Carrie Goes Off the Map (24 page)

‘Carrie? Are you all right? Carrie, speak to me, for God's sake.'

She was lying in a puddle in the parking lot, sheets of paper fluttering down around her ears. She couldn't speak, mainly because she couldn't breathe. Crazy things were happening to her insides. Kneeling above her was Matt. She turned her head to look at him, wondering if she'd knocked herself out falling down the steps or was having a feverish hallucination that she'd banged right into him as she'd backed out of the hall door.

‘Are you really here?' she said.

He smiled down at her. ‘I may look like the Phantom of the Opera in this coat, but yes, I am here. Are you okay? Can you get up?'

His breath misted the frosty air and evaporated, but as she reached out and touched his arm and felt the rough wool of his overcoat, the hard muscle underneath, she knew she wasn't dreaming.

‘You scared me to death. I thought you were a mugger,' she said as he helped her to sit up.

‘No. Not a mugger. Hey. Slowly now. Do you want me to check you over?'

Carrie swallowed hard. Did she want Matt to check her over? Did the sun rise every morning?

‘I-I think I'll be all right,' she said bravely. ‘But can you ask me again in a minute?'

Matt laughed as he helped her up. ‘Don't worry. I'll keep a close eye on you.'

On her feet, with his arm to steady her, she blinked at him. Over his T-shirt and jeans he was wearing a long black overcoat with a purple silk lining. His arm was still in a sling.

‘You look… different,' she said, when what she really meant was heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

He frowned down at himself. ‘This coat is a bit sinister. I borrowed it from the taxi driver who met me at the airport. Some guy had left it in his cab months ago and it was still in the boot. I think it's an old evening coat, but I was grateful. It's freezing here.'

She was dying to slip inside it and hold him. Then she remembered the TV picture of him tenderly embracing Dr. Shelly. She still wasn't sure. She had to be sure before she let go, finally, and gave him everything.

‘I heard you fractured your wrist. Does it hurt much?' she said, keeping a safe distance from the tempting shelter of his coat and all that lay underneath.

‘Not much,' he said, then glanced at the papers on the tarmac. ‘I guess I've missed the show, haven't I? I would have made it but my plane was delayed for three hours. I wanted to surprise you. Carrie…'

‘Yes?'

‘I got your email.'

Her heart looped the loop. ‘Oh.'

‘I presume you wrote it when you thought there was no danger of me seeing it?'

She nodded mutely, a whisper away from flinging herself into his arms.

‘Well, as things turned out, I did read it, and I thought to myself: would she still write an email like that if there
was
a danger of me seeing it? If I were suddenly to be resurrected, shall we say, would she change her mind about what she said and run a million miles?' He looked at her tenderly, reaching out his fingers to touch her face. ‘Carrie. Why do you think I'm here? I've come straight from Heathrow. I haven't even been to see my family. I wanted to see for myself how you feel about me. The last time we were together…'

She covered her face with her hands. ‘I was still raw. I still needed to find out what I wanted in life. Well, now I know what I'm missing. I know how much I've already missed and what I might have lost. Last year, it wouldn't have been fair to you—or me—to start another relationship, and you were going away for so long, maybe for good.'

‘What else was there to stay for?' he said gently.

‘Oh Matt. I should have told you how I felt—how
much
I felt for you—but I was terrified. I'd only just split from Huw, and the thought of getting involved with you so soon after… I'd been so hurt, I couldn't risk it again. I saw you on that news report with one of the other doctors, snogging her,' she added quietly.

‘Which doctor was that? I've snogged a lot of people lately. You should try being given up for dead. It's really great when you come back.'

‘But not much fun for those of us who are left behind!' she burst out.

Matt shook his head gently. ‘Carrie, if you mean Shelly, she's Tomas's fiancée. He's the pilot of the plane. I won't say I've been a monk while I've been away, but there's no one serious. Funnily enough, I didn't feel ready for settling down either.'

With his good arm, he pulled her towards him. She pushed her hands under his arms and around his back, hugging him as if she was never going to let him go.

‘How long are you here for?' she asked after he'd kissed her so hard, her lips were tingling.

‘A few weeks.'

She shook her head. He couldn't come back after all that had happened only to be snatched away again. ‘I don't think I can do this, Matt. All this meeting and saying goodbye again. I thought I was strong now, but I feel battered and bruised.'

‘Me too, my love. In every way. I've got to go back to Tuman to set up a training facility, but only for a month. After that, I'll be home again.'

‘For how long?' asked Carrie, unable to keep the anguish out of her voice any longer. She couldn't
possibly
lose him again.

‘For good.'

‘Really?'

‘Yes, Carrie.
Really
.'

