Carey could never figure out how it had been decided in the Browne household that Sylvia’s eventual partner would be perfection personified while she, Carey, would simply have a succession of ever more unsuitable boyfriends, all of whom would be compared unfavorably to John Lynch. But that was what had happened. Sylvia was a stable kind of person, placid and undemanding, who’d always seemed to attract marriage-minded men. Carey had never been placid. And she usually attracted the kind of men who just wanted to have fun. Nevertheless, her place in the Hall of Fame of totally unsuitable people ever to get married had probably been assured when she’d kicked up such a fuss at Sylvia’s wedding by refusing to wear the sugar-pink confection that her sister had demanded of her as a bridesmaid. She’d warned Sylvia over and over that she wasn’t going to end up like a fairy on top of the Christmas tree, but her sister simply wouldn’t listen.
The worst of it all, Carey mused, was that she did like to dress up occasionally. But after the fuss of Sylvia’s wedding she’d felt that — where her family was concerned in any event — she could never be seen to wear anything that looked even vaguely feminine or had the merest hint of pink. Today she was wearing a pair of rust-colored trousers and a cream jumper teamed with one of the four pairs of shoes she’d bought in New York. She shook her head ruefully. Twenty years later she still had the scars! And Sylvia had never really forgiven her.
“You OK?” Ben broke in on her thoughts.
“Fine,” she said.
“I’m nervous,” he told her.
She giggled. “They’ll love you. Really they will.”
“I thought you said they’d probably hate me.”
“Oh, one or the other.” She squeezed his arm gently. “Opposite sides of the same coin, aren’t they?”
“God, I hope not.”
They continued the journey in companionable silence. Carey wondered whether this was what Sylvia felt with John. This oneness that she’d never experienced with anyone else before. She knew that Sylvia and John had probably discussed her sudden marriage and had doubtless come to the conclusion that it was doomed from the start. Sylvia had probably discussed it with Maude too, over-excited and shrieking at the madness of it all. But what did Sylvia know about it? Actually, Carey conceded after a moment’s thought, she must know something. After all, Sylvia’s marriage had lasted for twenty years despite the fact that she didn’t have a bridesmaid in half of the photographs!
“Left here,” she told Ben, suddenly realizing that they’d reached the turn-off for her parents’ house. “Then left again when you get to the little crossroads.”
He followed her instructions and a couple of minutes later they pulled up outside Arthur and Maude’s whitewashed dormer bungalow.
Ben stepped out of the van and looked at Carey in surprise. “It’s the country,” he told her.
She giggled. “Not exactly. It’s only a mile to the motorway.”
“But there are fields around your house!”
“They can’t build more houses here,” she told him, “because of the noise from the planes.”
“It’s lovely.” He gazed at the garden full of blue and white winter flowers, small ornamental trees, and surrounded by a glossy green box hedge.
“They’ll be pleased to hear you say that. And tell Mum that you like the pyracantha growing up the walls. She planted that when Sylvia was five.”
“Right.” Ben nodded and followed Carey up the pathway.
“Hello, darling!” Maude opened the door before she had a chance to ring the bell. “We saw you pull up.”
“Hi, Mum.” Carey kissed Maude on the cheek, then moved away. “This is Ben.”
“Ben.” Maude stretched out her hand and he took it firmly.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Browne,” he said.
“Oh, Maude, please.” She made a face at him. “Mrs. anything sounds so old, doesn’t it? Do come in. Arthur’s in the living room.”
Carey realized that she was holding her breath as she walked through the house. When she pushed open the door of the living room, she saw her father standing at the window, gazing out of the back garden. He was a tall, thin man and Ben immediately saw where Carey’s gangly genes had come from.
“Hi, Dad,” she said brightly. “It’s us.”
“So I gathered.” Arthur Browne turned towards them. “About time you came to visit and brought your husband to meet us.”
Carey smiled edgily. She wasn’t sure about the tone of her father’s voice. Not entirely censorious but not entirely welcoming either. His angular face was expressionless.
