Too Good to Be True

by Sheila O'Flanagan

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize.”

  “It’s no big deal,” she said dismissively. “I’m going to Santo Domingo on Thursday and hopefully it’ll be all sorted out by then.”

  “And you’ll come back and celebrate on your own?”

  “Yes,” she said.

  “When you say that there’s someone else — you mean there really is another person?”

  “Yes,” she said again.

  “But you might be interested in a little holiday fling?”

  “I like you, Janni,” she told him. “But no holiday fling.”

  “A holiday kiss?” he suggested.

  “Janni!”

  “Oh, OK.” He made a face at her. “You can’t blame a man for asking.”

  “I can,” she said sternly. “You shouldn’t try to seduce every single woman you find on the beach.”

  “I don’t find enough of them,” said Janni sadly.

  “We saw you with that young man on the beach again,” said Rita after dinner that night. “Nice young man he is too.”

  “Maybe,” said Carey. “But as I told you already, I’m engaged to someone else.”

  “But we wouldn’t recommend him,” Jess said as though Carey hadn’t spoken. “Not your type.”

  Carey giggled. “I have a type?”

  “Oh yes,” said Rita. “Someone with more ambition than him.”

  “But he’s happy,” said Carey. “Which is all that matters.”

  “Hmm.” Both Jess and Rita looked doubtful.

  By Wednesday evening Carey’s skin had turned a light nutmeg brown and her mosquito bites had faded. She walked down to the water’s edge and stood gazing out over the sea, watching the sun slide slowly towards the horizon and allowing the tiny waves to break over her feet in a stream of silver-pink bubbles. Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow was the day when it would all be neatly packaged up and be behind her at last. She’d tried very hard not to think about Ben and the marriage that had hardly been a marriage at all. She didn’t want to go over it all in her head again because that was giving it time and energy that it didn’t deserve. But on the island there was so much time to think. Today, when she’d gone on her morning snorkeling trip, she’d remembered her first meeting with him and the mad whirl of their week together in the States, and she’d wondered if it would have been different if she’d met him here, on holiday in the sun. Had it just been the frantic buzz of New York and Vegas that had propelled them along? If they’d been in a laid-back spot like this, would they have taken their time about it? Would it have been different?

  Hardly different. She picked up a flat stone and skimmed it over the smooth surface of the sea. Because Leah would still have been there when they got back. Ben would probably still have been able to forget about her in the sun, but he couldn’t forget about her at home. Leah wouldn’t let him forget. Besides, it wasn’t only Leah. It was the other women too. The ones he went to and came back from. The group of which she had become a part.

  It wasn’t Ben’s fault that he’d turned out to be a different person from the one she’d expected. It wasn’t his fault that he’d brought enough baggage to their relationship to fill an airline terminal. It wasn’t his fault that their promises of forever had actually meant for a few days instead. But it was sad all the same.

  She pushed her fingers through her tangle of hair. Would forever be forever with Peter? He must have thought Sandra was forever, but it had gone wrong. She breathed deeply. What if it went wrong with her too? What if she was just leaping out of the frying pan and into the fire by getting this divorce and wearing Peter’s ring?

  It doesn’t matter, she told herself fiercely as she tightened her lime-green sarong around her waist. It doesn’t matter because the divorce is for you, not for Peter. And you can stay engaged as long as you like.

  She rubbed at her eyes. Just now, at that very moment, she wished that she wasn’t on her own. She wished that there was someone she could turn to, someone she could talk to, say that she hadn’t meant to make a mess of things and that she didn’t want to make a further mess of things. And that she really only wanted to do what was right.

  She’d never had a confidante, someone with whom she could share everything. The girls in ATC were friends, but they were colleagues too, and there was always something competitive between them, enough to stop her pouring her heart out and letting them know how badly she felt about anything. You had to be assured in ATC. You couldn’t let things get you down. And you couldn’t let other people see that you were down either.

  The nearest she’d ever got to sharing confidences, oddly enough, had been with Ben. The first night they’d spent together they’d talked about everything, and she’d felt connected to him in a way that she hadn’t ever experienced before. And maybe it was that which had tricked her into thinking that she loved him — the opportunity to talk about herself to someone who knew nothing about her already.

  You’re being maudlin, she told herself as half of the sun disappeared below the horizon. And you need to snap out of it. Go back to the room, have a shower, and get dressed for dinner. And mix with people tonight. Wear a dress that shows off your tan and have a bit of fun. The trailer-trash dress would have been good, she thought wryly. She could have given it a third outing and justified its existence. Then she scrunched up her nose. No, she couldn’t have worn the trailer-trash dress. Didn’t have the right shoes for it with her.

  The sun had almost completely disappeared. It was time to get back to the hotel before darkness fell and the mosquitoes made their night-time appearance. Rita had told her about sandflies that came out at night too. She turned round and walked back towards her sunbed to collect her book and her beachbag.

  She stopped short of the sunbed and peered short-sightedly at it. Her vision wasn’t that bad without her glasses, but she was sure that someone had messed with her stuff. She’d left her bag on the bed itself, not on the sand beside it. Surely nobody had tried to rob her! Carey gritted her teeth because her passport was in the bag and she needed it for her court appearance in the morning.