She almost melted at the way he was looking at her—tenderly but slightly annoyed and so sexy she wanted to drag him off behind the bushes there and then. ‘I've been offered a job based at the charity's London HQ. I'll still have to do quite a bit of traveling—I'd be away sometimes—but maybe that's good. Maybe we shouldn't spend so much time together. Not for the first year anyway,' he said with a definite twinkle.

‘But will you be happy here?' she couldn't help asking, as he held her as tightly as a man could do with just one arm.

‘With you, you mean? Oh, I think I can manage as long as you keep persuading me.'

She shut her eyes as she kissed him again, wondering if, when she opened them, she'd be back in the real world. But no. He was still holding her, looking tall and gorgeous and smelling faintly—yes—of mothballs.

‘Can we get out of the cold? I'm freezing my nuts off,' he said.

Halfheartedly she gathered up the scattered papers and put the box in her car, while Matt called his mother and Rob to tell them he was safely home. When he'd finished, he turned to Carrie, staring at his phone.

‘Well, bugger me.'

‘What's the matter? It's not your mum, is it?' she said, wondering what had made him look so stunned.

‘No. It's Rob. He's not at home. He's taken himself off to a rehab clinic in Switzerland and says he'll see me when he sees me.'

She thought back to her conversation with Rob, wondering whether to tell Matt about it.

‘Well, that's good, isn't it?' she said, taking his hand.

‘It's a start. I just never thought he would do it, but I'm glad he has.'

‘You said you were cold. Shall I take you home?'

His face broke into a smile. ‘Later, but for now I've had a better idea.'

‘What?'

‘Wait and see.'

A few minutes later, he was standing behind her with his hand over her eyes as she jigged impatiently. In the distance she heard the rumble of an ancient diesel engine. She didn't even have to look to know what the sound was. Sure enough, there was Dolly in all her tangerine glory, turning into the parking lot. Nelson jumped down from the driver's seat as a vintage VW Beetle arrived close behind and parked next to the van.

‘You are joking,' Carrie said, starting to laugh.

Matt frowned. ‘No.'

Nelson handed him the keys. ‘Right. I want her back tomorrow night, and make sure you mind how you go on these roads. She's crap in the ice,' he warned. He got into the Beetle, his new girlfriend grinning behind the wheel.

Carrie stared at the van in disbelief. ‘But it's practically the middle of the night! It's November. It's freezing. We can't just go off in a camper van.'

Matt treated her to his best disapproving frown. ‘Why not? You love me, don't you?'

She wanted to cry again, but instead she told him face to face what she'd known for such a long time. ‘Yes, I love you.'

He held the keys out to her. ‘Then get in. I can't bloody drive, can I?'

She kissed his mouth softly and said, ‘Matt. What on earth made you think I would ever have let you?'

Order Phillipa Ashley's book

Just Say Yes

On sale now!

Read on for a sneak peek at

Available Now

From Sourcebooks Landmark

‘Well, are they
there
?'

‘Fiona, is the Pope Catholic? Of course they're here.'

The phone subsided into silence as Lucy Gibson did a left into the anonymous north London street. She could have sworn she heard actual cogs whirring in Fiona's mind before her mobile crackled into life again.

‘OK. This calls for guerilla tactics,' said Fiona as Lucy narrowly avoided a nun on a bicycle. ‘Have you got a paper bag in the car?'

‘I think there's an old Monsoon carrier bag in the boot. But I'm driving right now and besides, what should I do with it? Cut holes for eyes and wear it over my head? I think I've got my manicure set in the glove box and—'

‘Actually, I was thinking you could breathe into it to stop you from hyperventilating.'

‘I—am—not—hyperventilating!' said Lucy as the nun wobbled precariously along the gutter.

‘No. Of course not. Stupid of me to detect a slight hint of apprehension. I'll go away.'

‘Fi, I know you're trying to help. Stay on the line until I get to the flat. I'm nearly there now and—Oh. My. God.'

‘What?'

‘Fiona, there are
hundreds
of them.'

‘You mean actual hundreds or about seven?'

‘Ten. At least.'

There was another silence, but this time no cogs whirred, from which Lucy concluded that Fiona must think the situation was hopeless.

‘Lucy, are you sure you're OK? Chin up. Maybe this won't be as bad as you expect.'

Lucy suspected it more likely that Elvis was alive and well and working as a manicurist in Shepherd's Bush but she thought the better of telling Fiona because right now, her best friend appeared to be one of the few people on the planet who didn't want to cut out her heart with a rusty knife.

‘Maybe. Thanks for being here,' she said.

‘No problem, hon.'

As Lucy pulled into the space in front of her flat, she knew that Elvis was well and truly dead and that it was going to be at least as bad as she expected. A pack of long-range lenses and furry microphones all swung in her direction like the velociraptors in
Jurassic Park
. As she reached for the door handle, a thought struck her. She had another choice: she didn't
have
to get out of the car at all. She could head straight down the street and right out of London as far as a tank of unleaded would take her. If she wanted to, she could run away from all of this right now.