“This is Ben,” she said.
“Obviously.” Arthur looked at Ben appraisingly over the gold rims of his square-cut glasses, which were perched on the end of his long nose. “Did you coerce her or did she coerce you?”
“Neither,” said Ben pleasantly. “We met, we fell in love, we married.”
“Quick worker, aren’t you?”
“Dad!”
“It was rather sudden, I know,” said Ben. “But just because we did it quickly doesn’t mean that we don’t love each other.”
“Now,” said Arthur. “What about later though?”
“We’ll love each other just as much at six o’clock tonight,” said Carey tartly.
“Watch your tongue, missy,” said Arthur.
She felt Ben tense beside her and she reached for his hand. He twined his fingers around hers and squeezed them.
“Arthur, don’t be so rude,” said Maude cheerfully. “They’re married and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s up to them to make it work, and I’m sure they will.”
She smiled at Carey and at Ben, but Carey could see that her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. She felt herself begin to tremble. Ben squeezed her fingers again and she moved closer to him.
“Are Sylvia and John coming to lunch too?” she asked her mother brightly.
“Of course,” said Maude. “And Jeanne and Donny and Zac and Nadia.”
“A full turn-out.” Carey grinned. “Sylvia’s marshaled the troops.”
“We love having Sylvia’s family for lunch,” said Arthur. “Very well-behaved children.”
“Arthur, don’t be such a liar,” said Maude. “You know perfectly well that we hardly ever see any of them these days. And you used to think that Donny and Zac were spawn of the devil.”
Carey giggled and Ben smiled. Arthur looked at Maude crossly. But she held his look and suddenly he sighed.
“I admit they weren’t always the best,” said Arthur, “but she’s brought them up well. They try.” He looked at Ben. “You planning to have a family with my daughter?”
“Dad!” Carey hoped she wouldn’t have to spend the whole afternoon trying to deflect some of her father’s more intrusive questions. It was a habit of his that had always annoyed her — he felt he was perfectly justified in asking anybody absolutely anything.
“We haven’t discussed it in great detail yet,” replied Ben calmly. “But it may well be on the agenda at some point.”
“You’ll have to make her give up that job of hers if she gets pregnant,” said Arthur. “No life for a married woman. I always said so. No life for a woman at all.”
“Dad, if you’re going to spend the entire day picking on me, then we’re going home,” Carey snapped. “You know that I love my work and that — like with almost any other job on the whole damned planet — women are just as good if not better at it than men. So don’t start all of this chauvinist crap. I’m not in the mood.”
“All I —”
“Arthur.” Maude interrupted him firmly. “That’s enough. Carey and Ben are here for a family lunch, not an inquisition.” She cocked her head. “And I think that’s the doorbell. Be a pet and answer it.”
“Thanks,” said Carey shortly as her father left the room.
“He cares about you, darling,” said Maude. “As I do. He only wants you to be happy.”
“On his terms,” muttered Carey, but she didn
’t have time to say anything else as the sunlit room suddenly filled up with people all talking at the same time and all looking at Ben with undisguised interest.
“I suppose congratulations are in order!”
Ben watched as a tall woman put her arms round Carey and hugged her. She then stood back and looked at her while still holding her shoulders. If there’d been any other candidate in the room he wouldn’t have been sure that this was Carey’s older sister, Sylvia. Although there was a superficial resemblance, Sylvia wasn’t in the least bit like her. She had shoulder-length dark hair, but it was perfectly straight and as unlike Carey’s unruly mop of curls as it was possible to be. Her face was softer than her sister’s, her cheekbones less pronounced and her lips slightly fuller. The resemblance was more to Maude than to Arthur, thought Ben as he studied her. She wore perfectly tailored charcoal grey trousers with a gold chain at the waist and a white silk blouse. A dusty pink scarf hung loosely round her neck.
“Hey, Carey, absolutely cool.”
