Carrie Goes Off the Map (22 page)

Carrie's stomach was swirling, her mouth tasted metallic, her legs were weak as water.

‘How long ago?' she stammered.

‘Over forty-eight hours. I got a call last night but I waited for an update from the medical charity before telling you. Apparently he set off in a light aircraft for some outpost,' said Rob.

‘In the Cessna. He said in his last email.'

‘Well, it seems the plane never arrived and no one could contact them on the radio, so the alarm was raised. The military have sent out a search-and-rescue aircraft from the capital but they've seen nothing so far.'

‘But they'll keep looking, surely?'

‘Oh yes. They'll keep looking,' said Rob, proceeding to tell her everything he knew, which was frustratingly little. Matt and the pilot had set off, they'd checked in halfway through the flight, and then—nothing. ‘The rescue team will carry on searching while there's a chance.'

She saw his Adam's apple bob and knew he was lying. ‘What about your mum?' she asked, thinking of what Mrs. Landor was going through. If it was anything like how Carrie herself felt, she must be suffering.

‘I don't think she believes it's really happened. She keeps asking me if the staff at the medical base are sure he got on the plane. I had to show her a photo of him boarding it before she'd believe me.'

‘But we have to keep hoping,' Carrie said, horrified at the desperation in her voice.

He smiled softly. ‘Yes. I suppose we do.'

She was vaguely aware of the cast and crew whispering round the tea urn.

‘Let me get you a cup of tea,' said Rob.

She shook her head. ‘No thanks, I need to get on with the show. Everyone's depending on me.'

‘Yes. Of course. Maybe you should keep busy.'

You're the doctor, she thought, shouldn't you be telling me what to do? Then she realized that he didn't know.

‘There'll probably be something on the news about it. It can't be long before the networks pick up the story, but I shouldn't take too much notice of what they say. I'll call you if I hear anything from the charity or the consulate out there.'

‘Is that a promise?'

‘Carrie. Whatever I hear, I promise I'll tell you. I'll wake you up in the middle of the night if I have to.'

‘You won't have to wake me,' she said firmly.

‘You can't stay awake forever.'

Carrie was sure she could. ‘Thanks for coming and telling me yourself. It would have been even worse if I'd heard it on the TV,' she said.

She walked with Rob to the back door of the village hall and saw him to his car, hardly knowing how she was going to carry on with the second half of the show. Or the rest of the night, the next few days… and beyond. She shuddered with cold and fear as she watched his car turn into the street, the powerful engine shattering the quiet of the village. Frost was sparkling on the pavement, the sky was peppered with stars and she felt very, very alone. She was so close to giving in, letting the catch in her throat turn into a sob that would open the floodgates, but there were dozens of people waiting for her to go back in and tell them what to do, where to stand, when to move.

In the hall, one or two people asked her if she was okay, but she shrugged off the sympathy and just said she'd had some bad news about an old friend but she'd be fine. But Hayley was hovering so anxiously that Carrie decided to tell her that Matt was missing and that Rob had come to give her the news.

‘You should go home. You look awful. I could take over for tonight. I know it's not the same, but you don't have to do that stupid “the show must go on” thing. The cast wouldn't expect you to stay for them after what you've just heard,' said Hayley, showing a surprisingly practical side.

‘I'm not staying for them. I'm staying for me,' said Carrie, touched.

‘Well, do you want me to call Rowena?'

She lifted her chin. ‘Rob already has, thanks. Now come on. Let's get through this second half. I'm seriously thinking of sacking Bill Sykes and giving the role to his bulldog.'

***

Rowena was getting out of a taxi at the cottage as Carrie arrived home, well after midnight.

‘Is there any news?' she asked through a bear hug.

‘No more than you already know,' said Carrie, hoping she wouldn't blubber on Rowena's new jacket.

Rowena pulled a bottle of brandy from her bag. ‘I bought this for medicinal purposes. Got it from the Bargain Booze store opposite the station,' she said proudly.

At 3:00 a.m., they were both still wide awake, flicking between the news channels.

‘You'll have to go to sleep sometime, Carrie. You've got school in the morning.'

‘I'm not going to school.'

Rowena turned insistent. ‘Yes you are, madam.'

‘No. I'm not. It's an INSET day.'

‘What the hell's that?'

‘A training day, except we do the training in the evenings so we get the day off with the kids.'

‘You part-timers make me sick. I pay your salary, you know, and you just keep having time off. All those holidays…' said Rowena, attempting a joke.