  She moved closer to the bed, her heart beating a little faster. And then she stood rooted to the spot. She looked around again, but she was alone on the beach. She breathed out very slowly and very silently. In the middle of the sunbed, on her book, was a pair of shoes. Fragile shoes. High, high heels with Perspex uppers and tiny white ribbons. Shoes that she’d last seen in Ben’s house. Shoes that she’d left behind. Shoes that she hadn’t expected to see again. They were perched neatly on the book, side by side.

  They’re not really there, she told herself. It’s because you were thinking about them. Thinking about him. Remembering everything. They’re not really there, and seeing them is just a manifestation of the stress of the past few months. It’s been a stressful time.

  She reached out. They seemed real enough. The heel of the right shoe had a slight scuff-mark on it from the first time she’d worn them. She swallowed hard and looked round her again. It was dark now and the black sky glittered with the light of the stars. I’m not crazy, she told herself. I’m absolutely not.

  She picked up her bag and her book. They were definitely real. She touched the shoes again. How had they got here? she wondered. It would have been difficult to leave them without being seen. And she hadn’t seen anyone. Suddenly scared, she picked them up and ran at full tilt along the wooden pathway, through the marble foyer, and up the stairs to her room. Her hand was shaking as she put the key in the lock. She switched on the light before stepping inside, afraid of what might be there.

  But the room was empty. Exactly as she’d left it. She dropped the shoes, bag, and book on her bed, then squeezed her eyes closed. “They’ll be gone when I open my eyes,” she said out loud. She kept them shut for almost a minute. But the shoes were still there when she opened them again.

  Every other evening she’d left her balcony doors open, but now she closed them firmly, sliding the lock i
nto place. She checked the door to her room too, and slid the chain across. Then she got into the shower and turned it on full.

  Perhaps, she thought as she lathered shampoo into her hair, perhaps I brought them myself. It might be true. Maybe I didn’t leave them in Ben’s at all but brought them with me. And I’ve been in denial about it the whole time. Maybe the shoes are a symbol of everything that was wrong with my life. And maybe I brought them here to lose that symbol. She grimaced as soap got into her eyes. It wasn’t very likely, but she simply couldn’t think of any other explanation.

  Unless Ben had sent them. She stood under the huge chrome shower head and thought that she’d hit upon a possible answer. Knowing that she’d come here — even though she hadn’t told him exactly when she was coming or where she was staying, he must have found out from someone — Ben had sent the shoes as a symbol himself. That made sense. Ben probably expected her to throw the shoes into the sea or bury them beneath the white sand or something equally symbolic. Part of his health-freaky kind of stuff, she supposed.

  Turning off the water, she reached for her towel. She just hoped that the shoes would still be on the bed when she got out of the shower, otherwise she’d know that she was having some sort of breakdown. And she really couldn’t afford a breakdown so far away from home.

  The shoes were still there. She sat in front of her mirror and applied her dusting of make-up. Then she opened the wardrobe (a little nervously in case someone was lurking inside) and took out her deep purple dress. She slipped it on, then threaded her long silver earrings into her ears and slicked some lip gloss over her lips. She shook her head so that her curls, almost black because they were still damp, flicked around her face.

  Looking good, she said. Looking — well, not certifiable anyway.

  The shoes were on her bed where she’d left them. She picked them up and slid her feet into them. Definitely her shoes. They fitted perfectly.

  The bar was crowded with people. Jess and Rita waved to her and clucked with appreciation at her appearance.

  “Thought you only had shorts and jeans with you,” said Jess. “Nice to see there’s more to you.”

  “Thanks — I think.” Carey looked warily round the room.

  “Are you all right?” asked Rita.

  “Fine,” said Carey.

  “Your young man isn’t here,” said Jess.

  “My young man?” Carey grabbed a margarita from a passing waiter and gulped half of it.

  “Surfer Boy.”

  “He’s not my young man,” said Carey. “Really he’s not. I keep telling you, I’m engaged.” But she realized that she’d forgotten to take her ring out of the safe.

  “I thought you’d dressed up for him,” said Rita.

  “I didn’t dress up for anybody,” said Carey.

  “Well, you look very nice all the same,” said Jess. “You really do. Are you going to join us for dinner tonight?”

  She wanted to say no but she said yes. Quite suddenly she was afraid of being on her own, afraid of the tricks her mind might play. She nodded and smiled throughout the meal and washed her food down with more margaritas.

  “I think I’ll get some fresh air,” she said after dinner while Rita and Jess were having coffee. “It’s very warm in here tonight.”

  She walked out of the restaurant, along the verandah, and down towards the pool. The outside bar was still open and half-a-dozen people were sitting on the high stools beside it. Carey didn’t feel too bad once there were people nearby. But she needed time on her own again. The margaritas were making her head buzz.

  She stumbled as she reached the far end of the pool, falling off her Perspex shoes and landing in an undignified heap in the springy green grass.

  “That’s what happens when you wear car-to-bar shoes.”

