Too Good to Be True

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  “I gather,” Carey told Sylvia, “that after the night-club they came here. Jeanne took the spare set of keys that I gave you.”

  “I didn’t plan it.” Jeanne spoke through her tears. “I just saw them on the rack when I went to get my coat and I took them. I didn’t think. He didn’t know.”

  “But he got a few joints in advance,” pointed out Ben.

  “I only smoked one,” wailed Jeanne.

  “You were drinking as well!” cried Sylvia.

  “Not that much,” protested Jeanne. “Not really. We got some miniatures in the off-license earlier.”

  Sylvia looked at her wordlessly.

  “It was only vodka,” said Jeanne. “And it’s not as though I’m a child.”

  “You’ve certainly behaved like one,” said Sylvia angrily. “And you’re too young to buy drinks in off-licenses in the first place. I suppose he bought them, did he?”

  Jeanne nodded miserably.

  “How many?” asked Carey.

  “What?” asked Jeanne.

  “Vodkas.”

  Jeanne shrugged. “Not that many.”

  “And when did you intend to come home?” demanded Sylvia. “Or when did you intend to let me know where you were?”

  “I thought I’d be home at my usual time,” said Jeanne. “We only came here for some — some privacy.”

  “Privacy!” Sylvia snorted. “Privacy! For what?”

  Jeanne blushed, her cheeks two red spots on her chalk-white face.

  “I’ve tried to be good with you,” said Sylvia despairingly. “I tried to give you a certain amount of freedom. I do know that you’re supposed to be old enough to look after yourself. And this is how you repay me. Not to mention the nerve, the absolute cheek of you, to use Carey’s apartment for furtive fumblings.”

  “It wasn’t furtive fumblings,” muttered Jeanne. “And I didn’t think —”

  “You certainly did not!” Sylvia interrupted her. “What I want to know now, before you get home and face your father — who I can tell you will be a lot less lenient with you than me — is whether or not you are in any danger whatsoever of being pregnant.”

  “Oh, Mum.” Tears cascaded down Jeanne’s cheeks. The tissue disintegrated in her hand.

  Sylvia pinched the bridge of her nose. Carey put her arm round her sister.

  “Do you want us to leave the two of you here for a while?” she asked. “So that you can have a more private conversation?”

  “No.” Sylvia shook her head. “I’ll get her home. John’s sick with worry too and I know he won’t rest until he sees her. He wanted to come and pick her up, but I was afraid that Gary would still be here and John would’ve absolutely gone for him. Next thing I know, I would’ve had a husband being arrested for assault on top of everything else. You know how bloody stupid men can be. Solve everything with a punch-up.”

  Carey glanced at Ben as Sylvia spoke and frowned. He looked at her uncomfortably, especially when Sylvia suddenly looked at him and frowned too. But nobody mentioned the fact that his face bore all of the trademarks of a punch-up. If they say a word, Ben thought, I’m out of here.

  But Carey looked away from Ben and at her sister. “Would you like some tea before you go?” she asked Sylvia. “Or coffee, or anything?”

  “No, thanks,” said Sylvia. “We’ve taken up enough of your time already, Carey. And you’ve been great. You and Ben.” She smiled waterily at him.

  “No problem,” said Ben.

  “Come on.” Sylvia pulled Jeanne out of the chair. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m really sorry,” wailed Jeanne again. “I didn’t mean to come here and mess it up for you, Carey. We just wanted to be on our own. And it was such a good opportunity.”

  “Sometimes opportunities aren’t all they seem,” said Carey. “Take care, Jeanne. I’ll talk to you again soon.”

  “You’ll still talk to me?” Jeanne sniffed.

  “We’ll see,” said Sylvia. “No more hanging round. We’re off home.” She turned to Carey. “Thanks again.”

  “It’s OK,” said Carey. “Call me later tonight.”

  “Will do,” said Sylvia, and left.

  As soon as the door had closed behind them, Carey flopped down onto the couch and closed her eyes.

