Carrie Goes Off the Map (21 page)

A week after Matt had flown back to Tuman, Carrie found herself knocking on the door of Packley farmhouse. It was October now, and she'd started her teaching course at the local college a few weeks before, with a mix of terror and excitement she hadn't experienced since leaving home for university.

She'd also decided to sort things out with Huw.

She tried hard to ignore the tub of wilting geraniums by the farmhouse door that looked as though they hadn't been watered for ages. She knew the door wasn't locked, but she was no longer in a position to walk straight in. It wasn't her home.

It was Fenella who opened the door. In fact, she didn't so much open it as almost wrench it off its hinges. She didn't even glance up as she tried to maneuver a roll bag out of the door. The wheel had got caught between an old wellington boot and the head of a broom.

‘Fucking hell. This place is worse than a dunghill. Here, take this,' said Fenella. ‘And I've got another bag here. Hold on. Bugger, the strap's snapped. Jesus, I've only got half an hour to get my train to Heathrow. My God. It's
you
.'

‘Yes.'

Fenella gaped at Carrie as if she was an alien with purple tentacles. Carrie glared back at Fenella as if she was a scorpion she'd found in her wellies. So much for Huw's promise that Fenella would be out when she called, she thought.

‘I thought you were the cab driver,' said Fenella.

Carrie was determined to rein in her temper and show Fenella that she at least had some dignity. ‘No. But there's one just turning into the drive.'

‘Thank God for that! He'd better get me to the station on time or I want my fare back. I suppose you've come to see Huw about the money.'

‘Do you want a hand?' Carrie said icily. Offering help to the woman who'd taken Huw from her would once have been unthinkable but now was nothing more than politeness. Besides, Fenella was on her way
out
of the farmhouse.

‘No, thank you very much. Huw should have been here to see me off but he's in the bloody milking parlor again. One of his precious cows is ill or mad or something. You'll have to find him yourself if you can track him down.' Fenella tossed her head and her glossy black ponytail quivered. ‘You can do one thing for me. Tell him I'll be back in three weeks' time and to get that bloody cleaning woman from the village in by the time I get home, or there'll be hell to pay.'

Carrie had no intention of doing Fenella's dirty work. An answer didn't seem to be required, as Fenella was already teetering her way across the yard, tugging her roll bag, and cursing at the various kinds of muck littering the ground. A blob of manure and straw was stuck to one heel, there was a ladder in her tights, and the hem of her suit was coming down at the back. She was also slim as a rail, and certainly didn't look pregnant.

The cab drew up and the driver opened the door.

‘About bloody time!' Fenella exclaimed, but the driver just shrugged in a world-weary fashion, as if he'd seen and heard it all before. He heaved himself out of the door and sauntered over to collect her roll bag and laptop. As he loaded them into the car, Fenella turned suddenly and said unexpectedly, ‘We didn't mean for this to happen, you know.'

Carrie bit back an expletive. She knew that any overreaction would give Fenella a satisfaction she didn't deserve. ‘Neither did I,' she said neutrally, ‘but it has happened and I've moved on.'

Fenella shrugged and stepped into the car, but as the engine started, the electric window slid down and she called, ‘You must hate my guts.'

‘What guts?' said Carrie as the taxi pulled away. Fenella hadn't heard her, but she didn't care. She carried on walking across the yard, knowing exactly where to find Huw. Sure enough, he was in the loose yard with Sam the cowman and Trish Harrington the vet. Carrie even recognized the cow, standing with its head hung, lowing miserably. ‘Bluebell?'

Huw glanced up in surprise.

She patted Bluebell on the rump. ‘Milk fever?' she asked.

‘Yes, poor old girl, but she'll soon be back on her feet now Trish has given her some calcium.'

‘I'll be going then,' said the vet, picking up her bag.

‘Thanks, Trish,' said Huw.

‘No problem. Call us if she doesn't improve.' She smiled broadly at Carrie, her eyes telegraphing so much with one expression: sympathy, anger at what had happened, pleasure at seeing her. ‘Hello, Carrie. Nice to see you.'

‘Hello, Trish. How's business?'

‘Always good at Packley Farm.'

Sam only managed a grunted hello but then surprised Carrie with a wink, which almost made her breath catch in her throat. She suddenly wondered if she'd missed the farm, its people, and even the cows as much as she'd missed Huw. The end of their relationship had shattered so much of her life beyond just the two of them. All of it had had to be rebuilt and Matt had helped her do it, but she still felt she could never stake all she had on one person again.

