Carrie Goes Off the Map (5 page)

‘Sod the pair of you. You're welcome to each other!'

Then, picking her way between the stems and blooms, she calmly turned off the tap and walked down the drive to Rowena, just as Huw and Fenella emerged from the church.

Matt, his mother, and his brother Rob were sitting round the dinner table at their family home the day after the wedding. Even after their father had died when Matt was fourteen and Rob barely seventeen, they'd kept up the family tradition of a proper Sunday lunch. Their father had been a stickler for family meals, and for their mum's sake, the boys had always tried to be there as often as they could. For the past year, Rob, with his busy schedule, had done his best to turn up, but Matt had been on the other side of the world. He felt guilty, so he gave his mother a smile as she handed him the vegetable tureen.

‘I hear there was some fuss at Fenella Harding's wedding yesterday,' she said, returning his smile in a faintly worried way.

A dark-haired girl in her early twenties brought in a tray with a plate of roast beef and a jug of steaming gravy. She was wearing shorts, a T-shirt, and an old-fashioned apron. Much to Matt's relief, the conversation stopped as she served their lunch.

‘Hello, Niki,' said Robert. The girl smiled, her eyes glinting.

‘Matt, this is Niki. She's been helping Mum with the house. Niki, this is my reprobate brother Matthew, but you can call him King Kong.'

‘Hi, Niki,' said Matt.

‘Hi.'

She wasted all of a nanosecond on him before turning her attention back to Robert. The look that flashed between them was almost imperceptible but enough to tell Matt that Rob was shagging her. He didn't blame him. Niki was cute and pretty, and a couple of years ago he might have seen it as a challenge to wrest her from Robert's clutches and shag her himself.

‘Thank you, Niki. When you've washed up, you can go home,' said his mother firmly. When the girl had gone, she turned to Matt. ‘So, what about the wedding? What happened?'

‘Some flowers got knocked over,' said Matt, ladling sprouts and carrots onto his plate. ‘It really was no big deal, Mum.'

‘Hmm. That's not what I heard. Marion Thompson telephoned me this morning. She was at the wedding. Did you know she's Fenella's godmother? She says that someone deliberately destroyed a very expensive flower arrangement. Marion was furious—the flower club had spent all morning on that arrangement and the roses had cost an absolute fortune. She says that Fenella thinks it might have been Huw's ex-girlfriend. Caroline somebody-or-other, isn't it?'

‘I've no idea,' said Matt evenly. ‘I expect it was just kids messing about.'

‘Really? Are you sure you didn't see her? Fenella thought she'd spotted her getting into some bizarre orange van as they came out of church. She must have been very upset when Huw left her for Fenella.'

‘Mum, I've been eight thousand miles away for the past year. I've no idea what's been going on in deepest Packley or who's left who.'

‘Whom, dear.'

‘Whatever. I didn't even know if I could go to the wedding until a few weeks ago.'

‘Hmm,' said his mother, reaching for the salt shaker.

In his mind, Matt saw Carrie again, her mass of chestnut hair trailing in the breeze, holding the hose like a deadly weapon. He allowed himself a secret smile. With her blood up like that, he wouldn't have liked to face her in the boxing ring. She might have flattened him, pint-sized as she was. Then he remembered the tears on her cheeks and he stopped smiling. Life stank sometimes and love didn't just hurt, it twisted the knife for good measure.

From the head of the table, Rob Landor started laughing. ‘That's my little brother. Always there when there's trouble. Matt, can't you go anywhere without getting involved in some kind of drama?'

‘I wasn't involved in a drama.'

‘Whoever did it—and I'm with dear old Marion on the crazed ex-girlfriend theory—was probably high on drugs,' said Rob.

‘Oh. Do you think she was? You don't think she's dangerous, do you?' said their mother.

Rob was grinning wickedly, clearly enjoying winding her up. Matt wished he was within kicking distance but instead said pleasantly, ‘Rob, you are completely full of shit.'

His mother rapped his hand with the serving spoon. ‘Do you mind not using words like that at the dinner table? Pass the roast potatoes, please.'

‘And the red wine,' said Robert. ‘Matt'll have orange squash.'

***

‘I'm glad you could make it,' said his mother, as they sat in the sitting room after lunch.

‘Would you like a glass of port?'

‘No thanks, Mum.'

‘Matt's gone teetotal,' said Robert, taking a glass and settling into their father's old chair.

