“Tell her to call me,” asked Maude. “If I ring she just says she’s busy and puts the phone down.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“And be nice to her. Tell her we love her.”
“I’ll tell her that too.”
“And tell her not to do anything really silly.”
Sylvia looked helplessly at her mother. “I think it’s a bit late for that,” she said. “Don’t you?”
Carey stood in the huge furniture store at the Airside Shopping Centre and gazed longingly at the dark leather sofa. It was the coolest-looking sofa in the entire shop and she thought that it would look absolutely wonderful in her new apartment. There were still a few weeks to go before the sale of the apartment would finally be complete and she’d be able to move in, but she wanted to get some things now.
Of course, as she told herself, the apartment was already furnished with a perfectly good two-seater sofa and a matching armchair. She didn’t need the leather sofa. She couldn’t actually afford the leather sofa. But she really, really wanted it. However, she was going to be sensible. She was going to walk away from the sofa and she was going to walk out of this shop and she was going to meet Sylvia for lunch without having done something stupid like buy a totally unnecessary piece of furniture.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it?” The woman beside her gazed at the sofa too.
Carey nodded.
“Only quite impractical for me,” the woman said. “My kids would have it destroyed in five seconds. And I know that some salesperson will tell me that leather cleans up great, but not after an eight-year-old with a Pritt Stick and Rice Krispies.”
Carey didn’t really care about the woman and her cleaning problems, but she nodded again.
“I’d really love to buy it though.” The woman sighed. “Oh, well, can’t have everything, I suppose.” She looked around her and yelled at a tousle-haired boy in faded jeans, “Come on, Ivan. Time to go.”
Carey supposed she could always sell the other furniture. That way she could make back some of the price of the leather piece. She looked around for a sales assistant.
“There’s up to eight weeks’ delivery period on this,” he told her. “Though we’ll get it to you as quickly as we can. It’s hugely popular. You could have it in black or white or dark green if you prefer.”
“No, I like this maroon color,” said Carey as she took out her credit card.
“I bought one myself,” the sales assistant confided. “I love it.”
“I’m sure I will too.” Carey signed her slip for the deposit price and folded her receipt.
“Our warehouse will be in touch to organize delivery,” said the sales assistant.
“Great.” Carey beamed at him. “Thanks for all your help.” She left the shop and got into her car. She was late for lunch with Sylvia but she didn’t care. She swung into the car park at the Pavilions Centre and hurried inside.
“What kept you?” grumbled Sylvia as they sat down in the café and ordered coffee and sandwiches. “I was waiting ages.”
“I’m only ten minutes late,” said Carey. “Sorry. I was buying furniture.”
“Furniture?”
“I’ve bought an apartment,” said Carey. “I needed furniture.” She decided not to tell Sylvia that the apartment came ready furnished.
“You’ve bought an apartment? Where? Have you moved in yet? Honestly, Carey…”
“I mentioned that I was getting my own place,” said Carey, “when I told you I was living with Peter.”
“You told me it was temporary because you were looking at somewhere,” Sylvia said accusingly. “You didn’t say you were buying a place of your own.”
“Time to settle down,” said Carey blithely.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Sylvia looked at her younger sister in frustration. “Settle down — you? The girl who got married and divorced in a fortnight?”
“I haven’t actually got divorced yet,” said Carey.
“Are you sure you even got married?”
“Sod off,” snapped Carey. “I didn’t come here to listen to you lecture me.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Sylvia made a face. “I didn’t mean to lecture. I wanted to be caring and understanding.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I did. I do,” said Sylvia. “Come on, Carey. I worry about you.”
Carey sighed. “There’s no need to worry. I have everything sorted. At least, I will have as soon as the divorce happens and I move into my own place.”
“So you’re not in it yet. Where is it?”
“Not far from here,” she said. “That new development off the main road.”
“Oh, well, at least that’s handy,” agreed Sylvia. “But in the meantime you’re living with a married man with whom you’ve had an affair.”
“You’ve been talking to Mum, haven’t you?”
“Of course I’ve bloody well been talking to her. She’s worried about you too. She wants you to call her. You’re practically the only topic of conversation these days.”
“I suppose.”
“What went wrong, Carey?” asked Sylvia.
Carey was tired of telling people what had gone wrong, and she’d already had this conversation with Sylvia when her sister had phoned, breathless and unbelieving, to ask if it was true that she’d walked out on Ben. She shrugged. “Boy meets girl, boy marries girl, boy gets off with previous girlfriend again, girl realizes the error of her ways…that’s it in a nutshell, Syl, and talking about it over and over won’t change it.”
“But couldn’t you sort it out?” asked Sylvia. “I mean, I realize that kissing Leah was a horrible thing to do and all, but maybe, you know, drink taken, all that sort of thing?”
“Maybe we could’ve if he’d tried,” said Carey, “but he didn’t want to. Besides, I heard things…well, it doesn’t really matter now. Afterwards I had a nightmare day and I nearly had a loss of separation — can you imagine? Me of all people. It was all his fault and if I stayed with him it would happen again.”
