“Oh, Carey, I don’t think so.” Gina shook her head. “He’s not that sort of person.”
“Well, if he’s not, why am I here?” asked Carey blankly, and Gina couldn’t think of a single word to say.
Chapter Fifteen
CORIANDER
Spicy but sweet, this is a stimulating oil which helps combat lethargy
Carey had never slept on the sofa before. Other people had, of course — friends who’d crashed out at their place, boyfriends who hadn’t quite made it to the sharing the bedroom stage yet, or even boyfriends with whom there’d been a row and who were thrown out of the bedroom but not the house. She hadn’t realized how uncomfortable the sofa was — it was too short to stretch out on completely and too narrow to roll over with ease. She was totally unable to sleep so that when her phone rang at eight o’clock she jumped on it straight away.
“What’s all this about?” asked Ben.
“I thought I made it perfectly clear,” she said.
“You made it perfectly clear that you’re acting like a child,” he told her.
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. Normal people work things out. They don’t go running off at the first sign of trouble.”
“I wanted to work things out but you didn’t give me much option, did you?”
“Of course I did.”
“No, you didn’t. You argued with me and you went off to football and God only knows where afterwards — probably to that cow, since you can’t seem to keep your hands off her — and you didn’t give me a chance.”
“I see from the letter that chances aren’t high on the agenda.”
“What’s the point?” she asked wearily. “It was a mistake. All of it.”
“And you discovered that when? After you made out with your ex-boyfriend?”
“No, after you practically shagged your ex-girlfriend in front of everyone,” she snapped. She rubbed her forehead. She couldn’t believe that they were fighting again. She’d written the letter so that they wouldn’t fight again:
Dear Ben,
We had a great time in the States, but it’s obvious that what worked over there just isn’t working here. We didn’t think about things enough before we got married and we certainly didn’t think about the effect it would have on everyone back home. I like you very much, but if I live with you any longer I’ll end up hating you. I’ve never rowed so much with anyone in my life before. So the best thing is to call it a day before we get ourselves in any deeper. I’ll check out the divorce situation — maybe we can get the marriage annulled or something. But there’s no point in sticking together. Besides, you’re a southsider and I’m not. I have too much stuff for your house. Anything I left behind you can throw out. Sorry I messed up your life. I hope you and Leah will be really happy together. I hate the bitch but I’m sure she has some good qualities.
Sincerely,
Carey Browne
She’d had to start over a couple of times because her tears had dripped onto the page and smudged the words. The finished note had been stain-free.
“What was wrong with my letter?” she asked. “I thought it was sensible.”
“You want a divorce?”
“It’s best, isn’t it? You’re obviously still besotted by that bitch-woman. I can’t see that we have much of a chance under the circumstances.”
“Look, Carey, let me explain to you about Leah.”
“I don’t want to hear some stupid explanation about how you’ve been friends for years!” snapped Carey, suddenly aware that Rachel and Gina had woken up and were standing in the doorway. “And I don’t want to hear about how snogging the face off her while your hands were planted firmly on her ripe little buttocks at our wedding party was just a companionable gesture on your part.”
“OK, that never happened,” cried Ben. “Think about the kiss you had with your ex-boyfriend. That’s what it was like. And did I scream and yell at you and start throwing shoes at you over it? No, I didn’t.”
“You fight differently,” said Carey.
“Leah’s a close family friend and she might have her faults — yes, she does have her faults — but I can’t just close the door on her.”
“Because you always go running back.”
“Pardon?”
“That’s what she told me. That’s what everyone thinks! You love ’em and leave ’em. You have loads of girlfriends, but then you always go back to her. What would make it different this time? Nothing!”
“I’m sorry,” said Ben. “I told you I was sorry. You never apologized for the Peter bloke.”
“I wasn’t still sleeping with him when I met you. You were still sleeping with her. You didn’t tell me anything at all about her when you asked me to marry you.”
“That was a mistake.”
“You’re damned right it was a mistake,” cried Carey. “The whole fucking thing was a mistake — and you know the worst part of it all is that everyone I know is going to look at me and say, ‘I told you so!’ ”
“The worst part of it is that you’re behaving like an idiot,” said Ben.
At this, Carey felt her composure begin to slip and tears well up. Gina, watching her, rushed across the room, and grabbed the mobile phone.
“Fuck off out of her life, you miserable bastard!” she yelled, and pressed the end button. She looked at Carey. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Carey stared at the silent mobile phone. “I think so,” she said eventually.
She wanted to be left alone, but Gina and Rachel didn’t let her out of their sight. They made her eat breakfast even though she wasn’t hungry and they made her watch TV with them for the rest of the day even though she hadn’t a clue what she was actually watching. And they plied her with stories of what shits men were, and why they weren’t worth the tears, and how it was better that she find out about him now rather than later. And then Gina said, once again, that she hadn’t thought he was like that, but maybe all those good-looking blokes were the same, and perhaps it was just as well she was engaged to a plug-ugly like Steve. Carey was grateful for their concern, but she pretended that she was out for the count on Monday morning when she heard them having breakfast in case they started sympathizing with her again. She pulled the spare duvet they’d given her over her head because she really didn’t want to talk about it anymore. And then, after they’d gone to work, she finally fell into a deeper sleep than she’d imagined possible and didn’t wake up until after midday.
