Too Good to Be True

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  The delivery was arranged for the following Wednesday morning. It irritated her that she’d have to wait for a few days, but she acknowledged that not every business was as immediate as hers. When she had to deal with an incoming aircraft she had to do it straight away. She couldn’t tell the pilot that she only accepted travelers from Italy on Wednesday mornings, or that he should pop back in a few hours when she wasn’t as busy. But she never quite got used to the fact that other people expected customers to wait.

  Thinking about her furniture reminded her of her Visa bill, which had arrived the day before and which she’d flung away from her as though it was radioactive. Visa would certainly have to wait for payment. She’d barely paid off the minimum amount the previous month, and she’d racked up even more purchases in the last four weeks. She’d never before let her finances spiral so completely out of control, and she knew that she would have to begin cutting back if she didn’t want to dig herself the kind of money-pit that, even with her generous salary, she’d never manage to get out of. Of course, a lot of her spending was on once-off items. All the same she winced as she looked at the balance and swore that she wouldn’t go into a shop for anything except groceries for the next two weeks.

  She looked again at her current furniture arrangement. If she’d been really sensible she would have charged Ben for the sofa she was giving him, as it would at least have dented the Visa bill. But it was too late now. She picked up the phone, hesitant about ringing to tell him that he could collect it. It hadn’t been too bad talking to him in Habitat, but perhaps that was because it had been unexpected. This time he’d have plenty of opportunity to think up awkward questions and accusations to throw at her, and she wasn’t in the mood to defend herself.

  She looked at her watch and yawned. Her next shift began at ten this evening. She couldn’t talk to Ben before she’d had some sleep. And she was nervous about contacting him anyway. She knew it was silly, but she couldn’t help it.

  In the end she simply sent him a text message. Then she turned off her phone, got into bed, and fell asleep straight away.

  Ben was on the line to his New York supplier when his mobile alerted him to Carey’s message. He slid it across the small desk and accessed it while still talking to Denton Huyler about a new range of pre-blended oils. He frowned as he tried to figure out a message that said “furn avl fr coll whn u r fone me 18r,” but he eventually worked out what she meant. It would have been useful, he thought, if she’d given him an actual time to phone. Telling him to call later must mean that right now she was either in work or asleep. He’d never really got to grips with her shift schedule. He knew that it was four days on and two days off, but without knowing what week was the start of the cycle, he had no idea what shift she was on now. It didn’t matter really. He’d do what she said, call later, and if he woke her up that was her bad luck.

  “You guys heard anything from Palmarosa?” Denton’s question broke in on his thoughts.

  Ben raised his eyebrows at the name of one of the biggest herbal stores in the States. “Funnily enough, Diane Geddes called me last week wanting to know when I’d next be in the US,” he said. “I told her I was going over later this month. Why?”

  “They’re on the acquisition trail,” said Denton. “Looking to expand into Europe.”

  “I doubt they’d be interested in us,” Ben told him. “We’re too small and too isolated to matter to them.”

  “Maybe,” agreed Denton, “but you know how it is when these guys want to get a foothold in the market. They’ll do anything.”

  “It’d make more sense for them to buy up a German chain or a French chain though,” Ben said lightly.

  “Who knows what goes through the minds of the big corps.” Denton laughed. “But, buddy, I’d hate to lose you.”

  Ben laughed too. “I know that we’re probably more trouble than we’re worth to you,” he said. “Still, I always enjoy doing business with you too.”

  “I don’t know about small,” said Denton cheerfully. “This order’ll keep us going for a while.”

  “Thanks,” said Ben. “Talk soon.” He hung up and dialed Carey’s mobile but got her message-minder. He left a message to say that he’d pick up the sofa whenever it suited her, and then turned his attention back to his new brochures on revitalizing and comforting oils.

  In the end the arrangement to pick up the furniture was made entirely by text message, since when Ben phoned Carey later that day, as she requested, he got her message-minder again. Message-minders and answering machines drove him nuts, so he sent her a text almost as cryptic as her own.

  He arrived at her apartment late on Tuesday afternoon having decided to tie in his stint as a furniture-removal man with a friendly football match in Raheny Park that evening. He hadn’t played football in ages and Phil had been delighted when he said he’d turn up for the match. Ben and Phil hadn’t talked much about Ben’s disastrous foray into marriage other than to shrug shoulders together and tell each other that everyone made mistakes now and again and that there were plenty more fish in the sea. But Phil had been concerned that Ben was using his still-injured ankle as an excuse not to come either to footie practice or to play in any of their competitive games but simply sit at home instead, so he was glad to see that his friend had started to get back into the real world again.

  “It’s me,” he said as Carey answered the bell. “Russell’s Removals.”

  She buzzed him in and was waiting at the apartment door when he got up the stairs.

  “Nice place,” he said when she ushered him inside. “Certainly knocks spots off mine.”

  “Oh no,” she protested. “Your house is lovely.”

  He said nothing but allowed her to show him round. “At least you’ve got room for your shoes,” he remarked as they stood in the spare bedroom, where she kept her collection.