  “Are you OK?” asked Ben.

  “Sure. Just exhausted,” replied Carey. “I was so worried about her. Then I was mad with her. Then sorry for her. Then worried for her again — Sylvia can get pretty angry.”

  “I think she was too relieved to be angry,” said Ben.

  “I guess so.” Carey opened her eyes again. “Thanks for everything, Ben.”

  “Glad I could help,” he said.

  Suddenly neither of them could think of anything else to say. Eventually Carey got up. “I know Sylvia didn’t want anything, but would you like a tea or coffee?” she asked. “Or something stronger?”

  “Tea would be lovely,” said Ben.

  “Sit down,” she said. “It’ll only take a minute.”

  Ben sat in the recently vacated armchair and listened to the sound of Carey bustling about in the kitchen. He looked round her living room. It was very different from the living room in his own house in Portobello. That was darker and less spacious because of the design, despite the architect’s best efforts to filter light through it. But the wide patio doors allowed Carey’s southwest-facing room to be flooded with light even before midday. He liked her leather couch too. It was very stylish, much more appropriate than the sofa she’d given him. And the lamps that she’d bought, the ones he’d seen her looking at in Habitat, were perfect. He could see why she’d be happy here.

  “Here you are.” She handed him a big yellow mug filled to the brim. “Sorry I don’t have any biscuits or cakes or anything to offer you. I was going to do some shopping this evening.”

  “That’s OK.” He sipped the tea gingerly. It was far too hot. He liked lots of milk, but since Carey drank hers black he knew that she didn’t have a clue as to how much she should put in.

  “Eejit,” said Carey as she sat down on the couch.

  “Pardon?”

  “Eejit,” she repeated. “Jeanne. Getting drunk and spaced out on bloody joints! After all the trouble I go to telling Sylvia to treat her as an adult, she has to go and behave like a child.”

  “Hardly like a child.” Ben grinned.

  “You know what I mean,” said Carey. She frowned suddenly and stared at Ben. “I noticed it earlier and didn’t want to say anything, but what on earth’s wrong with your nose?”

  “Oh, nothing,” said Ben uncomfortably.

  “It’s not from the car smash, is it?” she asked. “I thought you looked all right after that.”

  “Nothing to do with the car smash,” Ben assured her. “Different kind of smash altogether.”

  “Oh?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.

  “Right,” said Carey hastily. “I wasn’t trying to probe or anything.”

  Suddenly he laughed. “I know, I’m sorry. I’m kind of sensitive about it.” He felt his nose carefully. “It’s still quite sore.” He looked at her appraisingly for a moment then shrugged. “I got it in a fight.”

  “Ben!” Carey jerked in surprise and slopped some tea onto the rug. She put the cup onto the coffee-table and got some kitchen towel to wipe up the mess. “Not that it really matters,” she commented, looking at the burn marks from where Jeanne and Gary had allowed a joint to singe it. “I think I’ll be getting another one. I’ll never be able to look at this one without visualizing the two of them on it.”

  Ben laughed again.

  “So tell me about this fight,” she said.

  “It was about Freya.” Ben looked at Carey hesitantly. “It’s sort of personal.”

  “Don’t tell me Freya did that to you!” she exclaimed. “I know she’s tough, but…”

  “Don’t be stupid, Carey, of course she didn’t.”

  “So who did?” she asked.


  Ben hesitated.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Carey immediately. “Forget I asked.”

  “I was so angry for her,” said Ben. “And so sorry for her too…” His voice trailed off. “She didn’t deserve it,” he said shakily. “She’s a good person.”

  “Didn’t deserve what?” Carey couldn’t stop herself asking.

  Ben breathed deeply. “You’ll understand, I know you will.” The words spilled out and he told her about Freya’s sorrow and his rage-filled visit to Brian’s house while Carey listened, wide-eyed.

  “Poor, poor Freya,” she said when he’d finished. “How is she now?”

