Too Good to Be True

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  “But you might.”

  He picked up his starched white napkin and folded it neatly. “How do we know that you won’t get pregnant?” he asked. “I’ve done a bit of research too since you told me. Other women going through the menopause still get pregnant. They warn about it, in fact.”

  “Very few,” said Freya. “And I doubt that any of them are women whose bodies have given it all up before forty.”

  “I always thought we’d be together,” said Brian. “There didn’t seem to be any need to rush things.”

  “You know, people don’t think about getting old anymore,” said Freya. “All we do is think about how we can stay looking young and doing the things we’ve always done. But our bodies have different ideas.”

  “You look young,” said Brian. “You look lovely, Freya. You always do.”

  She smiled at him. “Thank you. But in my case, it literally is only skin-deep.”

  He sighed and rubbed the back of his head.

  “You’ve got to think of it like this,” she said. “If you and I get married, we won’t have children. If that’s what you want, then I’m happy to start thinking about when and how we tie the knot. But if children are an important issue, then there’s no point in marrying me.”

  “I don’t see it that way.”

  “You’ve got to,” she told him. “Because I don’t want you marrying me thinking that there’s more to the package than you’re getting. I don’t want to be the second Russell to get divorced before making it to the first wedding anniversary.”

  “Let me think about it,” said Brian.

  “No.” Freya finished her glass of wine. “You have been thinking about it. You said you’d done some research. And you must have a bottom line yourself because that’s the way you are.” She stood up. “I’m going to the Ladies’. If you’re still here when I come back, then it’s wedding bells all the way. If you’re not…well, I’ll understand why, Brian. And I won’t hate you for it because if it was me I might do the same.”

  She walked up the stairs and pushed open the door of the ornate ladies’ room. She sat down on the same gilt and brocade chair that Carey had sat on during the night of her wedding party and looked at herself in the enormous mirror. She didn’t look like a woman who was over the hill. The shadows under her eyes, which she knew were caused by sleepless nights lately, were hidden by her expensive, light-refracting concealer. Her skin, though not flawless, still appeared dewy and smooth, and it wasn’t all down to the latest L’Oréal foundation. She’d always had clear skin, rarely had to worry about spots, even as a teenager. Her golden-blonde hair gleamed under the mirror’s white light. Sure, she had it colored once a month, but so did everyone. She didn’t look like some ancient crone, she certainly didn’t feel like one, and yet her body was telling her that she was.

  She opened her handbag and took out her pale pink lipstick. She wished she knew how Brian really felt about her situation. She’d hoped, although not really expected, that he’d bring up the subject first. But really she’d known all along that it would be up to her, because Brian was the kind of person who believed that if he said nothing and did nothing, any unpleasantness would go away. Deep down she knew she was that sort of person too. Sometimes she wondered if she’d secretly known what was the matter with her, but had pushed it to the recesses of her mind so that she wouldn’t have to deal with it. And yet she’d been genuinely shocked when Dr. O’Donnell had told her.

  It wasn’t because of the fact that she’d never now have children. In some ways she’d almost accepted that beforehand. But her acceptance had been based on the fact that it was her choice. Now the choice had been taken away from her. There was no use in thinking that she might have a baby in some distant future — despite the fact that time was running out — because the distant future had become the past. And the loss of time was almost mind-numbingly painful to her.

  She couldn’t understand why it was she felt like this. All she knew was that she was flawed. And that this flaw could cost her the one relationship in her life that really meant something to her.

  She dropped the lipstick back into her handbag. Then she took out her mascara and swept it over her lashes, thickening and lengthening them so that they framed her Scandinavian blue eyes. Not even a wrinkle round them. Naturally smooth even without the aid of Botox. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes had elapsed since she’d left Brian downstairs. Ten minutes was surely enough for him to leave the restaurant if that was what he wanted. And ten minutes was too long to leave him on his own if he’d stayed.

  She readjusted her royal-blue jacket and took a deep breath.

  She was still holding her breath as she turned into the dining area and looked at the corner table.

  He was gone.

  Maude and Arthur walked into Oleg’s five minutes after Freya, holding her head high, had walked out of the door. Maude looked at the gilt mirrors and the ornate décor and reflected that it was nice to be somewhere where the walls weren’t painted white, the tables weren’t sandblasted glass, and the cutlery wasn’t some kind of design statement. Oleg’s brought her back to a time when eating out was a deeply comforting and elegant experience rather than a trendy thing to do.

  She hadn’t expected Colman to remember them, but his brow furrowed in semi-recognition as he showed Maude and Arthur to a table beside the one so recently vacated by Brian and Freya. He handed them two leather-bound menus and left them to look over the contents while he tried to remember where he’d seen them before. It was when he brought the complimentary vodka shots to the table that it came to him. He wondered if they knew that they’d only just missed the other couple but decided against saying anything. Brian had paid the bill and left before Freya, telling Colman that his girlfriend would follow shortly. Colman had sensed that something was the matter, but despite his natural curiosity, he reminded himself that the personal lives of his clients were none of his concern.

  “It does seem kind of disrespectful to Carey to come here,” said Maude as she looked at the menu. “But I really did want to try it out as a restaurant.”

