Carrie Goes Off the Map (11 page)

When Carrie woke up, all she could hear was the cry of seagulls and the distant roar of the sea. It was a much hotter, calmer day than the one before, so she spent the day sunbathing, swimming, and listening to her iPod. The first few hours were bliss, lying in the shelter of the rocks on the beach with her bonkbuster and her music for company. It was just a shame that Rowena was not there. She pictured her friend hanging out with the cast of
HeartAche
, maybe trying out the costumes. Rowena in scrubs… She suddenly wondered if Matt wore them at work and what he looked like.

She was sitting outside Dolly, painting her toenails a gorgeous shade of shell pink, when she finally saw Spike's van bumping across the field. It stopped outside the awning, a gaggle of shirtless people laughing inside as Spike poked his head out of the driver's window.

‘See you tonight?' he called.

She tried to sound cool, which was difficult when you were wearing toe separators. ‘Yeah, sure.'

‘Bring Matt if you like. Lola here wants to meet you both.'

A hand shot out of the window and waved. It belonged to an elfin-faced girl with wonderfully wild hair. ‘Hello, Carrie!' she called.

‘Hi, Lola,' said Carrie, waving back.

‘See ya later then!' shouted Spike.

Carrie felt a little knot of excitement in her stomach. Tonight looked like it was going to be a lot of fun.

***

As the sun sank slowly over the sea, she saw Spike and his friends heading for the beach, armed with crates of beer and driftwood. Matt still wasn't back and Carrie wasn't sure whether she wanted him to come to the beach party or not. Spike had specifically asked him and Carrie felt uncomfortable about not including him. But she felt awkward about him being there, as if he might be watching her, judging her.

‘Well, tough,' she said out loud as she wriggled into her best pair of shorts and the lace-up cami top she'd worn at the wedding. It was slightly too tight and made her look what her mum would have called buxom. Tonight, buxom was exactly what she wanted.

She was surprised how nervous she was as she headed down to the beach, where smoke was already spiraling into the sky from the fire. Spike and his mates were standing and sitting around it drinking beer and smoking joints. They were all barefoot, so Carrie slipped off her flip-flops as soon as her feet hit the sand. Spike had his back to her as she drew near. He was wearing an oversized T-shirt and shorts. His calves were sturdy and strong and sprinkled with strawberry-blond hair. Her stomach was fluttering with nerves. She was so crap at this. So out of the loop. ‘Hello.'

He turned and grinned. ‘Hi there. This is Carrie, guys,' he said as the others waved hi with their bottles. He went on to introduce them all: Baz, Jim, Stig, and Lola, who close up looked so sporty, she'd probably been conceived on a surfboard. She reminded Carrie of a mermaid from a book she'd read when she was little.

‘Beer?' offered Spike, leading Carrie closer to the fire.

‘Thanks.'

Her arms were covered in goose bumps and she was grateful for the warmth. As he passed her a bottle, he ran his eyes over her body. She hoped he liked what he saw. After a day in the sun, she thought she looked good, glowing, and she realized why she fancied Spike so much. He made her feel sexy. Desired just for her body and absolutely nothing else, such as her brain or her bookkeeping skills. She hardly knew him and yet she felt a connection with him. Lust, largely.

‘Your mate not with you?' he asked.

‘He's gone diving with some friends. I have
no
idea when he'll be back.' Carrie didn't want to talk about Matt and she didn't want to think about him. This was her chance to start again. Free, casual, not expecting anything other than fun.

‘Maybe he's decided to stay the night,' said Spike.

‘He might have. Probably has. Where've you been today?' she asked, desperate to change the subject.

Spike gave something approaching a sigh of ecstasy. ‘Croyde. We caught some awesome waves. D'you want to come out with us tomorrow, or are you still making your mind up?'

‘Why not?' she said, determined not to chicken out but knowing she was going to lose any ounce of mystique once she got on a surfboard. Not that she thought she had any mystique in the first place, but she was still going to take to a board like a stone. Spike held out his joint to her but she shook her head. Her one and only experience of weed at university had ended up with her dancing round the student union in her knickers.

Spike shrugged. ‘No need to look so terrified. There's always a first time for everything.'