But she wouldn't run away because she was still convinced, despite what seven million people had said, that she hadn't done anything
wrong
and that, actually, she had done the
right
thing and one day, maybe when she was pushing up daisies or had been recycled into mulch, everyone (including Nick) would realize it and forgive her.

Before she could change her mind, she flicked the lock, took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

‘
Lucy!
'

‘Miss Gibson!'

‘Over here, love!'

‘Let's have a big smile for
The Sport
!'

‘Can you just give me a moment?' she asked, barely able to hear herself above the shouting and whir of camera drives.

‘Is it true you're in talks with Max Clifford?' shouted a man.

‘Er… no, I don't think so.'

A girl in a huge scarf thrust a microphone under her nose and Lucy had a horrible feeling she was going to sneeze. She hoped not; it always made her eyes water and she didn't want them to think she was crying.

‘Are you seeing someone else? Is that why you did it?' shrieked a woman in a pink beret.

‘There's no one else,' said Lucy, head down, making for the steps that led up to her flat.

‘Did you know Nick Laurentis has checked into rehab?'

Lucy ground to a halt in the middle of the pavement.

Nick was in
rehab
? Surely she hadn't driven him to drink and drugs in just one week? She knew he was terribly hurt, shattered even, but in therapy? It couldn't be true.

‘Your mum's said to be devastated by your decision, Lucy. How does that make you feel?'

Lucy was sure her mum definitely wouldn't have said anything of the sort, not in public, anyway. ‘No comment,' she said firmly, lifting her chin and focusing on her navy blue front door. The crowd gathered ahead of her, barring her way. ‘Can you let me get to my front door, please? I've got a hungry Siamese kitten in need of its dinner,' she said.

It wasn't quite true, but close enough. Fiona was coming round later with Hengist who was slightly larger than a kitten but always starving. Yet even that went against the grain. Lucy had A Thing about lying.

It wasn't that she was against it, per se, not if it was to spare someone's feelings or avoid a parking ticket. She just wasn't very good at it. While some people had fibbing down to a fine art, Lucy turned scarlet, got flustered and protested even more suspiciously than Lady Macbeth.

One of the reporters frantically scribbled in her notebook. ‘Is there one s or two in Siamese?'

‘Three,' said a photographer with a purple Mohican hairstyle. ‘Do you own this flat, then, Miss Gibson? How much is it worth? Did your boyfriend pay for it?'

‘He's not my boyfriend.'

‘Have you split up for good, then?' the pack bayed in unison and Lucy finally gave up.

‘Do you think it's because of your cellulite?'

‘Is that a Prada handbag or Primark?'

‘Miss Gibson, is it true that you've had sex with a warlock?'

‘Excuse me!' she declared, lowering her head and pushing people out of the way with her handbag (FCUK, actually, not that it was any of their business). As she reached the steps, there was a clatter followed by a shriek and then some scuffling.

‘Who left that bleedin' wheelie bin there?'

‘Mind my camera, you dickhead! That lens cost over a grand.'

She took her chance as the reporters scrambled over a pile of used nappies and takeaway tins spilling out of the bin. One guy was wiping something nasty from his hand and cursing. Racing up the steps, she shoved her key in the lock with shaking fingers. It jiggled a bit, clicked then opened. The dark and dingy hall that led to her flat looked like the opening to a magic cavern. Behind her, the press were still arguing and cursing around the bin. Excellent. Served them right.

‘Ha-ooof.'

The breath whooshed from her chest and the welcome mat rushed up to meet her face. Someone had moved the hedgehog boot scraper in front of the door.

‘Oh yes, there is a God!'

‘Quick! We'll make a bloody mint out of this one.'

‘Get off, you oaf! Don't you know who I am?'

A hairy hand, poking out of a black sleeve, reached down for hers and pulled her roughly to her feet. ‘Quick. Get in here.'

Then she was safe inside, her back to the door.

‘OK?'

‘Yes. Thanks,' she panted, brushing some dirt from her knees. When she looked up, her rescuer was smiling benignly down at her from behind his neat little goatee.

‘Charlie. Forgive me for asking, but why are you wearing a nun's habit?'

‘Oh—this. I'll explain later. Now, I need to lock my bike up before that pack of wolves nicks it.'

Suddenly, Lucy had an insane urge to giggle. She knew it must be nerves and adrenaline and the shock of having been chased into her flat and rescued by her neighbor, a six-foot-tall nun. She also knew that if she didn't laugh, she might cry because only a week ago, she'd been able to walk into her own front door without running the gauntlet. Just a few months ago, life had been normal but that was before a tall, dark, handsome stranger had chased her down the street with a bagel.

Order Phillipa Ashley's book

Just Say Yes

On sale now!