Carrie Goes Off the Map (23 page)

Natasha left midafternoon. Carrie felt as if she was going stir-crazy. She'd cleaned the bathroom, stripped the beds, and washed and dried all the linen. The kitchen sink was sparkling and she'd even de-gunged the microwave, the most hated job in the cottage.
If
only
Matt
would
be
safe
, she bargained,
I'll lick the floors clean with my tongue and I'll never complain.

Rowena's eyes were like saucers when she saw the sitting room. ‘My God. Is this the same house?'

‘I had to do something,' said Carrie.

‘You must have been feeling suicidal to do all this. Any news?'

Carrie shook her head and, glasses of brandy in hand, they sat down with the TV on silent. Rowena pulled a sheaf of papers from her bag.

‘Do you mind reading through this script with me? I need to learn my lines by tomorrow.'

Carrie nodded. ‘No. It will give me something to do.'

Acting helped for a while, but halfway through a crucial scene between Rowena and the Cocky Hospital Porter, the doorbell rang again, setting Carrie's heart clanging. Rowena answered, and she heard Rob's voice in the hall.

‘It's bad news, isn't it?' she said as he walked in, grim faced.

‘It's not good. They've called off the search.'

The realization made her dizzy. ‘They can't…'

Rob held her in his arms. ‘Their resources are limited and I expect they've done their best. They can't keep looking forever. It's such a vast area and difficult terrain, thousands of square miles of jungle and mountains. Planes have been lost and never found. There was an accident a few months ago and a couple of the passengers survived, but that was an exception.'

‘You think he's dead, don't you?' she said, teary eyed, pushing him away.

He glanced at the screen, his lips pressed together.

‘Say something. Anything. Just don't tell me you think that.'

‘I don't know!' he shouted.

‘I'll make a drink,' said Rowena, edging out of the room.

‘Look, Carrie. I know you care about Matt, but I don't have all the answers,' Rob said, sitting next to her with his arm around her shoulders.

‘I know,' she said, more calmly, realizing there was no point in shouting at him. ‘I'm grateful for you being honest, but I—I guess I just don't want to hear the truth.'

Rob drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. ‘My God, I hope some woman weeps over me if I ever get lost in the bloody jungle,' he said bitterly. ‘Typical Matt. Doesn't know how bloody lucky he is. I'm envious of him, you know. Have been since we were little. He always knows what he wants and he gets it. I still don't know what I really want.' He smiled gently at her expression. ‘Carrie, you look amazed that I've made an admission like that.'

Carrie hesitated, then almost laughed at herself. What was the point in keeping Matt's secrets now he was gone? She smiled back and said, ‘No, I'm not shocked. You see, the thing is, if Matt was here—if he ever comes back—he'd kill me for telling you this, but he's envious of you.'

‘What? Of the money I earn, I expect?'

She shook her head. ‘Not the money. It was while we were away together, he said something about how, though he hated to admit it, you were brilliant at what you do.'

He stared at her. ‘And?'

‘And?'

‘Don't stop now, Carrie. I know Matt. He must have said more than that. God knows, he's got enough opinions for the rest of us put together. His view of me can't have been entirely rosy.'

She half wished she hadn't started. It wasn't her business, not even now that it didn't matter. She felt she was rushing in where angels feared to tread.

‘I suppose he thinks I drink too much,' said Rob.

She decided to rush in whatever the consequences. ‘Yes, he does, but he also said he'd never confront you about it because you'd love that and it would give you an excuse to call him a sanctimonious, do-gooding twat.'

His face registered shock and disbelief, but almost immediately he started laughing. Big, loud belly laughs that echoed round the cottage.

‘He's right,' said Carrie boldly. ‘You
do
drink too much, and he worries about you.'

He pulled his jacket from the chair. ‘Correction. He
worried
about me, and you're both absolutely right, of course. I do drink far too much and that's what I'm going to go home and do now. Drink myself into total oblivion, if at all possible. Good night. If I ever wake up and do hear anything, I'll phone you.'