The girl who stood to one side looked much more like his wife. She was tall too, but with the same long arms and legs as Carey and curls which were almost as unkempt. Her denim jeans had fashionable rips at the knees and the thighs, and her tartan T-shirt sported a label that said NEVER BE BORED.
“Thanks, Jeanne,” said Carey.
“Have you photos?” asked Sylvia. “We want to see the proof.”
“Here’s the proof.” Carey removed her sister’s hands from her shoulders. “This is my husband, Ben.”
“So this is the man.” Sylvia looked at him in the same appraising way as Arthur. “Well, honeybunch, I can see how you fell for him. Quite the handsome hunk.”
“Don’t call me that,” said Carey. “And I didn’t fall for him because he was a handsome hunk, although clearly that was a major plus.”
“She fell for me because of my mind.” Ben extended his hand. “Nice to meet you. Sylvia, I presume.”
“And impeccable manners too.” Sylvia winked at Carey. “You are the lucky one.”
“Show us your ring?” The youngest female in the room was Sylvia’s twelve-year-old daughter Nadia — another one with tumbling curls. “I want to see your ring.”
Carey showed Nadia the plain gold hoop — which clearly disappointed the younger girl — while Ben was greeted by Sylvia’s husband, John, and their two sons, Donny and Zac.
“It’s not always this mad here,” John told him. “But you and Carey sure did fire up the family by getting hitched like that.”
“In retrospect maybe we should’ve come home and done it here,” admitted Ben. “But it seemed so right at the time.”
“I’m never getting married,” said Donny. “Why confine yourself to one woman when there are so many in the world?”
“Absolutely,” said Zac.
Ben grinned at them. Arthur came over to the men and offered them a drink. Ben accepted a can of Guinness despite the fact that he hated the iconic black stout.
“He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” Jeanne was looking at Ben even though she was talking to Carey.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jeanne, get a grip,” said her mother. “He’s just a man.”
“I know,” said Jeanne. “But he’s a great-looking man. I think you’ve done really well for yourself, Carey.”
“Thank you.” Carey grinned. “I do too.”
“Wouldn’t it have been better to have waited till you got home before marrying him?” Sylvia suggested.
“Why?” asked Jeanne. “There’s such a thing as love at first sight you know, Mum.”
“Rubbish,” said Sylvia firmly. “And you needn’t get ideas, Jeanne Lynch, that the first spotty bloke you decide is gorgeous is the one you’re going to marry.”
“Oh, grow up, Mum.” Jeanne looked at her wearily. “I’ve had boyfriends. So has Carey. Lots more than me, I expect. She didn’t marry the first. Neither did I.”
Carey giggled and Sylvia looked annoyed. “That’s not what I meant,” she told Jeanne. “As well you know.”
“I think you made a great choice,” said Jeanne. “And it was a great idea too. Away from all the hustle and bustle of this family.”
“What d’you mean by that?” asked her mother.
“Just that it was nice for Carey to get married without all the fuss,” said Jeanne.
“You’re just like her.” Sylvia sounded disgusted as she looked at her daughter. “I don’t know why.”
“Yes you do,” said Jeanne, and Carey felt a sudden tension between mother and daughter.
“You’ll probably change your mind loads of times about the bloke you might want to marry and the way you do it,” she told Jeanne cheerfully. “God knows, I nearly got hitched to other men before. It was just that something held me back.”
“I’m glad to hear that!” Ben had come up behind them and now put his arm round Carey’s waist. “I’d hate to think I missed out because you were too hasty.”
“Tell us about yourself,” said Sylvia. “I find it impossible to take on board the fact that I suddenly have a brother-in-law. I’d like to know all about you.”
“Ben can tell us about himself over lunch,” Maude announced. “Come on, everyone. Into the dining room.”
When Carey was a child the dining room had only been used for important occasions like Christmas and Easter and their birthdays. The rest of the time the family had eaten in the big south-facing kitchen, which was a much more relaxed eating place. As far as Carey knew, her parents still didn’t use the dining room very much. She wished they weren’t using it today. It was darker than the kitchen and made her feel uncomfortable. The décor and furnishing were old-fashioned and intimidating.
