben. “You sure hid your true colors in New York.”

  “Not as well as you hid yours.” She picked up the second shoe and aimed it at him. Ben ducked and it hit the wall behind his head, leaving a black mark on the white paint.

  “You need therapy,” said Ben coolly.

  “Therapy wouldn’t even help you!” cried Carey.

  “Stop throwing things round the place, get into bed, and shut up.”

  “No.” Carey was too angry to consider sleeping. She stomped out of the bedroom and slammed the door closed behind her.

  Ben snorted and pulled the duvet over his head again.

  Freya sighed with relief as she and Brian walked into her apartment. She’d left the heat on while they were out and it was blissfully warm.

  “Would you like a coffee?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I don’t need the caffeine to fight with the alcohol,” he said. “Let’s just get into bed.”

  He ambled into the bedroom and got undressed while Freya removed her make-up in the bathroom. By the time she joined him in the bedroom Brian was asleep. Although he lay on his back, he didn’t snore, and Freya (remembering that her mother had always complained about her father’s snoring) mentally congratulated herself on finding a non-snoring man. Although he’s not mine, she murmured, as she slid into bed beside him. I’m not his and he’s not mine. Though you’d never guess it, she mused. We’re as bad as any old married couple with him falling asleep before I even get into bed. Not to mention the fact that we don’t make love every single time he stays here. Surely we should be gagging for it every night? Brian rolled over and Freya turned with him so that his back spooned into her front. She put her arm round him and held him closer. There was more to love than having sex every night. And yet…

  She’d always thought that there was more to Ben and Leah’s relationship than the fact that they slept together. Even after their breakups and subsequent relationships she’d always felt that they’d get back with each other because what kept them together was greater than the brief thrill of something new. Whenever she talked about Leah to Ben he referred to her proprietorially, as though he was simply biding time before marrying her. And then he’d gone off and married someone else instead. Even if he had subsequently done something extremely stupid and kissed Leah again.

  Freya felt an uncomfortable rush of perspiration envelop her as she thought of Brian dumping her to marry someone else. She’d been going out with him for three years and it was supposed to be an exclusive relationship, but what if it wasn’t? What if he secretly hungered after whatever it was that Ben had hungered after? What if he left her?

  The prickles of sweat were at the roots of her hair. How would I feel, she asked herself, if Brian went off and married someone else? Someone who wasn’t as argumentative and picky and irritating as she was. Freya knew that she was all these things, because both Brian and Ben had told her that in the past. And she knew that she liked to do things her own way and have plenty of time to herself and that she wasn’t as bubbly and outgoing as Carey seemed to be. Or as beautiful and sensuous as Leah either. So why, she wondered, did Brian stay with her? Simply because finding someone else would be too much trouble? And what if he suddenly decided that he wanted children? She bit her lip. The only time the subject of children had come up he’d seemed uncomfortable about it and she’d been dismissive anyway. But what if he now felt ready for a family? She shuddered. She wasn’t sure about children and she knew that it would be more difficult for her to conceive given her age. Not only her age, she reminded herself. Her damned hit and miss cycle wouldn’t help either. Thinking of her irregular cycle made her realize that she was late again this month. In fact, she realized, her eyes snapping open, she was very late. She felt herself begin to sweat again.

  Not pregnant, she thought wildly. That would be too much. That might actually frighten him away because, sure as fertilized eggs were fertilized eggs, he wouldn’t want to be confronted by an unplanned pregnancy. Brian, the banker, planned everything with total precision. So if she announced that she was up the spout he’d probably bolt, leaving her aged forty and a single first-time mother!

  She crept out of the bed and into the bathroom. Despite the fact that she reckoned she was one of the most infertile women on the planet, she had a pregnancy testing kit. Just in case. As far as she was concerned, the kit was a far more effective talisman against getting pregnant than any real method of contraception. She knew that the middle of the night when her alcohol content was high wasn’t the ideal time to do the test. But according to the indicator she wasn’t pregnant. Deep down she’d known that she wasn’t, but she wondered if it mightn’t be a good idea to have a check-up to see whether or not she was so run down that her cycle was getting even worse. She didn’t feel run down and she took supplements to keep herself fit, but running the shops was stressful and the last few weeks had been the most stressful of all.

  She got into bed again and this time Brian turned to her and put his arm round her.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I thought you were asleep,” she whispered.

  “I dozed off,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to. I wanted to be awake when you got into bed and then when you got out again I realized that I’d been sleeping. Sorry.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She snuggled closer to him.

  “It does,” said Brian. “We can’t talk when I’m asleep.”

  “What d’you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “I was thinking this evening,” said Brian.

  “Man thinks!” Freya giggled. “Headline news.”

  “Shut up.” He pulled her closer to him. “I was thinking when I saw Ben and Carey together that it was something we should do.”

  “Have a row?” asked Freya.

  “No.” Brian laughed. “Get married.”

  “What?” Freya sat upright in the bed.

  “Come back to me.” He pulled her gently down until her forehead was touching his. “I think we should get married.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because it’s a statement,” said Brian. “Because I love you, Freya. I’ve got to admit that I’ve enjoyed our life together until now, but tonight — well, I felt there should be something more. I want people to know that we’re a couple.”

  “People do know we’re a couple. And I told Ben we were happy the way we were,” she said.

  “When?”

  “When he asked me if we’d ever think of getting married.”

  “He asked me that too,” said Brian.

  “And you said?”

  “That you didn’t like talking about it.”

  “I couldn’t see the point.”

  “But there is a point,” said Brian. “I want people to know how much I love you. I want us to be together every night, not just at weekends. I want us to be a family.”

  “I never knew you felt like that.” She kissed him
gently on the lips and he pulled her tighter to him so that their bodies touched in all the right places. He stroked the inside of her thighs until she moaned with pleasure and then he slid into her, easily and smoothly, beginning an easy rhythm which she matched. And as their lovemaking grew more intense she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she loved him more than she’d ever loved anyone, and that being with him was the most important thing in her life. And, she told herself, it was good to know that they could still have knock-out sex together. Even if they were as comfortable as an old married couple already.

  Chapter Fourteen

  CARDAMOM

  Good for fighting fatigue, this oil is warm and spicy

  Carey handed over the Lufthansa evening flight to the tower and turned her attention to the Iberia craft which was fourteen miles from touchdown and next in line to land. She rubbed her eyes. Two days after the party she still had a thumping headache and a churning feeling in her stomach. She blinked, looked at the radar screen again, and frowned.

  “Iberia 543, Dublin, fourteen miles from touchdown, descend two thousand feet. Report indicated airspeed.”

  “Dublin, Iberia 543, descend two thousand feet. Indicated airspeed two hundred and twenty knots.”

  Carey rubbed her eyes again. The damn Iberia plane was in danger of catching the Lufthansa flight in front of it. She spoke into the mike, her voice calm. “Iberia 543, Dublin, roger. Reduce speed to one hundred and eighty knots.”

  The pilot acknowledged and Carey flexed her fingers as she watched the plane slow down on the radar. But she already knew it wasn’t enough.

  “Iberia 543, Dublin. You’re catching the number one. Reduce now to one hundred and sixty knots.”

  “Dublin, Iberia 543, roger. Reducing now to one hundred and sixty knots.”

  Carey watched the blips. The minimum separation distance between aircraft was five miles. She had to maintain this separation until touchdown. At this rate, she knew she wouldn’t. “Iberia 543, Dublin. Report visual with the number one traffic — six miles ahead.”