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” Arthur too liked the warmth of his surroundings. “Though a long way to come for a night out.”

  “Oh, why not?” asked Maude. “It’s not as if we had anything more exciting to do, is it?”

  “No.” Arthur shook his head. “But I have to tell you, woman, that you’re exhausting me with these weekly nights out.”

  Maude laughed. “I think it’s fun.”

  “So do I,” he admitted. “You were right, you know, we were getting terribly staid.”

  “I suppose you fall into it.” Maude sipped her vodka cautiously. “It becomes too much of an effort to shift out of the house.”

  “We’ve been out more in the past couple of months than in the last two years,” declared Arthur.

  “And it’s been worth it.”

  Maude felt that it had definitely been worth it. Friday nights had become their designated eating-out nights, and they’d swapped their traditional fish supper from the local chipper for a table for two in a variety of restaurants around the city. Mostly they’d picked ones closer to home, but Maude had wanted to try Oleg’s again because she’d liked it so much on the night of the party. Even though she knew that it had some bad associations for her.

  She hadn’t known, of course, that her new son-in-law had been cavorting here with his ex-girlfriend while Carey was completely oblivious to the fact. She was very angry with Ben and disappointed too, because, like everyone, she’d thought he was a nice guy. She’d also been extremely shocked at Carey’s immediate departure from Ben’s home. While she didn’t expect her daughter to stay in an unhappy marriage, she rather wished that she’d given it more time. But it was hypocritical, she thought, to have wanted Carey to give it more time when she hadn’t truly approved of the marriage in the first place.

  “Are you sure this was a good idea?” asked Arthur.

  “Why?”
/>
  “Because you’re thinking about them, aren’t you?”

  Maude smiled at him. “Of course — I expected to. And I’m just sorry that it all ended up being such a mess. Only not very surprised.”

  “D’you blame him?”

  “Yes,” said Maude. “But I wish Carey had more sense too. It was such a rebound thing for her after Peter…”

  “Peter?”

  “Her previous boyfriend,” said Maude dismissively. Arthur didn’t know much about Peter, and Maude certainly wasn’t going to enlighten him.

  “What is it with girls now?” demanded Arthur. “It was different in our day.”

  “Of course it was,” said Maude. “You had to marry us to have your evil way with us.”

  Arthur laughed. “Not always.”

  “Indeed,” said Maude primly. “But generally.”

  They gave their order to Colman, who praised their choices of borsch and minsky salad to start with and who, at their request, recommended a bottle of red wine which he thought would go well with their main courses of buglama (a dish of lamb stewed in spices) for Maude and fish galki for Arthur.

  “Anyway, this takes me back a bit,” said Arthur. “Remember that restaurant we went to in London when we were on our honeymoon?”

  “Yes.” Maude nodded. “It’s quite similar, isn’t it?”

  “Except that the London one is probably long gone by now,” said Arthur.

  “Probably,” agreed Maude. “But at least we’re still standing.”

  “And still together,” said Arthur.

  “It’s because I pander to you,” Maude told him.

  “Rubbish.”

  Maude smiled at Arthur and buttered a bread roll. He might think it was amusing (and so did she), but the reality was that they’d stayed together because she’d adapted. When she’d married Arthur in the 1950s, that was what women did. If she’d discovered he was being unfaithful to her, she wouldn’t have been able to walk out on him as Carey had done with Ben. She would have had to put up and shut up because there was nothing else for her to do. There had been times, particularly in the first few years of their marriage, that Maude would have left him if she’d had the opportunity. Not because of other women, simply because he’d treated her as many men had treated their wives then, as a housekeeper with whom he could sleep whenever he liked. She’d hated being taken for granted by him, hated being referred to as “the little woman” or “her indoors.” And it had taken a lot of self-will to stick with it, to make it work and make him see that she was more than that. It had been worth it in the end, she thought. And she was glad now to have him. But she hadn’t always felt like this.

  “I admire you,” said Arthur suddenly. “I admire the way you brought up our family and I admire the way you did things that you didn’t really want to do because you thought it was for the best, and I’m really glad that you never walked out on me.”

  Maude looked up from the bread roll.

  “I know you wanted to,” said Arthur. “Especially when you had to give up your job in that little office and stay at home.”

  “It was what people did,” said Maude. “And it wasn’t a ‘little office,’ it was a big company.”

  “Sorry,” said Arthur. “I know it was a good job. That’s why I came on a bit heavy sometimes. I was afraid you’d get bored with me and leave.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. “I’m so glad you didn’t.”

  “So am I now,” she said. “But I wasn’t always.”

  “I should make it up to you more,” he told her. “Bringing you out on Friday nights is all very well, but…”

  “Arthur, shut up,” said Maude. “Every now and then I get a bit sentimental and do some reminiscing about my days as a glamour girl, but not very often, I assure you. And I’m happy that things ended up between us the way they did. I’m also very happy that in the last couple of months we seem to have grown closer.”

  “So am I,” said Arthur.

  “And even though it all went horribly wrong for Ben and Carey, I’m glad that their marriage opened my eyes to the fact that you still need to work at it, even after more than forty years.”