‘I'll look after Bluebell now, boss,' said Sam.

Huw wiped his forehead with a mucky hand. ‘Thanks. You can get off home afterwards. You've been here long enough today.'

After Trish had loaded her gear into her Volvo and driven away, Carrie followed Huw out of the sheds and back into the yard. The fields were shining in the late afternoon sun, light reflecting off the wet grass and puddles.

‘Can we talk out here for a bit? I'd like to see the girls again,' she said.

Pleasure filled Huw's eyes. He looked tired and harassed, but then he often had. The farm was a big responsibility; Carrie didn't want to kid herself he'd been ground down by Fenella. That would have been too neat, and she wasn't sure she really cared anymore. As they stood by the gate to the field, she remembered Fenella's message. ‘I just caught Fenella on her way out…'

‘Shit.'

‘Huw. It's okay. We didn't start rolling around in the farmyard, scratching each other's eyes out.'

‘I wouldn't blame you if you did. She should have left half an hour ago. I expect she'll be hopping mad. Carrie, I'm really sorry about the way things happened.'

‘You've apologized before and it didn't work. It doesn't matter anymore. I came here to talk about the future like you asked me to. That's what I want to focus on now.'

The cows began to plod towards the gate, seeing familiar faces. ‘They're as nosy as ever,' said Carrie.

‘That's because they know you.'

‘Maybe.'

They leaned on the gate, watching the herd in silence for a time, before Huw said, ‘Fenella's gone to New York for a couple of weeks.'

‘She told me three,' said Carrie.

He frowned. ‘Oh. Yes, three. She's got some important meetings out there. Her business is doing well.'

Reaching over the bars of the gate, Carrie stroked Millicent's rough muzzle and was rewarded with a wet tongue around her fingers. She laughed. ‘Thanks a lot, Millie.'

‘You'd better come into the house and wash your hands,' said Huw. ‘Fen would be screaming for the disinfectant by now. Not that she doesn't like the cows; it's just not what she's been brought up with.'

‘You can hardly blame her, Huw. A farmer's life isn't for everyone.' Carrie couldn't believe she was defending Fenella, but she didn't want Huw to think she was implying he'd made the wrong choice. Which he had, of course, but…

‘It's certainly not Fen's cup of tea, but she's got her own plans. I don't expect I'll be seeing much of her over the next year, she's so busy.'

Carrie was desperate to ask if Fenella was pregnant, but she thought she had her answer already. And while Fenella had been harassed, she didn't look like a woman suffering from morning sickness.

‘Come up to the house. I need a drink,' said Huw.

He ushered her into the kitchen. The grate was empty even though it was a cool October evening. The kitchen table was almost invisible beneath piles of crockery, newspapers, letters, cat food tins, and Macavity himself, who was staring with interest at Carrie but couldn't be arsed to move.

‘Mac's put on weight,' she said.

‘He's an idle sod. The barns are overrun with bloody mice and Fen feeds him too many treats. Probably why he worships her.'

You traitor, she said silently to the cat. ‘Can we get this business sorted out?'

‘Of course. Mind if I have a beer?'

Reaching into the fridge, Huw took out a can of Guinness and one of 7 Up.

She smiled as he handed it to her, but he pulled an awkward face.

‘Sorry, I should have asked you what you wanted. We've got some Coke too, and some of that fancy herbal tea.'

‘I still like 7 Up. I haven't had a complete makeover,' she said. ‘I'm still the same person.'

‘Not quite, I think,' he said softly.

‘Cheers,' said Carrie, raising the can and smiling far more brightly than she felt.

For the next hour, the talk was of practicalities. The situation was complicated because Carrie's name wasn't on the deeds to the farm or the house—they'd never got round to it, one of the many assumptions they'd made about their relationship. Huw had spoken to the family solicitor, and they'd agreed that Carrie would have an equitable interest in the house and that Huw would buy her out. Packley Farm was worth a substantial sum, and her share, though not great, would be enough to put down a decent deposit on a flat or buy into the cottage with Rowena, who was now living in London most of the time.

‘What will Fenella think?' Carrie asked Huw, more curious than actually caring.

‘She'll do as I say,' said Huw grimly. ‘We'll arrange to see the solicitor together next week and get everything drawn up and finalized. Shall we have a proper drink on it?'

He fetched a bottle of malt, poured her a small one and a large one for himself, and clinked her glass.

‘To the future.'

‘Yes. The future,' said Carrie.

Was it the evening light in the farmhouse, or was his face a little redder?