“Carey, you can’t blame him because you were distracted at work.”
“Of course I can,” said Carey. “If I hadn’t been so upset I would’ve been concentrating properly.”
“It wasn’t a safety issue, was it?”
“No,” said Carey. “Even as it was happening I realized my mistake. But I don’t make mistakes, Syl. I don’t.”
Sylvia raised her eyebrows.
“Not those sorts of mistakes,” snapped Carey.
“It’s just that you seemed to click,” said Sylvia. “When you brought him to Mum’s for lunch I was ready to hate him. Yet I didn’t. And I know I warned you about the whole thing, but I thought that it’d work out, Carey. You were so happy with him.”
“So? I’m always happy when I get a new boyfriend,” Carey shrugged.
“This was different,” Sylvia told her. “It was as if you and he had been together for years. You were comfortable with each other. You —”
“Oh, shut up,” said Carey. “Look, Syl, I admit I thought that Ben and me were different, I really did. But when it came down to it, we weren’t. And all the closeness and sharing and feeling that I had actually known him for years came down to nothing because I didn’t ever really know him at all. I didn’t want to break up with him, but staying with him would’ve been even worse.” She exhaled slowly and looked down at the table.
“So what’s the story with the married man?” asked Sylvia after a moment’s silence.
“I was going out with him and discovered he was married and split up with him.”
“And now you’re back with him? In his house? And his wife is…where, exactly?”
“Moved out ages ago.” Carey picked at the tandoori chicken sandwich which the waitress had just put in front of her. “If I’d kept in touch with him, maybe I wouldn’t have gone to the States and met Ben.”
“Oh, Carey.” Sylvia looked at her despairingly. “What on earth are we going t
o do with you?”
“Nothing,” said Carey angrily. “I’m fine. I was a bit wobbly for a few days, but everything’s OK now.”
“I don’t think you’re OK,” said Sylvia.
“It’s difficult to be on top form when you’ve messed up your life, but I’m getting over it.”
“Fine, fine.” Sylvia shook her head. “All I’m saying is that you have a habit of doing things on the spur of the moment, and if it’s a mistake, you’re too stubborn to admit it.”
“I’ve admitted my mistake about Ben,” said Carey.
“Not just that.”
“What?”
“Loads of things,” said Sylvia dismissively.
“Rubbish,” said Carey.
They sat in silence while they ate their sandwiches. Carey couldn’t decide whether or not she was pissed at Sylvia for calling her stubborn. And for saying that she did things on the spur of the moment. Well, of course she did. Everyone did. There was nothing wrong with acting on instinct.
“I want to tell you something.” Sylvia put the remains of her sandwich on the plate and pushed it to one side.
“Fire ahead.”
“You’ll admit that I have lots of experience in the marriage stakes?”
“Without a doubt,” said Carey.
“John and I once went through a bad patch,” Sylvia said.
“I guess if you’ve been married for half your life to the one person you’re bound to hit a bad patch sooner or later,” said Carey lightly.
“A really bad patch,” Sylvia told her, unsmiling.
“Oh?”
“When Jeanne was about ten.” Sylvia stared into the distance. “It was a difficult time. The kids were really tiring. I was knackered all the time — you know.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Carey, “but I can imagine. I’ve read the magazines and listened to the radio programs.”
Sylvia looked at her wearily. “Believe me, they only scratch the surface of what it’s like. For me, it was awful. I could only think of the kids. My whole day was taken up with them. Bringing them to school. Picking them up. Driving them to ballet or soccer or swimming or whatever bloody thing was on that night.”
“And you and John grew apart because of it?”
“I guess so,” said Sylvia. “It sounds so predictable, doesn’t it? Wife at home with kids; husband has affair.”
“John had an affair!” Carey stared at Sylvia. “John? You’re joking.”
“Don’t be facetious,” said Sylvia. “Of course I’m not joking.”
“Yes, but — John!” Carey couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice. “I mean, predictable old John.”
“My husband isn’t predictable,” said Sylvia angrily.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Carey was contrite. “I just meant — oh, well, you know what I meant, Syl. You and John are like two twigs on the same branch.”
“We work at it,” said Sylvia. “We worked at it especially hard after his affair.”
“Who with?”
Sylvia shrugged. “A woman in work,” she told Carey. “Isn’t it always?”
“How did you feel?” asked Carey.
“How d’you think?” Sylvia ran her fingers through her fine hair. “Devastated. He moved into the spare room. I didn’t know what to do. But after a while I knew that I loved him and I wanted to save what we had together.”
“Does Mum know about this?”
“I told her a few years later,” said Sylvia. “She guessed. She has a horrible habit of guessing correctly about our private lives.”
“I wouldn’t have known,” said Carey. “I really wouldn’t.”
“Thing is…” Sylvia stirred her coffee idly. “We could’ve just as easily split up. We had to make a decision to stay together. We had to want to make it work.”
“Yes, but” — Carey stirred her coffee too — “you did want to make it work. You had time together behind you. You were a couple. Me and Ben — we’re practically strangers.”