Carrie hardly heard her. She was on Planet Worst-Case Scenario, imagining Matt lying in the wreckage of the plane, in pain, unconscious or worse. She thought back to the first of their many rows in the camper van and longed to be able to have a row with him now. She'd walk over hot coals to see him again, even at his patronizing and infuriating best. Her voice came out as a whisper.

‘Rowena…'

‘Yes?'

‘I love Matt.'

Putting down her brandy glass, Rowena crossed to Carrie's chair and held out her arms. ‘Honey, I think I've worked that one out.'

***

It was almost light when she woke, cold and stiff on the tiny sofa, covered with a coat. Rowena was sitting watching TV with the sound turned down, halfway through a packet of chocolate cookies. After a few bleary moments, Carrie realized where she was.

‘Has Rob phoned? Is there any more news? Why did you let me fall asleep?' she asked.

Rowena was channel-surfing. ‘First, I didn't let you fall asleep. You were knackered. And no, there haven't been any calls. I'd have woken you up if there had been. There's been a report on Sky saying that a British doctor and a French pilot are missing, but they didn't give any names. I suppose there's a protocol about these things.'

Carrie sank back on the sofa. Surely the old proverb was true? No news had to be good news. ‘I suppose you're right. Of course. Shouldn't you be back at the studio, Rowena?'

Rowena brushed crumbs off her lap. ‘I have to be in makeup by twelve, so I'll leave for the station soon, but I'll make you some breakfast first.'

‘I don't think I can eat anything.'

‘Honey. Calm down. When Matt gets back he won't want to come home and find you've wasted away, will he?'

Rowena left, promising to come home again as soon as she could get away from the studio. Carrie's imagination was in overdrive, veering between desperation for the phone to ring and dread that it might. The only thing she could bear to do, bizarrely, was the laundry. By midmorning, the once-overflowing basket was empty and the tumble dryer was ready to explode. The monotony of the whole process gave her a feeling of comfort and control and she began to feel almost optimistic. Even now, she thought, Matt might be in some military base, bruised and battered but safe, joking about having used up the last of his nine lives, smiling and picking up the phone to her…

She nearly dropped the iron when the doorbell rang, and flew into the hall, her heart hammering away like a road drill.

A figure was half slumped in the porch and Carrie realized it was Natasha. She had dark circles under her eyes and her nose was puffy and raw, from crying presumably.

Aghast, Carrie helped her up. ‘Are you all right?'

‘Do I look all right, darling? I've been ringing this bell for about ten minutes but no one answered.'

‘Sorry, I've had the washing machine on.'

‘How terribly domestic. Are you going to let me in?' She wrinkled her nose. ‘What's that terrible burning smell?'

Carrie let out a shriek. ‘Oh bugger! It must be the iron!'

Her favorite T-shirt had a neat iron-shaped burn on the front. She threw it in the basket and went back into the sitting room.

‘Distraction technique?' said Natasha, eyeing the piles of neatly folded clothes on the sofa and chairs.

‘Something like that,' said Carrie.

‘And is it working, darling?'

‘Not really.'

Natasha perched on the sofa with a sigh. ‘I should be at work but I threw a sickie. I expect Fenella will think I've got a hangover or something, but I don't give a toss. Bryony can cover for me.'

‘Do you want some coffee?' asked Carrie, not knowing what else to say.

Natasha pulled a face. ‘Yuck. No. I've had gallons of the stuff. Have you heard any more news?'

Carrie shook her head. ‘Not since Rob phoned me yesterday. Have you?'

Natasha kicked off her shoes, tucked her knees up, and started hugging a cushion. Carrie's heart sank. She wasn't sure she could cope with Natasha's anxiety on top of her own. She wished she could get back to the ironing, then realized there was nothing left in the basket. ‘Are you sure you don't want something to drink or eat?' she tried again.

‘Absolutely. Do you mind very much if I stay for a while? I was going mad in my flat and I tried going shopping but didn't want to be away from the TV in case something happened. I can't stop thinking about him, dear Matt.' Natasha gave a huge sniff and Carrie handed over a box of tissues, pulling one out for herself just in case.

‘Me neither,' admitted Carrie. ‘I keep thinking that he'll walk in through the door, wondering why we're sitting here together like this.'

‘I keep thinking of him lying mangled in the wreckage of the plane in that awful jungle,' wailed Natasha.

‘Don't say that. You don't know he's dead or even hurt,' said Carrie, knowing it was the exact thing that filled her own mind.