Maude had extended the rosewood table to accommodate all of them and had laid the places with the silverware that also only came out for important occasions as well as the olive green placemats that were hardly ever used either.
“Soup to start.” Maude carried in a tureen. “It’s been so cold that I thought you’d like something warming to get you going.”
She began to ladle her home-made vegetable soup into the bowls in front of them, and Carey felt her mouth begin to water. Her mother was a damned good cook, and except for Ben’s breakfast fry-up the previous morning, they hadn’t had any home-cooked food all week. Nice though Marks & Spencer or Tesco ready-meals could be, Carey didn’t feel they qualified as home cooking.
“Come on, Ben.” Sylvia looked at him expectantly. “We’re ready to hear all about you.”
Carey listened as he told them what they wanted to hear. He didn’t gloss over his life, he spoke in detail about the loss of his parents, Freya’s part in his upbringing, the collapse of the Internet company, and the success of the health food stores. By the time he’d finished speaking, Carey herself knew more about him than she’d ever done before.
“So how does your sister feel about the marriage?” asked John. “Was she as surprised as us?”
“Oh, I’m sure she was.” Ben nodded. “But I’m glad to say that she’s organizing a reception for us very soon. The invitations will be sent out shortly.”
“A reception!” Sylvia’s eyes glittered as she looked at Carey. “I thought you got married in Las Vegas because you didn’t want a reception!”
“This is different,” said Carey.
“I don’t see how.”
Carey ignored her and turned instead to Jeanne. “How about you, god-daughter?” she asked. “Any men on your horizon?”
“Not as good-looking as yours.” Jeanne giggled. “They’re all so juvenile at my age.”
Ben laughed and Donny looked at his sister in annoyance.
“I’m not juvenile,” he said.
“Come on!” Jeanne shook her head. “You know that teenage boys are a mass of testosterone. You only think of one thing.”
“Maybe the blokes you hang round with only think of one thing,” said Donny spiritedly. “Not all of us are so one-dimensional.”
“So
your two dimensions are Manchester United and Caitlin Hegarty.” Jeanne chuckled.
“Caitlin Hegarty?” Sylvia looked at her son in surprise. “Who’s Caitlin Hegarty?”
“Top totty,” sniggered Zac.
“Zac Lynch!” John exclaimed. “We do not use those sorts of expressions in our house.”
“I’m only stating a fact,” said Zac. “You haven’t seen her yet, Dad.”
Carey was relieved that the focus of the discussion had switched away from her and Ben. She reached under the table and slid her hand onto his thigh. His hand closed over hers and held it tightly.
She felt safe with him. Protected and cherished in a way that she’d never felt before. In the past she’d been intimidated by John and Sylvia and their noisy family. She loved them, of course, but their whole way of life was completely beyond her. She’d never been very good at joining in their family spats. And when she did, she always seemed to get it wrong. But now, no matter what else was going on around her, it seemed that with Ben at her side she could deal with it.
For the rest of the meal the conversation was more general. John talked about the attic conversion they were getting done, Sylvia gave them an update on the furniture restoration classes she was attending on Wednesday evenings. Zac and Donny argued the relative merits of Manchester United and Leeds while Jeanne complained about the workload for her exams and Nadia talked about her selection as the lead in the school play.
When they’d finished eating, Carey helped her mother to clear the table and then filled the sink with hot water for the washing-up.
“You should get a dishwasher,” she observed as she stacked the plates beside the sink.
“Don’t need one,” Maude told her. “It’s usually just your dad and me, and all we really generate are cups. I never meant to turn into a tea-swilling old woman but that’s what I’ve become.”
“We won’t consider you old until you’ve passed your seventieth birthday.” Sylvia walked into the room. “And even then you’re far too much the glamorous granny to think of you as old. But you’ve done great work here in feeding the masses, so why don’t you go in and sit down and leave Carey and me to deal with this.”
Too Good to Be True Page 12