  “I know.” She looked at him shamefacedly. “It was one of the reasons I bought a two-bedroomed place.”

  He chuckled. “I should’ve known that it’d all go horribly wrong the night you brought over fifty-odd shoe boxes. I mean, look!” He opened the nearest box and took out a pair of emerald-green sandals with chrome stiletto heels. “Where on earth would you actually get to wear these?”

  “To Sylvia’s wedding anniversary dinner,” said Carey promptly. “I wore a skin-tight printed dress in almost the same color and I looked gorgeous.”

  “I bet,” said Ben.

  “I did. Well,” she amended, “maybe not gorgeous. But striking.”

  “You always look striking,” he said mildly. “So what other occasions have been graced by them?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing specific.”

  “So you bought a pair of shoes and wore them once.”

  “But they were the perfect pair,” she protested. “And when you find perfection you have to have it. Even if it’s only a brief outing.”

  “Rather like us,” remarked Ben as he put the shoes back in the box.

  Carey flushed and walked into the living room.

  “Sorry,” he said as he followed her. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

  “It’s OK.” She stood beside the sofa. “How exactly did you plan to carry this?”

  “I didn’t.” He looked at it appraisingly. “I thought I’d formulate a plan when I got here.”

  “D’you still want it?” she asked. “You didn’t see it before so you don’t have to take it if you hate it.”

  “It’s fine,” he told her. “And I don’t know why you’re changing it anyway.”

  “The new piece is perfection,” she said blandly.

  “Right.” Ben stood and contemplated the oatmeal-colored sofa. “First things first, let’s take all the seat cushions off.”

  They piled the cushions into the corner of the room.

  “Were you intending to help me carry this down the stairs?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it one way or the other.”


  “Because I can’t manage it on my own.”

  “I thought you could do anything on your own,” she said.

  “Are you being bitchy?”

  She made a face. “Possibly.”

  “It could wait,” he told her. “I’m playing football with Phil and the rest of them in Raheny later. I could get him to come and help me.”

  “Don’t be totally stupid.” She stood at one end of the sofa. “I’ll help you.”

  They got as far as the door and stopped. Ben eyed the opening and the sofa and scratched his head. “I wonder did they bring this in before they put the door on?”

  “I hope not,” said Carey. “Because that’d mean my new one wouldn’t fit in either.”

  “True.” He frowned. “If we turn it on one side we might be able to slide it out.”

  “Nope,” she said. “You need it at an angle. Otherwise it’ll get stuck against the landing wall.”

  “But the arms are too fat,” objected Ben. “If we do that they’ll get jammed in the doorway.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Let’s try it my way first,” he suggested.

  “Whatever you say.”

  They got the sofa halfway out and then Ben stopped her. “There isn’t enough room on the landing,” he said. “We can’t push it all the way out.”

  Carey said nothing.

  “Is that what you meant?” he asked.

  “Kind of.” She made a face at him. “I’m good at thinking three-dimensionally.”

  “OK,” he said. “Let’s move it back in.”

  “Wait! Wait!” she cried as he started to push it. “I need to tilt — ow!”

  “You all right?” He peered over the huge arm of the sofa.

  “Yes.” She blinked away the tears in her eyes. “Just a near self-amputation of my thumb in the doorway. Nothing too serious.” She stuck her thumb in her mouth.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean it.”

  “I hope not.”

  “I didn’t.” He looked at her over the arm again. “Do you want to stop?”

  “Stop?” She took her thumb out of her mouth and giggled. “And leave a sofa half-in and half-out of my apartment?”

  “OK, we won’t stop.” Ben grinned at her.

  “Thank you. Are you ready to start again? Following my instructions this time?”

  “Whatever you say. You want to lift and turn it, don’t you?”

  She nodded.

  “Sure it’s not too heavy?”

  She gave him a withering look.

  “Come on then.”

  It was heavier than she’d expected but she gritted her teeth even though she felt that her fingers were going to break and her thumb was still throbbing.

  “Nearly there,” panted Ben as he stood at the top of the stairs. “Just turn it a little, will you?”

  “I’m doing my best.” She edged the sofa a little bit more and then suddenly it popped through the doorway so that it was outside the apartment.

  “Well done,” said Ben as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Now all we have to do is get it down the stairs.”

  “Wait till I put the latch on the door,” said Carey. “I don’t want to get locked out after all that.”

  It had taken them nearly half an hour to maneuver the sofa through the door. It would have taken less, she thought as she inched her way down the stairs with him, if he’d believed her about the best way to get it out in the first place. But men never gave women credit for being able to work anything like that out and she hadn’t really expected him to be any different. She sighed with relief and rubbed her fingers vigorously as soon as they put the sofa down on the pavement. Ben opened the van and made sure that the old carpet he’d put in the back to protect the furniture was in place. Then he went back upstairs and retrieved the cushions.

  “Easy part now,” he said.

  “Speak for yourself.” She puffed as she raised the sofa to the height of the van and helped him to push it inside.

  “Great,” he said when they’d finally finished. “Thanks a million, Carey.”

  “You’re welcome.” She was still puffing.