‘That went well,' said Rowena, creeping into the lounge as Rob let himself out. Carrie was too shell-shocked to reply. She heard the roar of Rob's Porsche as he left. She didn't care that she'd upset him. She'd said what she thought was right and it hardly mattered now if she'd betrayed Matt's confidence. There was no point now in keeping secrets.

***

It was the middle of the night before she finally got out of bed and turned on her computer. Her Facebook page was waiting as usual, her inbox empty, even of junk mail. She started typing.

Dear Matt,

I don't know if you'll ever get to read this message. Probably not. If you do see it I'll regret it and if you don't… well, I can't even bear to think about that right now. So I'm going to pretend, for my sake, that you will read it and you'll laugh or be embarrassed or send me a jokey email back. Something really insulting, patronizing, and rude would do. Anything would do.

Remember what you said to me in bed at cheesy Hartland Manor? That stuff about me knowing how you felt about me. Well, I thought I knew how I felt about you back then. You see, Matt, I really liked you—that's wrong: I really wanted to have sex with you and I really liked you too. I don't like you anymore. Even fond is the wrong word. It's a horrible, meaningless word like you'd use to a pet or someone who has a crush on you but you don't really want to ever see again. Fond sounds old-fashioned, like something from the past that's dead and gone.

So if you still feel the same as you did a year ago, I want you to know that I can't bear to lose you. If you don't, I still can't bear to lose you.

Carrie x

PS I forgot to say it, didn't I?
I
love
you, Matt.

***

She didn't remember falling asleep. She only remembered curling up into a ball as the pain of losing Matt tore through her. She remembered crying until her eyes were raw and making extravagant promises to herself or any force that might exist on earth or elsewhere. She'd never be selfish again if Matt would come back; she'd happily dance at his wedding to Natasha or anyone on the planet if only he could be okay.

When she finally dozed, her dreams were violent and surreal. She dreamt she was falling out of a helicopter into the sea, where everyone could swim except her. Huw, Spike, and Fenella were floating serenely as she went under.

‘For God's sake, wake up. WAKE UP!'

Rowena was shaking her violently.

‘They've found Matt. He's on the news now! Quick.'

Half falling down the cottage stairs, Carrie raced into the sitting room and sank to her knees in front of the TV. Matt's face was on the screen. It was an old picture, one she'd seen on Facebook, showing him sitting in a canoe with a friend. The reporter was talking over some aerial shots of the jungle and mountains in Tuman.

‘British doctor Matt Landor and French pilot Tomas Montand arrived back at their medical base this morning after three days missing in the jungle of Tuman. An extensive search had only just been called off, but the authorities received a radio message from a remote village saying that the two men were safe. Their plane had suddenly lost power and hit trees as the pilot tried to land at a disused airstrip about forty kilometers from their destination. The director of the medical charity MF said it was miraculous that they survived the crash. The pilot is still in hospital at the base, but Dr. Landor, who walked away with only minor injuries, spoke to us about his ordeal earlier this morning.'

‘It's him!' shrieked Rowena.

‘Shhh!' Carrie didn't want to miss a single second. Then he was there in the flesh, sitting at a table flanked by officials. His arm was in a sling and his face was cut and he had days' worth of beard, but he looked
wonderful
.

‘If it wasn't for the villagers who found our plane and led us to their village, I almost certainly wouldn't be talking to you now,' he was saying. ‘It was pure chance that they came across us and took us back to their homes. Then they had a two-day walk to the nearest village with radio communications. We can't thank them enough.'

Flashes started going off. Matt blinked.

‘Dr. Landor? Will you be staying in Tuman?' asked a reporter.

Matt frowned. ‘Why wouldn't I be?'

‘You haven't been put off your work here by this ordeal?'

‘Of course not,' he said gruffly.

‘Idiot,' hissed Rowena.

‘How does your family feel?' another journalist was asking.

‘I should imagine they're very relieved—and thoroughly pissed off with me too,' he said drily.