‘Carrie. This is none of my business and you can tell me to piss off if you want, but I heard that you and Matt Landor had been off together in a caravan.'

Carrie smiled. ‘It wasn't a caravan. It was a VW camper van. A 1967 splitty with a Canterbury Pitt conversion, to be precise. She's called Dolly.'

His face was a picture of confusion. ‘It sounded like a caravan to me. Whatever, you and Matt together, for a month…'

‘Just over a month,' she said wickedly.

‘So are you two an item?' said Huw.

His face was hard to read. Was he asking out of curiosity, or was he jealous?

‘We're just friends,' she said, and it was true. They'd agreed to email each other when Matt got the chance. It seemed so little after they'd shared so much. She dug her nails into her palm, steeling herself to get back to the business in hand. ‘Huw, don't think I'm being rude, but can we get this finished? I've got an essay to write on Learning and Assessments.'

‘Oh, right. Your course. I never thought of you as a teacher—not that I don't think you can do it. I'm sure you'll be great…'

She enjoyed seeing him squirm. ‘Thanks.'

Later, they made their way through the discarded boots and farming journals to the door. As Carrie curled her fingers round the handle, Huw unexpectedly closed his hand around hers. His eyes were suspiciously bright, and for a moment she had a horrible feeling he was going to burst into tears. She had a lump in her throat, but she'd prepared herself for anything, especially to harden her heart in case he showed a glimmer of regret. How she'd longed for that at one time. How she'd dreamed of him asking her to come back to him. Yet now, as they stood together on the threshold of the farm, she felt only numb.

‘Carrie. If things had been different…'

‘But they
are
different. You chose a different person to share your life with and I've chosen a different way to live mine.'

‘Well, I'm still cut up about the way things turned out. I never meant to hurt you, and I'm so sorry.'

She removed his hand gently and opened the door.

‘Huw. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm not sorry. And by the way, while I remember, Fenella wanted me to tell you to hire that bloody cleaning woman from the village or she'll give you hell when she gets back.'

Carrie took a deep breath as she walked out of the washrooms of the village hall. Packley Drama Society was doing a production of
Oliver!
and this time she was in charge as director. It had been over a year since she'd said goodbye to Matt. Her life had changed beyond recognition in that year, but as Rowena would have said, the show had to go on.

A little boy tugged at her sleeve. ‘Miss Brownhill! Miss Brownhill!'

‘Daniel. Calm down. And you can call me Carrie out of school if you like. Everyone else does.' Daniel was one of the lads from her sixth grade class at the local high school, where she'd started her job as a teacher a few weeks before. He was also a talented little actor, which was why Carrie had given him the role of Oliver. Daniel was twisting his baker boy cap in his hands.

‘But Miss Brownhill. When I run away from the workhouse, should I actually kick Mr. Bumble in the shin or just pretend to?' he said.

‘Well, you could do a bit of both,' said Carrie. She didn't like Mr. Bumble very much and thought a small boy couldn't do him
too
much damage. Besides, she was the show's director; she could do what she liked.

As Daniel skipped off happily, Hayley popped up. ‘Carrie, we've got a problem with the costumes. The serving wenches' outfits are here but they're too small,' she wailed.

‘Boss, what do you want us to do with the scenery?'

‘Hold on, hold on, one person at a time! I'm a director, not a miracle worker. Let's take five and you can ask me anything you want to. But one at a time!' she shouted as the questions started again.

Later, after the dress rehearsal had finished, Carrie sat on the steps at the back of the hall, taking in deep breaths of chilly autumn air. She remembered the February night she'd stood outside the Starlight Theatre with Rowena. This time, the Starlight had been booked by another theatre company and they'd had to settle for the village hall, but that was the least of the contrasts between then and now. Back then, the rest of Carrie's life had been mapped out as Huw's wife and business partner. Now she was a newly qualified teacher. With her share of the farm business, she'd bought a stake in the cottage and was paying part of the mortgage. With Rowena away so much, it was as good as owning her own place.

She could hardly believe how far she'd come since the day she'd tried to crash Huw's wedding, but if she'd thought that letting Matt go would sort out her feelings for him, she'd been wrong. Every time she logged into her Facebook account, she couldn't help her stomach fluttering with anticipation, and she'd caught herself fantasizing about him more than once, even during a lesson.

She'd built up a picture of his life in Tuman from his emails and photos. She knew the names of some of his patients and colleagues from his messages and pictures. She'd seen pictures of the villagers in their canoes and outside their huts. Earlier that evening she'd had another email. One that had sent her pulse skyrocketing. She pulled it out of her jeans pocket and read it by the light of the hall windows, unable to believe what it said.