  “You know my sister,” Ben said. “Hard outside but maybe not so hard underneath.”

  “I’m beginning to see that,” said Carey.

  “You won’t say anything?” Ben looked at her anxiously. “I mean, I’m sure she doesn’t want anyone to know, and if she thought I’d told you…”

  “Of course I won’t say anything,” said Carey. “Anyway, there’s no one I’m likely to tell, is there?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Still, it’s horrible for her.” Carey sighed. “And for Brian too, I guess.”

  “You think?”

  “But of course,” she told him. “How can it be easy to tell your infertile girlfriend you have a kid already? He had no idea how she’d react. Has he told her yet?”

  “I don’t know,” said Ben. “I haven’t seen Freya because I’ve been in Drumcondra and she hasn’t phoned me. But I’m sure she’ll let me know, even if it’s still all off between them. I’m hoping not. I’m hoping to prove that you can solve problems by a punch-up after all.”

  Carey laughed. “Very gallant of you all the same,” she told him.

  “Gallant?”

  “Rushing to his house and clocking him on the jaw.”

  “It wasn’t really,” he said. “It was just blind fury.”

  “I’m glad I wasn’t there, but it’s certainly shown me a whole new side to your character.”

  “The gallant side or the violent side?”

  She laughed again. “Both, probably. Anyway it was really good of you to come here today. And I’m glad you didn’t clock poor Gary.”

  Ben grinned at her. “He was in bad enough shape as it was. And I was glad to be able to help.”

  “Still, we appreciate it.”

  “I’m relieved that it turned out all right,” said Ben.

  “Yes.” Carey sighed. “I suppose she’s entitled to do something stupid,” she said. “She’s still a kid, after all.”

  “And most of us go on doing stupid things right through our lives,” agreed Ben. “Only we don’t have to face the fury of our parents.”

  “You’re right.” Carey smiled, and her brown eyes met his. “Anyway,” she said quickly, after a moment’s silence, “at least Jeanne was OK, which is the main thing.”

  “Yes,” said Ben.

  “So all’s well that ends well.”

  “Yes.” He winced suddenly.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “My nose,” he told her. “Every so often the pain just seems to rush through it. And my head aches a bit.”

  She chuckled. “Serves you right. D’you want some paracetamol?” He nodded. She went into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and some Nurofen. “Don’t have paracetamol, but will these do?”

  He nodded again and took the glass from her. She stiffened as his fingers grazed hers.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “It’s OK.”

  He swallowed the tablets.

  “You’ll be drummed out of the alternative medicine society,” she told him.

  “I don’t care,” he said.

  “Actually, you’re awfully pale.” Carey looked at him anxiously. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “I don’t know what’s the matter. Just a bit dizzy all of a sudden.”

  “You’d better sit down again,” she told him. “I really can’t face the thought of you passing out on me or anything.”

  “Just for a minute,” he said. “I’m sorry about this.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re the one who came to help me out.”

  He sat on the leather sofa. The room, which had begun to spin, seemed to have settled down again. Carey stood by the patio doors, looking out into the courtyard. The sun shafted across the room, picking up copper strands in her hair. Ben wondered why he’d never noticed copper in her hair before. He closed his eyes, conscious of a stirring of desire for her again. He thought, briefly, how wonderful the male body was that in the midst of the sudden blinding pain that his injured nose had caused, he could still get a hard-on for a woman he didn’t love anymore. He shifted on the couch and hoped that she hadn’t noticed.

  He heard her footsteps move into the kitchen and then the bedroom. The memory of her in his bedroom on the night of the party fiasco came back to him and he could see her once again, naked except for her high-heeled shoes, hair cascading down her back, brown eyes full of mischief. How could he have let her get away, he wondered. Why did he let her get away? And then he reminded himself that it was because of sex, not love, he’d married her, and that she was, in fact, now seeing someone else. Someone she’d been in love with before.