‘That wouldn't do you any harm, Robert.' His mother raised her glass to Matt. ‘Well done, you.'

‘It's really been incredibly tough, but worth all the self-denial,' said Matt.

His mother narrowed her eyes. ‘Don't overdo it, Matthew. Now, tell me all about what you've been up to. I want to know everything about this accident. All I got was a phone message and some kind of nonsense from your brother. I know he wasn't giving me the full story.'

So here it was, thought Matt. He had no choice but to go through the whole thing again, but that didn't mean he had to go into the gory details. He sketched over the worst part of what had happened that night in Tuman as best he could, making light of his role in the events to spare his mother. When he'd finished she seemed satisfied, but Robert was watching him closely.

‘Oh, thank goodness for that,' said his mother, and Matt hoped she was satisfied. He was also hoping she wouldn't want him talking about misery and medical matters over the port and cheese, and would rather hear about the wedding.

Later, as Matt made coffee in the kitchen, Robert grabbed his arm. He was swaying slightly and his eyes were glazed.

‘How are you really then, Landor Minor, apart from the terminal hair?'

Matt was disappointed. His hair was tied back in a ponytail with an elastic band, just the way it had been for the wedding. He'd thought he looked pretty smart. He'd kept the beard; he often didn't have time to shave when he was working in Tuman and now felt naked without it.

‘I'm fine,' he said.

Robert raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? I heard you got into a spot of bother out there. You idiot, when are you going to settle down and get a proper job?'

As ever, his brother had moved on to his favorite theme. Matt used to get annoyed when Robert goaded him, launching into elaborate justifications of why he was working with a medical charity rather than climbing his way up the surgical ladder like Rob. While Robert had become one of the youngest orthopedic surgeons of his generation, Matt had ‘farted about royally,' as Rob put it. He'd followed up his five-year medical training with a year in a hospital, four years' GP training, and then a stint in tropical medicine. He'd finally found his niche and spent the past four years working in a variety of places for the charity, a jack-of-all-trades, according to Robert. He smiled to himself. You had to be, in his line of work, treating someone for TB or HIV one minute and carrying out a Caesarean the next. Via Africa, the Balkans, and the Far East, he'd now ended up in Tuman. He'd been shot at, had malaria, and once spent a night in prison after being mistakenly arrested by the military junta. Then there was his latest escapade in Tuman.

‘Any chance of you coming to your senses and coming back home to stay?' Robert said, opening cupboards. ‘Jesus, is there no decent whisky in this bloody place? I know damn well there's a bottle of Laphroaig in here somewhere. Mum keeps it for when her fancy man comes round.'

‘You've already drunk all Mum's sherry, wine, and port,' said Matt, spotting the whisky in full view on the worktop.

‘Yeah, and now I need a proper drink. You're a bloody fool, Matt, always getting involved. You should keep out of stuff that doesn't concern you.'

‘I'll do what I want,' growled Matt.

Robert glared at him. ‘Now don't get touchy. You can't blame me for worrying about you. I mean, rushing off like that in Tuman, trying to act the bloody hero. You might have been killed. As it is, I hear you've been sent home to lick your wounds.'

They were eye to eye now, squaring up.

‘I know all about it, you see,' Rob went on. ‘News travels fast in our world, which, despite what you think, is actually a very small one. I notice things, Matt. Always have. I know you fed Mum a load of bullshit back there. You were involved in that accident up to your neck. I know you pulled that guy out while the fucking Jeep was on fire. In fact, from what I hear, two more seconds and you'd have been toast. And it's shaken you up good and proper this time, hasn't it?'

Matt smiled, even though he was boiling inside. If he lashed out, Robert would have exactly what he wanted. Since they'd been boys, he'd always tried everything he could to provoke him, and Matt never really understood why.

‘You're misinformed, Rob. It was more like ten minutes before the Jeep exploded, and if I had been toast, you'd have been able to buy another new suit for my funeral.'

Robert shook his head, his eyes murderous. ‘You think I don't give a shit, do you? You think I'm a selfish bastard only out to make a million. Which I already have, by the way.' His eyes gleamed. ‘But you're wrong. I don't want to be left here picking up what's left of our mother when you get sent home in a coffin.'

‘Rob, stop worrying about me. I'm a big boy now and I can look after myself.'

‘I don't worry about you. Well, hoo-fucking-ray. Here's the whisky.'