  “Your thumb OK?”

  “Sure.” She took off her glasses and wiped them. “Just my arms feel like they’re going to fall out of their sockets.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve brought someone to help me.”

  She looked at him wickedly. “You’d have brought another bloke and you’d still be pushing it back and forward through the door.”

  “Possibly.” Ben laughed. “I remember you once telling me that you were always right. I suppose you were this time too.”

  “Last time was the delay on the flight from New York,” she reminded him. “And I had to be right about that. It is my area of expertise, after all!”

  “Well, when you give up controlling you can become a furniture-removal girl,” he said. He looked at his watch. “I’ve to be in Raheny soon. Not that I’m expecting to be much good at this match — it’s a while since I last played. Still carrying some war wounds from the Jeep incident, you know.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be as good at it as you are at everything,” she said. “Even saving people’s lives.”

  “And I’m sure there’s sarcasm in there somewhere,” said Ben. “Look, are you certain you want to just give me this sofa? I’ll pay for it, you know.”

  She shook her head. “Remember — it’s my divorce gift to you.”

  “Oh.” He looked inquiringly at her. “Have you found a quicker way?”

  “Unfortunately not,” she replied. “Though I looked up those sites you mentioned. I think I might do the Dominican Republic thing anyway.”

  “The advice I got from my solicitor was that it wouldn’t be much use.”

  “I know.” She shrugged. “But it’s something. A bit of paper saying that we’re not together anymore. I’d like to have it even if it’s not worth much. You probably think that’s stupid.”

  “Not really,” said Ben. “I understand.”

  “Good.” She smiled with relief.

  “Easier to rush in than rush out again, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Carey sighed. “At least in my mind, though, I consider myself a soon-to-be-divorced woman.”

  “Well, would you like to have a soon-to-be-divorced drink with me?” he asked. “I need something to eat before I play and I’m dying of thirst too.”

  “Thanks for the invitation,” she said, “but I’m going out later on this evening and I have to wash my hair.”

  “Ouch,” he said.

  “Ouch?”

  “Come on, Carey.” He looked scathing. “Hair-washing is a very outdated way of giving someone the brush-off.”

  She smiled. “I don’t think you can give a nearly ex-husband the brush-off, but I really do have to wash my hair.” She ran her fingers through it. “It’s a mess.”

  “I like your hair,” he said.

  “You wouldn’t if you had to wash it,” she informed him. “Curls are a bloody nightmare.”

  “Freya often says that she’d love to have curls,” said Ben.

  “She wouldn’t,” said Carey definitely. “People with straight hair often think that, but I promise you curls are more trouble than they’re worth.”

  “I like yours,” said Ben. “Always did.”

  Carey smiled lopsidedly at him. “Thanks.”

  “Well, look, I’d better get going,” said Ben, breaking the awkward silence that had suddenly developed between them.

  “Yes, of course, you don’t want to be late.”

  “I won’t be late. Are you certain you wouldn’t like that drink before the hair-washing?” he asked as he opened the door to the van.

  “It’s a nice thought, but no thanks,” said Carey.

  “Well.” He slid slowly into the driver’s seat. “Better be off then. Thanks again for the sofa.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And for the he
lp.”

  “You’re welcome there too.”

  “And — well, it was nice to see you again.”

  Carey bit her lip. “You too.”

  Ben started the engine. “I hope everything works out for you.”

  “I think it will,” said Carey. “I’ve kind of got things together. Admittedly I managed to completely screw up my finances by buying my way back into the human race, but money can be sorted out. Getting your head together is the important thing.” She smiled. “It was nice to see you again too. It helped a lot.”

  “Good,” said Ben. He closed the van door and opened the window. “Don’t forget to take the lycopodium.”

  “I don’t have an ulcer,” she said. “I told you that before.”

  “It’s for the stress,” he said. “Knowing me was stressful for you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” she said. “Shoe buying is a much better stress-reliever.”

  “More expensive than the lycopodium.”

  “But far, far nicer,” she told him as he put the van into gear and began to drive away.

  The living room was very bare without the sofa. Carey sat in the armchair and tried to visualize the leather couch in its place. It was going to look fantastic. She thought that she was beginning to develop an eye for interior design; she was good at deciding what should go where. Maybe when I’m all washed up as a controller, she mused, I can go round decorating people’s homes instead, get my own TV makeover program and become a megastar. And then — the thought amused her — Ben and Leah can sit side by side and watch me as I stun the world with the brilliance of my décor. She laughed. Stupid thought, really, and she had no intention of becoming washed up as a controller. Although lately she had considered her future a bit more and had wondered whether or not, at some time, she might not work towards getting an Expert Grade, which would qualify her to train in new controllers or commit to other special projects such as reconfiguring the airspace around Dublin. She wasn’t quite ready for that yet, though. Above all, she still loved bringing the planes in to land. As far as she was concerned it was still the best job in the world. Thinking about it reminded her of the refresher course on which she had enrolled and which would soon be held in Shannon. She was looking forward to that. It’d be nice to have a week away. Nice to do something different.