For a moment she forgot that she was on the sofa in Gina’s house and she reached out for Ben to pull him close to her. When she realized he wasn’t there she had to fight to hold back the tears that threatened to fall again. She couldn’t believe that reaching for him had become so automatic so quickly. Nor could she believe how empty she felt now that it was over. She tried not to remember the warmth of his arm around her as they stood on Ellie’s balcony their first night together; or his boyish grin when she appeared at the Chapel of Everlasting Love in her trailer-trash dress; or even the way he’d carried her multiple bags of Macy’s shopping through the snow-filled streets of New York. She didn’t want to remember the things about him that she’d loved so much when none of it had meant anything to him.
She rubbed her eyes, then got up. After a searingly hot shower in which the sting of the shampoo in her eyes made them water again, she dried her hair and then dressed in the most stylish pair of trousers she could find, a plum-colored cashmere jumper, and a pair of soft black leather boots she’d bought in Paris. She wasn’t going to look pale and drawn and victimized simply because her marriage had gone down the toilet. She wasn’t after sympathy and understanding. Maude had always told her that it was important to look good if you wanted to feel good. Carey hadn’t taken her words to heart in the same way as Sylvia had, but she knew that her mother was right. If she dressed the way she felt now — sad and tired, despite the unexpected sleep — she’d continue to feel sad and tired. This way she could show her b
est face to the world. Not that anyone could see her face when it was hidden by her shock of hair which so badly needed to be cut. She spent ages combing it back, trying to pin it close to her head and keep the riot of curls under control. She was going to go shopping and then she was going to go to work, and she was going to forget all about Ben Russell and his stupid girlfriend and his chilly sister, and get on with her own life again. And the next time she met someone on a plane she wouldn’t exchange a single word with them.
She was halfway through her shift when the pilot of the incoming British Airways flight radioed that his cabin crew suspected that one of the passengers was having a heart attack and he needed a priority approach. She looked at the pattern of aircraft on her radar. The flight was due in third. She couldn’t slot it into the next approach, the first aircraft was too close to the airport for that, but she could make it second.
“Ryanair 168, Dublin,” she told the aircraft which had previously been scheduled second. “You’re now number three for approach due to aircraft with medical emergency. Turn right heading three hundred and sixty. Stop descent four thousand feet.”
“Dublin, Ryanair 168, roger. Turn right heading three hundred and sixty. Stop descent four thousand feet.”
Carey then advised the tower and the station manager about the emergency so that relevant people — especially the ambulance crew — would know what was happening while she ensured that the first aircraft was established on the airport’s localizer and ready to land.
“Speedbird 156, Dublin,” she said to the pilot with the emergency on board. “The ambulance has been called and will be awaiting your arrival on stand. Please advise the seat number of the sick passenger.”
She waited for his response. In the meantime her headphone crackled.
“Shamrock, 135, Dublin, roger. Eight miles from touchdown. Cleared ILS approach Runway Two Eight. Contact tower 118.6. Bye.”
At least that was the first aircraft out of the way, she thought. Her headphone crackled again and she adjusted it. Loose connection, she thought. Must get a new set.
“Dublin, Speedbird 156, the patient is in seat 11C.”
Jennifer O’Carroll was in the tower. Carey let her know the seat row number and then turned her attention to the Ryanair plane, which had been shifted back in the landing order. She could bring him a little lower and a little closer now, keeping him to the east of the airfield. He acknowledged her instructions to descend to 3,000 feet and turn.
“Dublin, Speedbird 156, now established on localizer.”
Excellent, she thought. “Speedbird 156, Dublin, roger. Nine miles from touchdown. Cleared ILS approach Runway Two Eight.”
“Dublin, Speedbird 156. Tower 118.6. Bye. Thanks for all your help.”
“You’re welcome,” said Carey. “I hope it works out OK.”
She thought, briefly, of the sick passenger and crossed her fingers for him or her. Then she got on with the business of doing what she was good at. The only thing she was good at. Landing planes.
Ben was having a nightmare day. On the list of bad days he’d ever had, this was in pole position. He couldn’t think of a single thing that had gone right, starting with rereading Carey’s note, which he’d retrieved from the bin where he’d thrown it after talking to her on Sunday. He’d been shocked when he first read it when he got home on Saturday night. He’d been wary about going home, not wanting to face another row with her. He hated rows and only knew one approach — shout back louder. It had worked for his father; his mother always clammed up whenever Charles raised his voice. It had worked with Leah too, although they’d rarely had the kind of slanging match he’d had with Carey. But whenever they’d argued and he raised his voice, she’d instantly cave in and wrap her arms round him, allowing her perfumed hair to sweep across his face. He knew where he was when he rowed with Leah. But not with Carey. And he’d believed that he was better off out of the house until both of them cooled down. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he slid the key into the lock, but it hadn’t been her clearly unhappy but very definite letter. Still clutching it, he’d gone upstairs and seen the Perspex shoes sitting on the bed and the white dress still hanging on the chrome rail. He’d been furious with her then and had considered putting her stuff into a black refuse-sack and throwing it into the skip at the end of the road. But he didn’t. He went to bed and slept fitfully. So when he woke up, still tired, the shoes were on the floor beside the bed, the dress beside them where he’d flung it in a fit of rage.