  His voice was so clear it was as though he was standing beside her. Carey wondered how badly insane she’d suddenly become. She’d thought that people lost their minds gradually but that hadn’t happened with her. She’d been fine when she got out of bed this morning. Now she was losing her marbles completely.

  “D’you want a hand up?”

  She looked round. He was standing there. Definitely. Not her imagination. Surely not her imagination. He held out his hand to her. She reached out and touched his fingers. They were warm.

  “OK,” she said, pleased to discover that though she was trembling inside her voice was steady. “I don’t know whether you’re real or not, but if you can get me on my feet again I’ll be very happy.”

  “Of course I’m real,” said Ben. “Why wouldn’t I be real?”

  Carey brushed her dress with her hands. “Because you’re not meant to be here,” she said calmly.

  “I know,” he said. “But I came anyway.”

  She stared at him. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way or anything,” she said, “but I’ve had a few drinks tonight. Because I got a fright earlier. Shoes that I didn’t know still existed suddenly materialized on my sunbed. And it scared the hell out of me.”

  “It wasn’t meant to scare the hell out of you,” said Ben.

  “What was it meant to do then?” she demanded.

  “I thought it would be kind of symbolic,” he said.

  “You see, I knew it was symbolic.” She looked at him in relief. “I just wasn’t certain exactly what kind of symbol they were.”

  “Neither was I,” said Ben. “I wanted you to see them and…”

  “…and think I was losing my mind so causing me to knock back far too much drink at dinner.”

  “Are you actually pissed?”

  “A bit,” she said.

  “I’m sorry about the shoe thing,” he said contritely. “I wanted you to realize I was here.”

  “Of course I didn’t realize you were here!” she snapped. “I thought I’d gone bonkers.”

  “Sorry,” said Ben again.

  “Yes, well!” Her voice was even firmer now. “Ben, why on earth did you come? Don’t you trust me to do this on my own?”

  “Of course I trust you to do it on your own,” he said. “You’ve done pretty well on your own, haven’t you?”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “Since leaving me you’ve bought your apartment and regained a lover — as I said, you’ve done pretty well.”

  “So have you,” said Carey. “Just before I left, Sylvia told me that some American company had made an offer for a share in Herbal Matters. And that you had the chance of becoming really rich.”

  “Sylvia said that?”

  Carey nodded, then laughed shortly. “Since she’s become bosom buddies with Freya — not that I approve of the friendship, the pair of them have turned into conspiratorial gossipers as far as I can see — she’s tried to impress upon me that you’re not a complete madman.”

  “Nice of her. But actually we turned down the offer for Herbal Matters. Becoming really rich isn’t the most important thing in my life. So maybe she’ll think I’m a complete madman after all.”

  “Why are you here?” asked Carey again. “Do you want to come to court in Santo Domingo with me?”

  “No,” said Ben.

  “What then?”

  “Would you like to walk on the beach?” he asked abruptly.

  She looked at him disparagingly. “No, I bloody wouldn’t. I can’t walk in these damn shoes and there are biting sandflies on the beach.”

  “I thought it would be a nice setting,” said Ben.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” said Carey.

  “Let’s sit here then.” He perched on the edge of one of the sunbeds which were neatly arranged around the pool.

  “OK.” She sat beside him.

  “Oh hell, Carey, this isn’t the way I imagined it!” cried Ben after a moment’s silence. “This isn’t the effect I was hoping to achieve.”

  “What effect was that?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” said Ben irritably. “Romantic, I suppose.”

  “Romantic?�
��

  “Yes!” His tone was defiant.

  “Why did you want romantic?”

  “Because…” He sighed deeply. “Because I wanted to ask you not to go through with the divorce.”

  The silence between them was broken by a belly-laugh from the bar on the opposite side of the pool.

  “Someone obviously thinks it’s funny,” he muttered grimly.

  “Ben…” Carey pressed her fingers to her temples. “Ben, am I hearing you right? You don’t want me to do the dinky divorce. Why not? I thought you believed it was a good idea.”

  “Because I don’t want to divorce you,” he said. “And I don’t want you to divorce me.”

  “Why?” she asked again.

  “Don’t be obtuse,” he said. “I still love you, of course.”

  She slid her fingers from her temples to her cheeks and looked at him. “It’s a bit late to decide that, isn’t it?”

  “Is it?” He caught her hands in his and drew them away from her face. “We’re still married, aren’t we?”

  “Our marriage was a three-week disaster,” she said.

  “It didn’t have to be.”

  “You kissed your girlfriend at our wedding party.”

  “You kissed your boyfriend.”

  “Your mates all think you’re a serial womanizer.”

  “Do they?” He looked at her in astonishment. “Who says so?”

  “Some blokes called Mick and Dick or something,” she said. “I heard them. The night of the bloody party. Dissecting your reasons for marrying me.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “I never joke about serial womanizers,” she said. “It wasn’t very flattering. They talked about the women you’d had in the past and the way you treated them.”

  “Is that why…?”

  “No,” she said. “The why was that you were still in love with Leah.”

  “I wasn’t,” he said.

  “You were. You probably still are. And even if you’re not,” added Carey, “she’s demented enough to still want you.”