  “I’m not sure how good a silver lining that is,” said Arthur, “but I know what you mean.”

  They’d finished their starters and were waiting for their main courses to arrive at the table when Freya Russell walked into the restaurant. Maude recognized the tall, elegant woman instantly. Colman acknowledged her and went to the bar area while Freya stood in the restaurant with her arms folded tightly across her chest. Maude wondered whether or not she should say hello. And then Freya’s gaze fell on Arthur and Maude and her eyes widened in surprise.

  “Hello,” said Maude.

  “Hello.” Freya looked at her uncomfortably. “I dropped my purse when I was here a little earlier,” she said. “I’m just collecting it.”

  “We must have barely missed each other,” said Maude. “You remember my husband, Arthur?”

  Arthur stood up and extended his hand. Freya shook it.

  “We decided to try it out as a restaurant,” said Maude.

  “It’s very nice,” added Arthur.

  “Yes.”

  “So how are you?” asked Maude with interest. She could see that Freya, while as cool as she remembered, was clearly upset.

  “Oh, you know.” Freya’s smile was clipped. “Fine and all that.”

  “How’s your brother?” asked Arthur.

  Maude shot him a look but Arthur ignored her.

  “He’s OK too,” said Freya. “We had some trouble recently when a Jeep smashed into our shop, but he wasn’t hurt.”

  “Pity,” said Arthur.

  Freya stared at him. “I don’t think you really mean that, do you?”

  Arthur shrugged.

  “Not exactly,” Maude said. “But he’s still obviously very upset on Carey’s behalf.”

  “Carey left Ben,” said Freya shakily.

  “Yes, but — ow!”

  Maude kicked Arthur under the table. Freya looked frantically towards the bar in the hope that Colman would soon return with her purse.

  “Would you like to sit down?” asked Maude. “While you’re waiting?”

  “Oh no, thanks.” Freya shook her head.

  “Please do,” said Maude more firmly. “Unless you’ve someone waiting for you?”

  “No,” said Freya, and immediately wished she’d said yes.

  “Then join us for a moment.” Arthur waved her at the banquette. “We’d like to talk.”

  “I don’t really think there’s anything to talk about,” said Freya desperately as she perched on the edge of the seat.

  “Maybe not.” Maude’s voice was gentle. “We’re not going to be nasty to you, Freya. We just wanted to ask you some questions, since you’ve arrived here so opportunely.”

  Freya sat down and looked at both of them. “I’m really sorry about your daughter and my brother,” she said. “But it’s nothing to do with me.”

  “Of course not,” said Maude. “We understand that.”

  “We’re just curious,” said Arthur, “about why he would’ve married her when he was still holding a candle for this other girl.”

  Freya smiled faintly. “That’s an expression I haven’t heard in a long time.”

  “While he still had the hots for the other girl,” said Maude prosaically, and Freya winced.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I only know what you know. They met, they married, they split up. I know that there’s all sorts of gossip about him and Leah, but Ben says there were other issues. I don’t know why they got married in the first place, I really don’t. I thought he was mad.”

  “We thought she was mad,” Arthur said grimly.

  “The whole thing was insane,” said Freya.

  “But he was the one who had another girlfriend.” Arthur got back to the point. “I mean, if he had this girl already, why did he hitch up with Carey? What was the poin
t?”

  Freya shook her head. “I honestly, really and truly don’t know.” She wasn’t able to look this rather nice elderly couple in the eye and tell them, as Ben had told her, that Carey was the sexiest woman he’d ever met and he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off her. And she couldn’t say that she supposed that this was the reason he’d married her, stupid and all though it was.

  She sighed with relief as Colman arrived at the table with her purse.

  “I knew,” he said to Maude and Arthur. “I knew you were here the night of the wedding party. I recognized you but I wasn’t certain.”

  “We thought we’d try it out,” said Maude.

  “I’m delighted you did,” Colman said, “and I’d love it if you’d have a drink on the house. You too, Freya.”

  “Oh, not for me,” she said hastily. “I have to go.”

  “Stay a little longer.” Maude’s voice was authoritative. She turned to Colman. “We won’t have a drink, thank you, because we’re having wine with our meal and we don’t want to end up blotto, but please bring one for Freya.”

  “Sure.” Colman beamed and disappeared while Freya gritted her teeth.

  “So how’s your boyfriend?” asked Maude.

  “Oh, fine.” Freya wondered if it was possible for her voice to be any more brittle.

  “I liked him,” said Arthur. “He told me a filthy joke.”

  “Arthur!” But Maude smiled.

  “He said some nice things about you to me,” Maude told her.

  Freya swallowed the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Maude nodded.

  “Well, he obviously didn’t mean them.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Freya gasped in horror at what she’d said. Maude and Arthur stared at her.

  “Why?” asked Maude.

  “I — look, sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.” Freya pinched the bridge of her nose and swallowed hard again.

  Colman returned to the table, slid a vodka shot in front of Freya, and placed the buglama and galki before Maude and Arthur.

  “Are you all right?” asked Maude when he’d gone.

  “Yes. Fine.”

  “Sure?”