Pulling out the stopper, Rob sloshed whisky into a glass, took a slug, and leaned back against the worktop with a sigh of satisfaction. Matt watched him.

‘Are you sleeping with Niki?'

‘Of course, among others. Unlike you, I actually have a life,' he said, topping up his glass.

Matt reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a business card. ‘How d'you know I haven't already got plans? Don't you think that after what's happened to me, I'm not going to make the most of every second back here?'

‘Who is she?'

Robert snatched the card from his hand, which was exactly what Matt wanted. This was a motivation he knew his brother would understand—unlike Matt's apparent lack of self-preservation instinct. His face cracked into a grin as he saw the name on the card.

‘You cunning git. Natasha Redmond. Whew. Saw her the other day in a club. Legs up to her arse and a rack like a porn star. Well, I hope she gives you plenty of therapy.'

Carrie woke up the morning after the wedding drenched in sweat. Seconds after opening her eyes, the memories rolled over her like a great wave, cold and gray.

She was lying in bed at her parents' house under her old Take That duvet cover, the one from when they'd been famous the first time round. That duvet had always hidden her when life got tough. She'd languished beneath it when she'd had glandular fever in high school and cried beneath it when she'd flunked her exams and thought she'd miss her place at university. That duvet had always represented comfort, safety, an ‘it'll be all right in the end' feeling. But not anymore.

The question of who had known about the wedding and for how long had paled into insignificance beside another mystery: exactly how long had Huw been involved with Fenella if he'd had time to organize a wedding just four months after he'd jilted Carrie?

Rowena had carried on denying all knowledge of anything beyond discovering that the ceremony had been taking place. She and Nelson had driven her not back to the cottage, but to her parents' house in Packley Heath. Carrie hadn't protested. By that stage she was slumped in the passenger seat like a road accident casualty.

Back home, she had vague memories of rushing up the stairs to her bedroom and shutting the door on her mum and Rowena. With the help of two sleeping tablets left over from the night Huw had dumped her, she'd finally fallen into unconsciousness. Now the bedroom door opened and her mother came in.

‘Carrie?'

She closed her eyes and lay back on the pillows, willing herself to pass out again.

‘I've brought you a cup of tea. Are you awake, love?'

‘No.'

There was a pause. ‘Okay. I'll leave your drink on the bedside table in case you wake up.'

‘Thanks.'

She could feel her mum standing there holding out the cup, even if she couldn't see her. Her mum left the door open, as Carrie knew she would. She'd never known if it was a hint or a habit left over from her teenage days, when the only way to get her arse to school had been to plug the radio in outside on the landing and play the Terry Wogan show at full volume. That had
always
worked.

This morning, back in the bedroom she hadn't slept in since her last university vacation, the smell of frying bacon was drifting upstairs from the kitchen and she was sure she could hear some crap sixties tune even now. It was just as if the last ten years hadn't happened. As if she'd never met Huw, never made a life with him, never agreed to marry him. Huw and Carrie, Carrie and Huw… almost from the moment when Huw had lumbered over to her at the freshman dance ten years before, the two of them had been inseparable. From then on it was one Christmas card, one invitation, one engagement card, of course. One of almost everything because slowly, without realizing it, she and Huw had almost become the same person.

But there would be no joint cards ever again and definitely no presents. They'd be lying abandoned in people's wardrobes or returned to Argos and John Lewis, not piled up on a table at Grantley Manor so everyone could see how popular she and Huw were.

Eventually she threw back the cover, realizing she must have fallen asleep again, because she didn't remember the curtains being open when her mum had last come in. This must be how Dracula felt at sunrise—except he had the power to consign his victims to the living dead with one bite.

‘You've let your tea get cold. Shall I make another?' Her mum was standing in the doorway of her room, having retrieved the mug, and trying not to sound the least bit exasperated but failing.

‘I don't know.'

‘I really think you should get up and come down and have some breakfast.'

‘You mean I should pull myself together.'

‘I mean you should put some proper clothes on and get up. Rowena's here. Do you know, she stayed until nearly midnight last night to make sure you were okay? And she phoned at half past six this morning. We thought someone had died.'

Half past six? Rowena was awake at half past six? Things must really be terminal. ‘I can't talk to her.'

‘Okay, don't, but it's no use lying around in here like a sack of potatoes, is it? You're going to have to face the world sometime, and your best friend must be a good place to start.'