‘It's not the first time,' she said.

‘I meant the surfing.'

‘Oh. Yeah.
Sure
.'

He gestured to the sand beside him. ‘Come and chill out. Tell us what a nice girl like you and a nice boy like Matt are doing down here. Together. But not.'

She told them as much as she wanted to about the road trip and her job on the farm, leaving out the details about her breakup with Huw. She also told them about Rowena and the acting, but mostly she listened to them talk about surfing, like it was the answer to life and the universe. The flames from the fire had died down by the time she saw Matt walking down the beach towards them. The sand was littered with empty bottles and roaches. She was feeling relaxed and mellow after finally succumbing to a few drags on a joint. Huw would have gone mad. He hated anything that smacked of hippiedom.

‘How was the diving, dude?' she asked, stifling a giggle.

‘It was good,' said Matt. ‘Sister.'

Spike laughed. ‘You should try staying on the water rather than under it. Carrie here was worried you'd been eaten by a shark.'

‘There aren't any sharks round here,' said Lola, running her hands through her hair.

‘You look like a mermaid,' said Carrie suddenly, not knowing why but feeling it was exactly the right thing to say at that moment. ‘A beautiful mermaid with a silvery tail.'

Lola seemed surprised but then she smiled in pleasure. ‘Do you really think so?'

‘Definitely. You could sit on a rock, waiting to lure sailors to the bottom of the sea.'

Spike let out a snort. Even Matt smiled. Carrie was delighted she'd amused everyone so much, especially Lola, who crawled over and handed her a joint.

‘Please try this. It's really good stuff,' she said.

Carrie felt it was only polite to accept as Lola seemed so sweet and nice.

She saw someone hand Matt a beer and hold out a joint to him. He took the beer but refused the smoke, saying, ‘No thanks, I'm diving again tomorrow.'

Carrie had an insane urge to titter. She took a drag on the joint and sat back, feeling as if life couldn't get any better. Really, things were looking up for her. Even Matt, sitting opposite on a driftwood log, looked very attractive tonight. Lola was curled up at his feet, her long mermaid fingers caressing the tribal tattoos on his forearms.

‘Where'd you get this work done? Down here or in London?' she asked.

‘In Tuman,' said Matt.

‘Where the fuck's that?' drawled Baz.

Lola held out her own joint to Matt and this time he decided to take a drag on it.

‘It's an island in the Pacific Ocean, north of Australia. I was out there for a while earlier this year,' he said.

‘What the fuck were you doing in a place like that, man?'

Here we go again, thought Matt, really not wanting to talk about his bloody job. He'd had a good day and he wouldn't have come down here at all if he hadn't wanted the keys to Dolly from Carrie. Frankly, he hadn't expected her to be on the beach; he'd been sure she'd be shagging the surfer guy by now. Then he'd seen the smoke and decided, sod it, he wanted his mobile, which was inside the van.

‘Come on, tell us. Don't be shy,' said Lola.

‘I work for a medical charity and we help to run a small hospital in one of the villages. We also go into the jungle and hold clinics for people from outlying tribes.'

‘So you're a doctor? Cool,' said Lola.

He laughed. ‘Far less cool than it sounds.'

‘So you actually do operations on people out there?' she asked.

‘We do some basic surgery, yes, and we've got a labor ward and a small theatre, but we can only operate when the generator's working, otherwise we have no electricity. Sometimes we go out to outlying communities by canoe or light airplane. We run health clinics in the main village, which is about fifty miles from the nearest big town.'

‘What kind of stuff do you do?'

Matt turned down Lola's offer of the joint this time. He really did want a clear head in the morning and he didn't give a toss if they—or Carrie—thought he was uptight. ‘Nothing spectacular. Minor ops, preventative healthcare, and education. We see a lot of malaria and TB too. You probably know the sort of thing.'

Their blank faces showed they probably didn't. Their eyes were glazing over and he couldn't tell whether it was his fault or the hash. He felt Lola's fingers on his arm again. ‘And you got the tattoos done at some place in the city or in the actual jungle?'

He smiled. Her expression was almost childlike. ‘In the actual jungle.'