He’d called her as soon as he woke and she’d been angry and then that horrible friend of hers had told him to fuck off and he’d waited for Carey to ring him back and apologize but she hadn’t. He considered that she had as much apologizing as him to do. He’d seen her talking to that bloke and he’d seen the intimacy of the fleeting kiss between them and he’d waited for her to tell him about it, but she hadn’t and he’d had to confront her with it. Still angry, he’d gone out and bought the papers and spent the entire day in the pub — something he’d never done in his life before. It had been after six when he’d arrived home again and he’d simply passed out in the uncomfortable armchair so that when he woke up that morning, every bone in his body ached.
It was then that he’d noticed the message light blinking on his machine and hit play. The most recent message was from Freya, telling him about a meeting she was going to. But the message before that was the one from Leah asking him to ring her and he’d erased it before finding out when she’d actually called. He was uncomfortably sure that if Carey had listened to it, there was no way she’d believe that his relationship with Leah was over. Right then, he wasn’t sure about it himself.
He’d been due to open the Drumcondra shop that morning but had got stuck behind a jack-knifed lorry on Camden Street and the ensuing gridlock made him almost an hour late. The knock-on effect was that he’d spent the day rushing round the store trying to catch up with himself and failing miserably. Because he hadn’t been in time to re-stock some of the shelves he couldn’t find all the things that the customers wanted; he managed to lose a raft of brochures on a new vitamin tablet which they were promoting heavily and which had an entry form for a very popular competition; he snapped at Laura, the sales assistant, dropped a glass jar containing bronzing beads on the floor, and faxed three incorrect orders to one of their suppliers.
Now, back in Rathmines, he closed the door of his office and stared unseeingly at the graphs on the computer screen in front of him.
“What?” He looked up as the door opened and Freya walked in.
“That’s a lovely way to talk,” she said as she perched herself on the corner of his desk.
“Shut up, Freya.” He scrolled down the screen. “I’m not in the mood.”
“No, I guess not,” she said.
“And why do you guess that?” he asked.
“Only I believe that there’s trouble in Paradise.”
“What?” He looked up at her.
“Brian told me,” she said.
“Told you what?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Ben, he told me about you and Leah and the fact that Carey found out that the two of you had been kissing and canoodling at Oleg’s. What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“Bet he didn’t tell you that Carey slipped outside to meet her old boyfriend and was kissing him too?”
“Ben!” Freya stared at him. “You’re joking.”
“Why should I be joking? Why should it be believable that I jumped on Leah but not believable that Carey jumped on someone else?”
“She didn’t, did she?”
“I saw her.”
“Is that why she came rushing into the dining room that night?” asked Freya. “I knew there was something wrong, but Brian told me about you and I supposed that was it.”
“It seems that both of us had unfinished business in our past,” said Ben.
“And now what?” asked Freya.
“I don’t know,” said Ben. �
�She’s moved out.”
“Oh, Ben, no!”
“Freya, she can’t stand the sight of me and, to be honest, I’m not too fond of her right now either. You were right about the whole thing. I was stupid to think it would work. Surely it’s better that we cut our losses now than wait and make things worse.”
“I guess so, but…”
“Don’t tell me you liked her.” He laughed bitterly. “You didn’t want to know her at first.”
“It’s not a question of liking or disliking her,” said Freya. “It’s just — it’s a mess, Ben. An absolute mess.”
“I know,” he said. “It’s the way I am. Hopeless.”
“You’re not hopeless.”
“Must be.” He shrugged. “Certainly I’m not good with women, am I?”
“Other than Leah.”
“You see?” He shrugged again. “It always comes back to Leah. Which should suit you, Freya, since you’re her friend.”
“I’m your sister,” said Freya. “And your happiness is more important to me than Leah’s.”
“How sweet.”
“Ben Russell, don’t sound so — so childish.”
“Sorry,” said Ben. “I’ve a lot on my mind.”
“Don’t you want to work it out?” asked Freya. “With Carey?”
He shook his head. “She said it was great in New York but awful once we got home. She was right. It was a stupid, stupid thing and I don’t know how we could possibly have imagined it’d work.”
“Maybe…”
“Maybe nothing,” said Ben. “In fantasy land, marrying someone you don’t know might end happily ever after. But not in real life. In real life it’s messy and horrible, and the sooner we get it over with the better.”
“But, Ben, you can’t just give up —”
“She’s given up,” said Ben starkly. “She thinks it was all a terrible mistake and she’s probably right.” He smiled lopsidedly at Freya. “Everyone who thought it was a terrible mistake was right. Maybe I was just being pig-headed in thinking that everyone else was wrong.”
Too Good to Be True Page 22