  He sighed deeply and breathed slowly. Thinking of her was making his headache worse. Better to think of nothing at all. Better, in fact, to leave. But he lay there for a little longer, fragments of thought spinning incoherently round in his head, merging together so that they were suddenly incomprehensible.

  Suddenly she was leaning over him wearing her slit-to-the-waist wedding dress, her loose hair tumbling down her cheeks in wild abandon. He stared at her in amazement, his eyes drawn to the hollow between her breasts. Why was she doing this? Had she actually noticed that he’d had an erection simply by looking at her? Had it awoken a sudden desire in her too? Did she miss the joy of the wanton sex they’d once had? Did she still love him after all? He reached out for her.

  His mobile phone rang. His eyes snapped open. The phone was on the coffee-table. He reached for it and answered it. “Sorry,” he said as he rubbed his eyes cautiously. “I got caught up in something. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He heard Carey’s footsteps and looked at her accusingly. “You let me sleep!”

  “You must have been tired,” she said. “You were out for the count.”

  “I can’t believe I fell asleep here,” he said. “I really can’t. I’m busy — I’ve things to do.” He stood up abruptly.

  “Your head’s better then,” she said.

  “I have a meeting,” he told her. “Freya’s there already.”

  “Better not tell her you were here,” said Carey. “That’d freak her out altogether.”

  “I’m sorry. I have to go,” said Ben.

  “I know.”

  They looked at each other silently for a moment.

  “What were you doing?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “While I was asleep?”

  “Washing my underwear,” she said calmly. “Why?”

  Ben didn’t tell her that he’d been dreaming of her. That in his dream she’d been sliding her wedding dress slowly from her shoulders as she’d done on their wedding night. He shrugged. “I’m disoriented,” he said. “I didn’t think I’d fall asleep.”

  “You looked wretched,” she told him. “And I thought it might do you good.”

  “Well, thanks.” He pulled on his jacket and put the phone in his inside pocket.

  “I haven’t done anything about that Dominican Republic divorce yet,” she said abruptly. “But I intend to.”

  Ben stared at her. “You do?”

  “It’s important, I think,” she said. “To put things behind us.”

  “Yes,” said Ben.

  “I’ll let you know when I’ve got it sorted.”

  “OK.”

  They looked at each other. />
  “Headache definitely gone?” she asked. “You’re OK to drive, are you?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  “So — well, thanks again.” She held out her hand.

  He looked at her.

  “Friends?” she said.

  “Sure.” He grasped her hand. It was warm and dry. He felt a tingle of electricity, the same frisson as when she’d handed him the glass. But she didn’t seem to have felt anything. She was smiling at him in a normal, friendly fashion. He squeezed her hand and then kissed her hastily on the cheek.

  “Best be off then,” he said brightly as he released her.

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks for the drugs.” He smiled faintly.

  “Thanks for everything else.” Her smile was equally faint.

  “Anytime.”

  “I’ll — I’ll be in touch about the divorce.”

  “Yes. Fine.” He turned and hurried out of the apartment.

  She closed the door slowly and leaned her back against it. Then she walked out to the balcony and leaned over the rail. She could just see him getting into the van and driving off. He didn’t look back.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  MELISSA

  Derived from leaves and flowers, this is both soothing and uplifting with a sweet, fruity fragrance

  Later that evening, Freya was very glad to lock up the store and finally pull down the shutters at the Rathmines branch of Herbal Matters. It had been truly hectic all day and there was no doubt in her mind that the publicity from the Jeep crashing through the windows, added to the subsequent refurbishing of the shop, had increased sales dramatically. Which just went to prove, she thought as she checked the main padlock, that the cloud and silver lining cliché actually had some merit.

  She unfurled her brightly colored pink and blue umbrella as she began walking along the Rathmines Road. She wondered if there was some kind of cliché to deal with the fact that the hours when she was cooped up inside the shop were more likely to be mild and sunny while as soon as she stepped outside it began to rain.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  She looked round, startled, as she recognized Brian’s voice. She felt a lump in her throat and was quite unable to answer him.