Baz was lying on the sand, staring at the sky, a blissful smile on his face. With a bit of luck they'd all be so spaced out, they wouldn't care what he told them.

‘Just these?' said Lola, kneeling next to him. ‘Or are there more?' She pushed her hands inside his T-shirt and lifted up the fabric. She blew out a breath. ‘Oh my God. You have to see this.'

Matt pretended to laugh as she tried to pull his T-shirt off. He hated this kind of exhibitionism, hated being the center of attention. It only led to awkward questions.

‘Hey, man, let's see it!'

‘Yeah. Get the shirt off!'

They started banging bottles on rocks and driftwood and chanting, ‘Off, off, off!' Matt caught Carrie's eyes. She was watching him from her spot next to Spike. She was quiet but she didn't look too stoned. Yet.

‘Show us,' said Lola huskily.

He gave in. Stood up, pulled his T-shirt over his head, and stretched his arms out wide. Then he turned round slowly, letting the cool night air lick his skin. He could feel the prickle of salt on his flesh, still clinging to him from the sea despite his shower. The banging and laughing stopped. Then someone let out a low whistle.

‘Jesus…'

Slowly he turned full circle until he was facing Spike and Carrie again.

‘That is truly awesome,' said Spike, raising his bottle in salute.

Matt felt Lola's fingertip tracing the patterns that flowed across his skin in whorls and loops. They covered his back, across his shoulder blades and down his spine, disappearing into the waistband of his low-rise jeans. They were tribal patterns, some kind of rite of passage for warriors, but he wasn't going to tell Spike and his mates that.

‘Where do they end?' Lola asked, awestruck.

Matt was embarrassed. ‘Where do you think?' he joked.

Lola said nothing. She'd switched her attention to Carrie, who was staring at Matt, her face a strange mixture of emotions. He couldn't fathom her. She seemed as fascinated as the rest of them.

‘Did they hurt?' The voice was small and quiet. He hadn't expected Carrie to ask that.

‘If I said no I'd be lying, but tattooing is part of life for some of the people out there. The village elders—the local leaders—asked me if I wanted these after I'd been running a clinic for them. It was a great honor. I couldn't say no.'

‘How long did it take, man?'

‘How do they do it?'

‘Did they—like—give you anything while they stuck you?'

The questions came from everywhere except Spike, who was silent and, Matt thought, trying to look bored.

‘My back took all day. They use a sharp thorn and a small mallet to hammer the design into the skin, then they press bits of burnt tree trunk in it,' he said.

‘A thorn?' said Lola throatily.

‘Fuck me,' said Baz.

Right, thought Matt, he'd provided enough entertainment for one night. He shrugged his T-shirt back on, refusing to titillate Lola with any more gory details.

‘Any chance of more beer?' he said, even though he didn't want one.

Spike indicated a pile of bottles sitting in a bucket of water. ‘Help yourself, mate,' he said from his place next to Carrie.

Matt watched her hugging her legs. She was definitely cold and probably nervous, he guessed. She was also a big girl and could make her own decisions. Downing his beer quickly, he made his excuses, and as he'd expected, Lola came with him.

The first time is always the worst, Carrie told herself as she lay next to Spike in the van in the early hours. He was propped up one elbow, lighting a joint. She took a drag herself and hoped she wouldn't throw up or pass out. The sex had been furtive and graphic but that was okay. She hadn't expected fireworks—hadn't wanted them. She'd wanted sex that was dirty and real. But maybe not so short.

‘Where are the others?' she asked Spike.

‘Probably stoned. They'll sleep on the beach. Apart from Lola, that is.'

She pressed her cheek against Spike's chest, trying to block out an image of Lola astride Matt in Dolly. Nelson would go nuts if they were smoking stuff in there.

‘Told you there was a first time for everything,' he said.

She lifted her chin to look at him. ‘It wasn't my first time.'

‘Your first time cheating, I meant.'

‘I'm not cheating. There's no one else.'

‘No one else
now
. Bastard, was he?'

She realized she didn't like Spike calling Huw a bastard, even though he was. She'd said it herself, and much worse, many times.

‘Let's forget him. Sorry if I was nervous.'

‘You were great, but you folded up your top when you got undressed. Force of habit?'