‘Oh, be realistic. Of course he's dead. Planes go down over there all the time. Apparently, Rob said, there have been six accidents in the past eighteen months. The airstrips are just dirt tracks or mud baths and those light aircraft look totally decrepit.'

‘Natasha. Stop it. Please.'

‘Darling, I'm only preparing myself for the worst. I warned you not to get involved with Matt. I said you'd get hurt, but you wouldn't listen. You said you didn't care about him but I saw how you were together. No one could spend all their time with Matt and not fall in love with him.'

‘But
you
haven't. You said so,' said Carrie, feeling angry.

‘Haven't I? You're wrong, darling. Of course I'm in love with him. I have been since we were at school.'

After the past year, Carrie didn't think that anything could take her by surprise anymore, but Natasha had just managed it. Even though she'd suspected that Natasha's feelings ran deeper, had almost sensed her desperation on the yacht, she hadn't expected this. Not the
L
word. Not so bluntly. She hadn't been able to disguise her shock and now Natasha was shaking her head.

‘Don't look so amazed! You must have realized,' said Natasha, bright but very brittle. ‘I could see how Matt felt about you, darling. Do you remember last summer when we all bumped into each other at the Trout?'

Carrie thought back to the sunlit evening when they'd shared a drink in the pub garden. It seemed like a scene from a movie, it was so long ago and far away, but seeing Natasha brought it to life again in vivid color and detail.

‘I remember.'

‘Of course you do. How could you not? Matt couldn't keep his eyes off you. He kept staring at you when he thought no one was looking. My God, he even ran after you with a handbag.' Carrie thought back to Matt, tall, dark, gorgeous, and mortified at holding out her tiny bag. Her heart lurched with a maelstrom of emotions: longing, lust, agony, love.

Natasha laughed bitterly. ‘He defended you all through dinner that night, you know, when we were talking about Huw marrying Fenella. He wouldn't hear a word against you, darling.'

There was no point denying her feelings now. ‘I never asked for it to happen. I really didn't. I was horrified when I found out he was coming on holiday with me,' she said in a voice she thought was calm, but just came out small.

Natasha smiled. ‘The gods love to throw their little obstacles in our way, don't they? Just to keep us on our toes. It was obvious to me that he was mad about you, darling, and…' She paused. ‘You were in an absolute puddle of drool for him.'

‘But I didn't know how you felt. I really thought you'd met someone else. Matt said you'd started seeing a guy from work,' said Carrie, thinking back to her conversation with Matt outside Hartland Manor and the look of relief on his face as he'd told her he'd ended things with Natasha. She closed her eyes briefly, feeling guilty and terribly sad for Natasha.

‘I told him that story,' said Natasha. ‘There
is
a guy at work. Several, in fact. You see, Carrie, I'll never be on my own, but as for leaving Matt for one of them…' She gave a little laugh that left Carrie feeling weighed down with despair; hers and Natasha's. ‘No one will ever come close. I tried on the yacht, you know. One last-ditch attempt to keep him with me…'

This was horrible. Carrie couldn't hold out any longer as Natasha plowed on with her confession. She didn't want to hear it yet she owed it to Natasha to listen, now more than ever.

‘On the
Prospero
, I knew that it was all over between us—not that there ever had been anything on Matt's side. You see, I don't think he suspected how I really felt about him. He'd have run a mile if he'd thought I wanted more; he'd never lead a woman on, not intentionally.'

‘I know. I'm the last person on earth I thought he'd… he'd be interested in,' said Carrie, stopping just in time, a whisper from revealing Matt's true feelings for her.

‘How ironic that I knew before you, darling. I could see that he was in love with you, and yet with me he was so nice, so polite, and so… so bloody far away. Disappearing off over the horizon, even then. So I decided to just let go. Give up.'

Horrified, Carrie saw the tears sliding down Natasha's face. Her mascara was running. She couldn't bear it.

‘Please, Natasha, don't. If I start crying, I'll never stop,' she said quietly, feeling helpless to comfort her. Anyone else—Rowena, Hayley, even Nelson—she might have hugged, but she knew that Natasha would have shrunk away.

Natasha dug a tiny hanky out of her bag and dabbed her eyes. ‘I warned you not to fall in love with him. I learned long ago that you rarely get what you want—and who you want—in life. You have to settle for what you can,' she said.

‘I don't know what I'll do if he's dead,' said Carrie quietly.

‘I know, darling, but you'll have to get over it, the way you have over Huw. We'll both survive somehow.' She stopped and patted Carrie's arm. ‘What else can we do?'