‘I suppose I'd better come down,' said Carrie, pushing herself up the pillow. Gary Barlow stared back at her from the duvet, faded and stained with something purple that might have been vodka and Ribena. She used to sneak it upstairs when she was in high school.

‘I'd appreciate it if you did come down,' said her mum. ‘Dad and I want to go to IKEA for a new wardrobe and I don't really want to leave you on your own.'

So, even her parents thought she was deranged. ‘I'm not going to do something silly, you know,' she said.

‘I know that, Carrie,' said her mother, picking up the waste bin, which was overflowing with tissues. Carrie leaned back against the pillow and closed her eyes.

‘Is it okay to hate someone you once loved?' she said out loud.

But when she opened her eyes, her mother had gone.

When Carrie shuffled into the lounge, dressed in an old pair of jeans from her university days and her dad's old Marks and Spencer sweater, Rowena was sitting on the sofa, cradling a mug of coffee in one hand and a chocolate cookie in the other. Her eyes were like saucers as Carrie appeared.

‘Oh my God,' said Rowena.

‘That bad?'

‘You look terrible.'

‘I know.'

‘I tried calling you earlier but your mum said you were asleep. The girls at the amateur dramatics group have been phoning about you. Even Emily Macintyre has been asking. I am so sorry about what's happened.'

Carrie watched Rowena lick the chocolate off her cookie. ‘Are they laughing at me?' she asked.

‘No, of course they're not laughing at you! They all think Huw's a Grade A shit too.'

Carrie gave a little snort. She didn't believe Rowena for a moment. She knew at least two members of Packley Drama Society who'd have given a kidney to marry Huw Brigstocke, including Emily, who owned a stud farm and, appropriately, looked like a stallion.

Rowena's fingers hovered over the plate of biscuits on the table.

‘You're twitching,' said Carrie, unable to stop herself from smiling.

‘That's because I'm dying for a ciggie. It's either that or I eat the whole plate of these.'

‘Come on,' said Carrie, sliding open the patio doors to the garden. ‘Dad will stake you out on the lawn and feed you to the crows if he smells cigarette smoke in the house.'

Outside, the sun was quite strong, despite the breeze, and they could hardly move for tubs full of geraniums. They sat down on Carrie's mum's new teak patio furniture next to her dad's latest toy: a stone statue of a mermaid spitting into the pond.

Rowena lit up, took a drag, and sighed with something approaching ecstasy. ‘Matt Landor phoned,' she said at last.

‘What the hell for?'

‘He wanted to know how you were. Did you know he's a doctor?'

‘It explains his patronizing attitude,' Carrie said, feeling mutinous.

‘Well, you knew he was a medic at university,' said Rowena, flicking her ash over the geraniums. ‘He was nearly chucked out for sticking a skeleton on top of the bell tower.'

‘He was always pratting about. Huw thought the sun shone out of his bum.'

Carrie thought back, trying to picture Matt as a normal person rather than a Neanderthal. She felt herself smiling, but not because she'd found Matt Landor's antics funny. She remembered the event only because it was the morning after the night Huw had first told her he loved her. It was near the end of her first year. After he'd said the
L
word, they'd spent a glorious night making love and been woken by a noise outside her room. She could see Huw now, leaning out in his boxers, pointing and cheering and whooping. Matt and a couple of his mates were half naked outside their halls of residence, showing off a haul of traffic signs in a stolen supermarket trolley. It was obviously a rugby club prank and she'd suspected Huw was involved on the fringes somewhere, but he'd denied all knowledge of it… He had such a lovely bum. She'd reached forward and pinched it before he'd had a chance to put his trousers on.

‘The hair and beard threw me, and let's face it, I was hardly in the mood for polite conversation yesterday. He was a total nutter.'

‘Aren't all medics? Maybe he turned over a new leaf. He's been working abroad with a medical charity, apparently.' A smirk spread across Rowena's face.

‘What's so funny?'

‘There were some really filthy things written about him in the SU toilets.'

‘Were there? He always seemed a bit full of himself to me, though I know Huw liked him,' said Carrie, still basking in the glow of memories about her university days with Huw.

‘I wouldn't have kicked him out of bed,' said Rowena wistfully. ‘But I'm not so sure now. It's the beard. Nelson tried to grow one, but I had to put a stop to it. They tickle too much.'

‘That's too much information, Row.'