Hi Carrie,

Sorry I've not emailed for weeks. I caught something harmless (but not much fun) and this bloody Internet connection is hopeless a lot of the time.

How are you? You must have started school by now and I wanted to wish you luck. Or should that be the kids? Poor little buggers—having Miss Brownhill as a teacher. Only joking. I know you'll make one hell of a teacher. I only wish I could be in your class. I'd love to see you frowning at me disapprovingly over a pair of half-moon specs, preferably wearing a mortar board and a very short skirt. Oops. Don't know what got into me there. Must be the heat.

I'm going to be out of touch for a while because a few of us are going off to one of the outlying villages to set up an outreach clinic. It's a bit of a hike—well, a bit of a flight; the only way to get out there is by Cessna—but it will be worth it. The last time loads of villagers turned out to welcome us and I had to shake every single person's hand and stayed with a local family in their wooden house. They made me feel so welcome—even shot a wild pig in my honor. You never did that for me.

Sorry. Must go. Someone says the generator might pack up again and we've got more surgery to fit in before sundown.

Btw, I've got some leave so I might be home for a week or two at the end of this month.

Love

Matt x

Carefully she folded up the email and replaced it in her jeans pocket. Home. Matt was coming home. Only for a week, but… She couldn't believe she was going to see him again. She recalled the photo he'd attached to the message, showing him in scrubs with a stethoscope round his neck, just to prove he was a real doctor, he said. It was no good, she thought; when he came home, she'd have to tell him, no matter what the consequences. A year after she'd last seen him, she was no closer to being cured of loving him than she had been then.

***

A few days later, Carrie bounced into the village hall as if she was on springs. It was the final dress rehearsal for
Oliver!
and everyone in the cast was walking on hot coals, but Carrie felt high as a kite.

‘Evening, everyone!' she called.

‘You look happy,' said Hayley.

Carrie unwound her scarf with a flourish. ‘That's because this show is going to be a huge success.'

‘Do you really think so? Mr. Bumble has a bruised metatarsal and is refusing to work with young Daniel. The costumes still don't fit properly, and the man who lives next to the hall says can we keep the noise down or he's going to complain to the council,' said Hayley.

‘I'll talk to Mr. Bumble, we can manage with the costumes, and as for the neighbor, if he wants to complain, tell him he can answer to me.'

Hayley's eyes widened. ‘Wow. What's got into you?'

A
tall, dark, handsome doctor
. No, she couldn't say that. ‘Nothing. I'm just being assertive,' she said, then clapped her hands loudly. ‘Okay, guys. Let's go for it. Give me everything you've got. This
Oliver!
is going to be the best show we have ever done.'

She'd tried desperately hard not to get too excited by Matt's email—and failed miserably. Tonight, with the added adrenaline of the show pumping through her veins, she was fizzing like a shaken-up bottle of lemonade. The sparkle spilled over into the rest of the cast, and for once, everything ran like clockwork. In the interval, she was having a discussion with the musical director when Hayley bustled over, her bosom almost spilling out of her serving wench's bodice. Carrie made a mental note to ask the costume department to alter it before she had someone's eye out.

‘There's a guy in the kitchen. Says his name is Dr. Lancer or something,' Hayley said, jiggling about in an alarming way.

‘What?'

It was only the end of October. It couldn't possibly be Matt.

‘What does he look like?' Carrie asked, her mind whirling like a fairground waltzer.

Hayley shrugged. ‘Tall, dark hair, a bit scary I suppose, like a very good-looking Bill Sykes, if you know what I mean. I almost asked him if he'd take part in our model contest. We're looking for guys for next year's Sweet Nothings calendar, though to be honest, it's not really his face we're interested in. Carrie?'

Carrie flew into the kitchen to find Rob Landor standing by the tea urn, a strange combination if ever she'd seen one. He looked so out of place in his sober suit, surrounded by people in top hats, crinolines, and urchin outfits. She tried not to look as devastated as she felt; after all, Rob had only made the mistake of not being Matt.

‘Hello. What brings you here? Are you that desperate for a ticket?' she asked cheerfully as he kissed her.

‘Come over here and sit down,' he said, taking her arm. As soon as he touched her, she felt cold, as though someone had opened all the doors into the cold night.

‘It's Matt, isn't it?'

Rob nodded. ‘I'm afraid so. He's gone missing.'