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?’
‘Middle of September. I was planning on drinking a lot of vodka and smoking a lot of cigarettes, but if you’re saying you’re up for an adventure…’
‘Oh, I’m up for it all right.’
‘Then we’d better start now.’
‘But how? Where? What with? We’re both broke.’
Rowena stubbed her cigarette out in the geraniums. ‘I think I’ve got an idea.’
Chapter 10
‘Well, it’s certainly an idea.’
Carrie stood with her hands on her hips outside the cottage, fighting a battle between laughter and disappointment. Parked at the curb was a vehicle that would have been more at home in Scooby Doo than Packley Village.
‘It’s very… interesting,’ she said, as the sun bounced off the bright orange paintwork. ‘Very… different.’
Rowena let out a giggle.
‘Right. I’m off. I knew you’d be like this. People who don’t understand always are. You either get it or you don’t, and you two don’t,’ said Nelson in disgust.
‘No. No, don’t get upset, sweetie. Not everyone has your discerning eye. It’s gorgeous. Really.’
Carrie stared at the windshield of the van, which was divided into two panes like the windows of a house. It was cool, in a surf-bum kind of way, but it was also tiny. How on earth would she and Rowena fit into that space? Her makeup would fill the storage cupboard on its own, and as for her shoes… Yet Nelson looked bereft, so she tried to look interested.
‘Is that… is that a splitty?’ she asked.
Nelson hesitated, unsure whether to stay or go. ‘Yeah,’ he grunted at last.
‘I wondered what it meant. It’s the windshield, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, but…’ he said, sliding back the door with great reverence, ‘this isn’t just any old splitty. This is a 1967 split-screen VW camper van with, I might add, the original Canterbury Pitt conversion. I had a right job persuading the bloke to let her go and she cost me a fortune. But she was worth it. Dolly is one of the finest vehicles of her type in the whole of the south of England.’
Dolly? Carrie couldn’t believe he’d given the van a name. She tried to ignore the fact that Dolly was worth a fortune.
&
nbsp; ‘Of course she’s a fine example. In fact, she’s a genuine babe,’ said Rowena, sidling up to Nelson and patting his bottom. Nelson ignored her, clearly far more taken with the charms of Dolly. He caressed her orange paintwork lovingly. Carrie thought he might actually lean forward and kiss her.
‘Why have you called it—sorry, her—Dolly?’
‘After Dolly Parton, of course,’ said Nelson, giving her a look as if she was mad to think there was any other Dolly in the world.
‘Of course.’
‘These old VW campers are very hip,’ cut in Rowena as Carrie stood there, still slightly gobsmacked by the form her adventure was going to take. ‘And the best thing of all is that Nelson’s insured it for us to go abroad.’
‘I must need my head examining,’ he said gloomily.
Carrie poked her head inside. ‘Where abroad?’ she said suspiciously.
‘Oh… Europe, I suppose. I thought we could go through the Channel Tunnel into France, on to Paris, Venice, maybe Rome. We can go anywhere we like, really. Just take off, no cares, no worries. Like Thelma and Louise. Or Cliff Richard in Summer Holiday.’
‘Cliff Richard buggered off in a London bus, not a lovingly restored vintage vehicle,’ said Nelson.
‘Okay. Like Thelma and Louise, then.’
He shook his head. ‘They drove off a cliff.’
‘But we won’t. We’ll have a fabulosa time, and if we’re very lucky we might meet our very own gigolo in the shape of Brad Pitt. I mean, you might meet Brad Pitt, Carrie.’ Rowena started to backpedal, seeing Nelson’s thunderous face. ‘I shall just take the opportunity to see the sights, learn the language, and try out the local cuisine.’
Carrie Goes Off the Map Page 6