‘But you are smiling, hon, and that has to be good.'

Unfortunately, Rowena had just refocused Carrie's mind on the current situation. ‘Have you heard anything about
them
?' she said.

Rowena shifted in her seat. ‘Well, Hayley says that Huw's cousin told her they've gone to Mauritius for two weeks. Sounds crap. All those beaches, waving palms, and cocktails. Fancy sharing it with Miss Farty Pants.'

‘Serves him right,' said Carrie, but inside she felt cut in two. Huw and Fenella were in Mauritius. She hadn't been able to persuade Huw to leave the farm for more than a week, not even for a honeymoon, and even then he'd only agreed to Paris in case he needed to come back urgently. The fact that he had sacrificed two weeks away from his precious farm for Fenella hurt even more than the lifetime he'd promised her.

Rowena leaned back in her chair. ‘I wouldn't mind a fortnight in Mauritius. I've got a month or two before my course starts, but it's the cash that's the problem. I haven't got a couple of thousand to spare right now, not with giving up my job.'

Still trying to recover from the shock of Huw having agreed to a proper holiday, Carrie only caught the tail end of this. ‘You've given up your job?'

Rowena grinned broadly. ‘Yes. I was going to tell you all when we got back from shopping yesterday but I never got the chance, and then it didn't seem the right time, but yes, I am no longer an employee of Bartlett's Bank. I've had a bit of good luck. Well, bad luck really. Great-Auntie Madge—the one from Penrith—popped her clogs a few months ago and she's left me some cash. I always loved Auntie Madge. I was the only one of us kids who'd kiss her, even if she did have a moustache and smell of mothballs. She'd been to the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, you know…'

‘Wow. Rowena. You mean…'

‘Yup. I've signed up at drama school. I'm going to give it a proper go. I don't care if it all goes pear shaped. Well, aren't you going to say something?'

‘I'm gobsmacked. That's wonderful, Rowena. I'm really happy for you, it's fabulous.'

‘Then why are you crying?'

‘Because I'm a silly bugger. I'm so thrilled for you, Rowena. It's great news, and…'

Rowena leaned forward. ‘And? Spit it out, Carrie. We've known each other too long to have secrets.'

‘I'm thrilled for you.'

‘You've said that, babe. Any more gushing and your dad won't need the fountain.'

At one time all they'd talked about was getting a job in the theatre, but all that had evaporated when Carrie had moved onto the farm. It was a full-time job managing the Brigstocke empire, and her acting ambitions had become confined to the village drama society. Rowena had taken a ‘temporary' job with Bartlett's and was still there ten years later, a junior manager at the regional office. Their dreams had been put on the back burner and eventually boiled themselves dry. Or so she'd thought.

Because Rowena, bless her, had finally had the courage to go for her dream. Carrie felt guilty at feeling so… There was no other word for it. So bloody envious! She swallowed hard. They knew each other too well to lie.

‘You know what hurts the most?' she said, staring out over the garden. ‘It's all the time I've wasted.'

‘You haven't wasted time, hon.'

‘I have. I've wasted so much time, and what for?'

She thought of the decade she'd spent with Huw, ten years during which she'd been fiercely faithful, despite temptation and opportunity. Those years could have been spent doing what she'd wanted. While their other friends had split up, they'd stayed together. She'd honestly thought she and Huw would be different. How could she have deceived herself? How could any one person be enough for another?

‘I am happy for you, Rowena,' she said. ‘But I won't lie. I'm green with envy too.'

‘Don't be. I've only just got enough from Auntie Madge to fund the course. I'll be relying on the rent from you to help out, and I'll have to get a bar job or something as well.'

‘D'you know what I'd really like to do?' said Carrie.

‘Fly off to Mauritius and crash Huw's honeymoon?'

‘Wow… what a great idea.' Rowena's face was a picture. ‘Don't worry. I'm having you on, Row. There's no way I ever want to see Huw and Fenella again. They can go to hell for all I care. From now on I'm going to make the most of being young, free, and single. I'm going to make up for all the days I spent cooking him fry-ups, cleaning his sodding overalls, and sorting out his bloody VAT. She can do the lot now and I hope she enjoys it.'

Carrie felt a new fire stealing through her veins. She wasn't sure whether it was rage or sheer bloody-mindedness, but it felt so much better than the misery she'd endured for months that she didn't care. ‘When did you say your course starts?'