There was laughter from the press corps, but one of the officials frowned.

‘Will there be an investigation into the crash? There seems to have been a spate of them in the past two years. Seven, isn't it?' a journalist asked.

‘That's it, I'm afraid,' an official interrupted. ‘If you want any further information…'

The screen cut back to the studio presenters and Carrie groaned. ‘Bugger! Is that all we're going to get?'

‘There'll probably be more later,' said Rowena. Her eyes were shining. ‘I have never been so happy in my entire life. I told you they'd find him. I knew they would.'

Carrie was still kneeling on the floor, unable to stand up. ‘But I didn't, and I never want to go through that again. Oh, there is some more.'

The screen showed Matt surrounded by people. One of them was a red-haired girl, who was kissing him.

‘There was great relief and joy among staff at the medical base as they welcomed home Dr. Matt Landor and pilot Tomas Montand, who have been missing in the jungle of Tuman for three days. One of Dr. Landor's colleagues, Dr. Shelly Cabot, said she was ecstatic to have him back safely,' said the reporter's voice. The screen showed Matt embracing the redhead, his hand stroking her hair tenderly.

The breath caught in Carrie's throat. She'd made a pact. She would never complain, never moan. She'd dance at his wedding—to
anyone
. She'd do anything if only he was found safe. She'd lied.

‘She's probably just a friend,' said Rowena helpfully.

‘I sent him an email…' said Carrie, as if she hadn't heard Rowena at all.

‘What email? When, hon?'

She put her head in her hands and groaned. ‘Last night. I told him how I felt. Everything. Now he'll know and it will all be for nothing.'

Rowena snorted. ‘Crap. What you need is—'

‘A good night's sleep?'

‘I was thinking of a bottle of bubbly. Then you can tell me exactly what you wrote to Matt.'

Carrie lay back on the sofa and closed her eyes, feeling like a steamroller had run over her. There was a pop from the kitchen. Rowena was chattering excitedly. ‘You know, I think I might suggest this story line to
HeartAche
. Only set in Scotland or somewhere closer with mountains and lots of trees. Maybe Epping Forest would do. Our budget's not that big.'

Carrie heaved a huge sigh of relief as the curtain dropped on the final performance of
Oliver!
Over the past five nights, lines had been forgotten, scenery had fallen over, and Bill Sykes's dog had flopped down and licked his balls just when he should have been savaging his owner. But on the whole, the show had been, if not a triumph, really very good indeed.

‘Miss Brownhill! Miss Brownhill!'

A small urchin was tugging her sleeve. ‘Yes, Daniel.'

‘Did you hear them clapping and cheering for me? And they booed Mr. Bumble. They were standing up. Did you see them?'

‘Yes. I saw them. You were brilliant, Daniel,' she said, but the Artful Dodger had already hauled him off to the dressing rooms.

Hayley, who had been playing the doomed Nancy, popped up beside her. ‘Was I okay? I didn't think I died very well tonight,' she said anxiously.

‘Dying's not easy, but you were brilliant. There wasn't a dry eye in the house,' Carrie reassured her.

‘See you in the bar then?'

‘You bet,' said Carrie, secretly longing to go home and collapse with a whisky. Her nerves were in shreds after the drama of the past week, real and made up. Rowena, who had made it to the last night, dashed across the stage and threw her arms around Carrie.

‘Hon! It was amazing. Well done!'

‘Was it really okay? You're not just saying that to be kind?'

‘Would I?'

‘Yes, you would,' said Carrie.

Rowena laughed. ‘I don't think you'll get nominated for an Olivier Award, but I don't think you'll be slated by the
Oxford
Mail
either. You all did brilliantly. Now relax and enjoy it.'

They made their way towards the bar. Kids were racing about, ripping off costumes and screaming at the tops of their voices. Add dozens of gushing mums and dads and the noise was deafening.

‘I'm glad you could make it. I wasn't sure you'd be able to get out of London,' Carrie said to Rowena.