She closed her eyes. ‘Oh shit, did I? I don't remember.'

‘That's what happens when you stay in the same place with the same guy too long.'

‘And you never do?'

He took a long, lingering puff of his joint and stared up at the ceiling of the van. She wasn't quite sure if he was going to speak again or just pass out. ‘I never say never. Too final. I just see where life takes me. Making plans scares me,' he said eventually.

‘What about money. How do you live?'

‘I did have a job until last year, but one day I was on the beach at Croyde with a load of other dudes. They were all living in vans by the sea and I realized: life's too short for work. This is where I want to be. So I sold my car and the flat, and cashed in the pension plan.'

‘You had a
pension
?'

He turned to her languidly, running a finger over her stomach. ‘I
did
.'

She shivered as his finger stopped at her navel. ‘What did you do for a living?'

‘Some boring-as-shit office work. I can barely remember. What about you?'

She laughed softly. ‘You know what I did. I worked for my boyfriend running his farm.'

‘Oh yeah. Sorry. I forgot. But who cares about all that stuff? I only care about now.'

His hand crept to her breast. He took her nipple in his thumb and forefinger. Her stomach swirled again as he said, ‘I think I short-changed you last time. In fact, I think it would be a good idea if I put that right, now.'

Shifting his weight, he rolled on top of her and kissed her. His mouth was wet, his tongue slippery. She wrapped her legs around his back and arched her pelvis. She wanted to screw Spike on the beach, in a cave, up against a wall,
everywhere
. She was smoking weed and having sex—not making love—with him in a sleazy camper van. She really hoped he hadn't been an accountant. She hoped he was on the dole, never paid his council tax, and sold the
Socialist
Worker
on street corners. He was everything Huw hated, and she couldn't believe how good that felt.

***

Sunbathing, sex, and surfing. What more could a girl want? Less of the last one, actually. A huge wave spun Carrie round like a stray sock in a spin dryer. She wasn't going to come up this time. This time she was going to drown. Her battered body would probably be hauled out of the sea a few weeks from now, minus a few bits the fish had taken a fancy to. She wondered if Huw would come to the funeral…

A hand reached down, grabbed her wrist, and hauled her to the surface. She came up spluttering and coughing, gasping for air.

‘You can put your feet down if you like. It's not that deep,' shouted Spike.

‘I th-think I might take a b-break.'

He laughed as he paddled off. ‘It's awesome out here today. I'm staying. Catch you later.'

Dragging the board behind her, she waded out of the sea, spitting out water. Her eyes were raw, she was aching all over, and there was water in orifices she didn't know she had.
A
week
. She'd spent a whole week of her life surfing and managed the amazing feat of standing on the board for about five seconds. Spike said she was doing great, but as far as Carrie was concerned, surfing was definitely not the orgasmic experience the others made it out to be.

Sex with Spike hadn't been quite as orgasmic as she'd hoped either, but that hadn't seemed to matter. They'd done it in the van, on the beach, in a cave—the last two not as much fun as you would have thought, with seaweed stuck to your bum and sand everywhere. It had been rough and ready and so unlike making love with Huw that she'd felt, at times, as though her whole world had been tumbled around and washed away. Maybe this was the only life she'd ever known. This life of shagging and lying on the sand. With Huw, she'd worried about mortgages and rents, milk yields and subsidies. With Spike she worried about drowning and whether they'd got enough condoms.

Shading her eyes with her hand, she watched Lola catch a wave, surfing it as if she was part of the foam. She hadn't seen Matt with Lola again and she had no idea if they'd slept together that first night. It was none of her business. Tugging down the zip, she wriggled out of her wetsuit. She was freezing; she needed a hot shower. Spike was wading out of the waves, dragging his board, as she gathered up her stuff ready to go.

He grinned. ‘Had enough already?'

‘I thought of swallowing a bit more of the Atlantic but decided, hey, why not leave all that to you guys.'

He laughed. ‘A few more months and you'd crack it.'

Months? She searched his face. He was thinking months?

‘See you later on the beach? We're having a special party. It's Lola's birthday today.'

‘Is it? I must get her something.'

He winked. ‘No need. I've got her a present already. From all of us.'