“You didn’t seem like strangers at lunch,” Sylvia said gently. “Or at the party.”
“If his bloody sister hadn’t interfered and organized that damned party, then none of this would’ve happened!”
“Tell me about the girlfriend.”
“Leah?” Carey sighed. “I hardly know anything about her. Other than they were practically joined at the hip. And as you probably noticed, she’s sensational to look at. To be honest, I don’t know why he left her in the first place.”
“Maybe she set him up that night.”
“It was more than that.” Carey gulped back her coffee. “I’m an idiot, Sylvia. I’m utterly useless when it comes to men. I can’t get it right. I’m the kind of emotional half-wit that they write about in the Living sections of the newspapers, the thirty-something woman who’s a whiz at work but hopeless at relationships. I keep ending up with totally unsuitable men because I wouldn’t recognize true love if it hit me over the head with a hammer!”
“It’s not that bad.”
“Actually, it is,” said Carey. “I’m clearly not capable of forming a decent relationship and I’m usually bad at being on my own.” She traced a pattern in a mound of sugar granules that she’d spilled on the table earlier. “I rush into things with men because I like male company. You’d think, working with so many of them, I’d be a better judge of their characters, wouldn’t you? But I seem to pick the wrong man every time.”
“So what’s the story with the married bloke?”
“I told you. He’s letting me rent out his spare room. That’s all it is.”
“And is he divorced?”
“Not yet, obviously,” said Carey. “But since his wife has moved in with someone else, it’s only a matter of time.”
“At the risk of you hitting me — are you absolutely sure it’s irretrievable?”
“Peter seems to think so.”
“Not him! You and Ben.”
“Oh, God, yes. If he’d wanted to do something about it, he would’ve got in touch by now, so he clearly doesn’t. He obviously can’t be bothered. He’s probably shagging that black-haired nymphomaniac as we speak.”
Chapter Eighteen
PATCHOULI
This is an earthy and sensual oil
Ben was sitting at the kitchen table, his laptop open in front of him. He was supposed to be looking at sample brochures which their advertising company had e-mailed to them, but instead he was surfing the Web. He’d been in touch with his solicitor about getting a divorce, and to his horror, Gerry Buckley had told him that under Irish law he’d have to wait four years before he was eligible. He’d argued with Gerry about it, saying that surely the fact that he’d married in a sleazy U.S. ceremony counted for something, and the solicitor had sighed and said that yes, it had counted as a valid marriage. He’d told Ben to check it out with the relevant government departments if he liked, which was why Ben was fruitlessly surfing the Web. Somehow, though, he seemed to keep getting wedding sites instead of divorce ones. He’d even managed to access the site of the Chapel of Everlasting Love and had stared at a photograph of a newly married couple standing outside its arched doorway just as he and Carey had done a few weeks earlier. He’d stabbed at the keyboard to get rid of the picture, but had only succeeded in crashing the computer instead. He’d just logged on again and typed the words “quickie+divorce” into his search engine when the doorbell rang. He logged off before going to answer it.
“Hi, Ben.”
Leah looked lovelier than ever. Her dark hair was pinned loosely at the back of her head in a style he’d always liked. Her eyes looked dark and soulful, lashes long and black.
“Leah.”
“Can I come in?”
He opened the door a little wider and she walked through to the kitchen.
“Working?” She nodded at the open laptop.
“Yes.”
“Sorry to interrupt you.”
He shrugged.
“I
called the shop and Freya told me you were out. I tried here on the off-chance.”
“What do you want?”
“To see how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Are you?”
“Of course I am.”
She smoothed her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “I also wanted to say that I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have gone to the party, I shouldn’t have said the things I said to” — she hesitated — “to Carey, and I certainly shouldn’t have let you kiss me.”
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “She had her own agenda that night.”
“Oh?”
He shook his head dismissively. “Nothing.”
“Freya is mad at me,” Leah said. “She thinks I deliberately tried to sabotage your marriage.”
“The thought had occurred to me too,” said Ben dryly. “Though I don’t think anything you did really made any difference. It was probably doomed from the start.”
“I didn’t mean to make things worse,” Leah told him. “I know I might have been a bit over the top, but…”
“You said you wanted to make me suffer,” said Ben.
“Oh, come on!” She looked angrily at him. “That was in the heat of the moment. That was when you’d slept with me a week earlier. Of course I wanted to make you suffer.”
“You have,” said Ben.
“Although from what you’re saying, it’s not all my fault.”
“No.” Ben’s voice was dispirited. “It was a mistake, Leah. I thought there was something, but there wasn’t. No such thing as love at first sight.”
“I brought some essential oils with me,” said Leah. “I know you like patchouli and it’s very relaxing. Freya said you were totally stressed by everything.”
“You’ve got to be joking if you think I could possibly let you give me a massage!”
“Ben, don’t be stupid. You’re stressed. I’m a therapist. That’s all.”
“No.” He saw the hurt expression in her eyes. “No,” he repeated more gently.
“Would you mind if I had a cup of tea?” she asked.
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