‘You have no right to interfere like this.’
‘It’s for your own good,’ he said.
‘Like hell it is. It’s for Fenella and Huw’s good. You just don’t want me wrecking their perfect wedding day.’
He regarded her coldly. ‘True, but I also don’t want you making an even bigger fool of yourself.’
‘Then you’ve wasted your time, because I don’t care about making a fool of myself.’
Suddenly he stepped in front of the arrangement, like a bodyguard. Carrie jerked the hose, soaking his shoes. ‘Bloody hell.’
‘Well, I did warn you,’ said Carrie.
‘Look. I know you don’t care now, but tomorrow, believe me, you’ll care. You’ll care very much indeed. Now, why don’t you put down the hose and just go home. You’re obviously very distressed.’
‘Distressed? Me? Distressed? Oh no! I’m completely, deliriously happy. See, listen to me. Ha ha ha! That’s how over-the-fucking-moon I am that my fiancé chucked me before our wedding and then went and married the Evil Queen.’
‘Have you finished?’
‘I think so.’
‘Then why don’t you wipe your face? It’s wet.’ He pulled a handkerchief from his top pocket and held it out to her.
Carrie touched her face. It was wet but she didn’t remember shedding any tears. She couldn’t have been. And there was no way on the planet she was going to use one of Fenella’s vile lilac handkerchiefs.
She shook her head. ‘Keep back.’
A cloud crossed the sun and a gust of wind blew across the churchyard, whipping up confetti, dry leaves, and sweet wrappers.
‘You’re shivering, which is probably down to all the adrenaline. I’m going to call you a cab and make sure you get home,’ he said with infuriating calmness.
‘What for? A nice cup of hot sweet tea?’
‘I should think a stiff whisky might work better, but that depends what your poison is.’ He gestured to her miniskirt. ‘More clothing might help too. I’d give you my coat, but I need it.’
‘Well, hey, I might have dressed a tad more formally if I’d had time, but you see, I didn’t actually plan on attending this particular function. In fact I wasn’t aware it was taking place until about, oh, forty minutes ago when I overheard two of the guests discussing it in a pub toilet.’
His bushy eyebrows knitted together in concentration. She frowned. There was something very familiar about him but she couldn’t put her finger on it. With the hair and the beard he looked like Robinson bloody Crusoe.
‘Carrie!’
Twisting round, she saw Rowena clambering out of Nelson’s van, Nelson following behind.
A look of relief flooded the usher’s face. ‘There’re your friends. I think you ought to go with them,’ he said.
‘I’ve decided it’s not worth the effort,’ she said, dropping the hose as Rowena thudded up the path.
‘Good. Now I’ve got a wedding to get back to.’
As he turned his back, Carrie called after him, ‘And you can tell that cow Fenella you all look as campy as a whole field of tents!’
He’d gone by the time Rowena arrived, face red as a beetroot. ‘Carrie, I tried to tell you. I tried to stop you but we didn’t know where you’d gone. I’m really sorry you had to find out like that.’
Carrie’s glare froze Nelson in his tracks and Rowena held up her hand to him.
‘Carrie’s a bit overwrought right now, sweetie. Do you want to wait in the van? We’ll be along in a minute.’
Nelson trudged away. Carrie didn’t think she’d ever seen her friend look so worried, but she didn’t care, because all she could see was Rowena obsessing over the time in the pub garden, Hayley coming to check up on her in the toilets…
‘Are you okay? I’ll never forgive myself for this. This is exactly what we didn’t want to happen. I really—’
‘How long have you known?’ she demanded.
Rowena opened her mouth.
‘Don’t lie!’
‘Okay, I won’t. A few weeks.’
A few weeks? Her best friend had known about Huw and Fenella’s wedding for weeks and still hadn’t told her?
‘Hon, I was as horrified as you were when Hayley told me.’
Carrie was almost too stunned by this revelation to reply. ‘Hayley told you?’
‘It was Hayley who found out about the wedding. She goes to the same nail technician as Fenella.’
‘That bitch!’
‘That total bitch Fenella,’ repeated Rowena loyally. ‘The nail technician was gossiping about this big wedding she was doing and Hayley realized just who she was talking about but didn’t know what to do about it. She didn’t want you to be hurt, you see. And so we—Hayley and Nelson and me—decided to ask your mum and dad what they thought.’
‘You mean Mum and Dad knew about this too? You all knew that Huw was getting married again and you kept it from me. You lied to me for weeks, knowing what was happening. Why? Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Because of this, hon, because we were afraid of exactly this. We’ve been so worried about you,’ said Rowena, beginning to steer her in the direction of Nelson, who was waiting by the van. ‘I’m just glad we got here in time. I saw you talking to Matt Landor.’
‘Matt Landor? That—that ape was him?’
‘Yes. He was at uni with us.’
‘Oh God. So it was him.’
‘He definitely recognized you,’ said Rowena. ‘But what were you up to with the hose? You weren’t thinking of doing anything silly, were you?’ she said anxiously.
Carrie felt herself simmering again. Why did people think she was deranged? ‘What the hell do you mean, something silly? I’m not some bunny-boiling madwoman. I just wanted to see it for myself. Just see if it was true about Huw and… and her…’ she said.
Rowena didn’t seem convinced, but she touched Carrie’s arm and said, ‘Come on, I’ll take you home. Nelson, we’re going. Carrie?’
‘I suppose so,’ said Carrie reluctantly.
‘Your feet are getting wet. Shall I turn off the water?’
‘No. I’ll do it.’
‘Fine. We’ll wait for you in the van.’
As Rowena walked off, Carrie picked up the hose. She was halfway to the tap when the church bells began to ring, ding-dong, pealing out for Huw and bloody Fenella. They clanged as if they were reminding her of the injustice of what had happened.
It took a split second for her to decide. Gripping the hose with both hands, she aimed it like a gun right at the heart of the arrangement. Instantly the flowers exploded, petals flying through the air. The metal stand teetered and clattered to the ground.
‘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.
Chapter 8
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 short
s, 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 w
as 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.’
Chapter 9
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.
Carrie Goes Off the Map Page 5