‘I wouldn't have missed this for the world. I don't suppose Huw and Fenella are here?'

‘You must be joking! But Lola showed up for the first night with a few friends. She's just started her course at one of the colleges in Oxford.'

They grabbed paper cups of white wine from a table. ‘I had a good-luck card from Natasha, you know.'

Rowena blew out a breath. ‘Bloody hell. Not laced with arsenic, was it?'

Carrie gave a shrug. She would never share Natasha's confession with Rowena or anyone. Certainly not Matt, if she ever saw him again. She and Natasha were never going to be friends, but she had a new respect for her, a bond that only the two of them shared.

‘No arsenic. Just a message telling me to break a leg. She couldn't come to the play. She's on holiday in St. Lucia with Bryony,' she told Rowena.

Rowena sipped her wine, pulled a face and then said, ‘And have you heard from
him
?'

Carrie paused, her after-show euphoria gone. ‘I got an email,' she said.

‘And?'

She hesitated, her mouthful of wine tasting even worse than she'd expected. She could remember Matt's email word for word, mainly because it was so short. She was afraid she might burst into tears just repeating what he had said.

Carrie,

You might have heard all the fuss on the telly. Everyone was worrying for nothing—we were in safe hands with the villagers. Sorry, I have to go and do a debrief but I'll be in touch soon.

M x

‘He just said he'd contact me soon,' she said.

‘Well, that sounds… promising.'

‘Now you
are
being kind, Rowena.'

She didn't deny it this time. ‘Didn't he say anything else at all?'

Carrie shook her head, knowing that even in her most deluded moments she couldn't construe Matt's email as anything other than a polite dismissal. ‘Nothing. But there was enough between the lines to let me know I've made a fool of myself.'

‘Oh Carrie. Sometimes I hate blokes. I really do.'

‘But I thought you were happy with that ensemble guy from
Grease
?'

Rowena pulled a face. ‘He's great in bed, but out of it, he's obsessed with himself. We're not going to end up selling our wedding photos to
OK!
You know, sometimes I even miss Nelson.'

‘But not enough to get back with him.'

‘No. Nelson wants the whole commitment thing. Someone to trundle off into the sunset with, and he's found her, by the looks of it. He called me to say he's met someone else. I'm fine, Carrie. I'm not ready to settle down yet.'

‘Me neither,' Carrie said, pasting on a grin. ‘There's a whole world out there and it's full of men just waiting to be used and abused.'

‘You should definitely stick to directing, hon. That was so unconvincing you wouldn't even get a walk-on part in
HeartAche
.'

An hour later, the after-show party was winding down. People were shrugging into their coats and carrying home bunches of flowers and mementos of the show. A few stalwarts were gathering rubbish into bin bags. There was crashing and banging as scenery and props were packed away.

‘We'd better get our sleeves rolled up or we'll be here for hours,' said Rowena.

It was after midnight by the time everything and almost everyone had made their way out of the village hall. Rowena roared off towards the cottage, her little sports car groaning with leftover food and booze. Only a couple of the older members of the cast remained. The man who'd played Fagin—a postman called Garth—was checking all the windows were closed.

Carrie was ready to drop with exhaustion but she pasted on a smile. ‘Shall I stay and lock up?' she offered.

‘No. You get on home. You look done in,' said Garth.

‘I really ought to be last out,' she said, gritting her teeth.

‘Like Captain Smith going down with the
Titanic
? Get off with you,' laughed Hilary, the props mistress, jangling the hall keys. ‘Or we'll send Bill Sykes round to get you.'

Carrie nodded gratefully, hoisted her bag onto her shoulder, and picked up a box of scripts. Rowena would be waiting at home with a fire, a glass of whisky, and plenty of scurrilous gossip. The kind of evening they used to enjoy. It would be normal and ordinary and completely lacking in drama of any kind. It was, she told herself sternly, exactly the kind of evening she wanted and needed. Her arms full, she pushed open the outside door with her bottom and found herself falling headlong into the darkness.