Carrie Goes Off the Map (14 page)

He was aware he was playing with the shot glass and desperately wanting another drink. Also wishing he had a cigarette and wishing he didn't want one so much.

‘I was on my way back from one of the villages in a Jeep and we hit some debris. A stump or a log, I don't know what happened exactly,' he told her. ‘The next thing I knew we were off the track, not that there was much of one. There was an almighty crash…'

Then shrieking or screaming. Of birds or people he was no longer certain. When his colleagues had arrived from the medical center, they said he'd been knocked out. He wasn't sure, though as soon as the Jeep had hit the tree, he knew he'd broken his nose. He must have smashed it against the windshield, because there had been blood on the glass.

The one thing he'd never forget was the smell of petrol. It had made him retch. Then he'd known he'd had to get out. The instinct to run had been more powerful than he could ever have imagined. His heart had literally been trying to punch its way out of his chest as he'd forced open the door of the Jeep, the stench of fuel in his nose, knowing that it could go up at any moment. He'd fallen onto the ground, dazed but aware enough to know he had to get away from the vehicle.

He would have run, he was sure of it, but then he'd heard a groan next to him and realized that he couldn't get away because Aidan, his colleague, was still trapped in the Jeep.

‘I didn't know what to do,' he said. ‘You see, I was fucked either way, or rather Aidan was fucked. My God…'

He thrust both hands through his hair, feeling the sweat on his palms, his heart pounding, and the agony of the decision he'd had to make in a few seconds.

‘Matt?'

At Carrie's prompt, he forced himself to carry on speaking. ‘I knew that he probably had some kind of spinal injury and if I moved him I could be making it worse. I knew that if I pulled him out like that with my bare hands he could end up paraplegic, but I had no choice. It was that or let him burn.'

He stopped, seeing the scene again, hearing the sounds, smelling the fuel, and remembering his own terror and confusion as he'd weighed up the options. No one was coming to rescue them, not for hours maybe. It was his call. His decision. His error of judgment, and Aidan had to live with the consequences.

‘I had no choice,' he repeated as Carrie listened, hugging her knees to her chest. The first person he'd ever told. Ever really talked to about how he felt.

‘So you pulled him out.'

He couldn't look at her; he looked out of the window and against the night saw only his own reflection—and hers, white faced, opposite.

‘I managed to crawl to the other door. It was already open but I still had to drag him out. Do you know the only way I could do it? I told myself that he was just a great big bastard; a wing forward I had to tackle to win a rugby match. If I got him out, I'd have helped England beat Australia in the World Cup final. All I had to do was stop him from reaching the line and scoring a try. How bizarre is that?' he said, shaking his head at himself.

‘Not bizarre at all. Who knows the way our minds work when… when we're pushed to the limit,' she said.

You
mean
when
you
flipped
at
the
church,
he was thinking.
Carrie, it's not the same thing…
but he said nothing. Didn't want to hurt her.

‘Then what happened?' she said softly.

‘I dragged him out of the Jeep and away from the wreckage until I blacked out. Totally fucking stupid thing to do, of course, but I was out of my head,' he said. ‘Adey could have had all kinds of internal injuries but I didn't have time to think. I wasn't thinking at all. I don't think I was even on the planet.'

‘But you got him out,' she said.

‘What?' he said, hardly hearing her now as the guilt overwhelmed him. She was going to want to know what happened next.

‘You pulled this Aidan—your mate—out. You saved him…'

It was then he knew he'd said far too much.
Way
too much. It was the first time he'd spoken about it properly since he'd got back. It had been more unpleasant than he'd thought. All that bollocks they told you about baring your soul being therapeutic. He must remember never to tell a patient that talking helped—or to become a better liar.

‘The Jeep went up like a rocket; not, I have to admit, seconds after I'd got Aidan out, though that would make a better story. It must have been a good few minutes later, because the noise woke me up. I'm not sure what happened, to be honest, but I managed to find the radio in a bush and eventually the cavalry arrived from the base. It was them who saved Aidan, not me.'

‘And is he okay?'

‘He's in a wheelchair. Unlike me, he won't be going back to Tuman or playing rugby again, and that's my fault. I probably caused the paralysis getting him out.'

‘Surely you can't know that for certain. I'm not a doctor, but you—'

‘Had no choice? Carrie, I've heard all that from my colleagues. Maybe I didn't have a choice, but it will never stop me from blaming myself.'

She said nothing, just hugged herself tighter, and his heart went out to her. She was like a little girl, overwhelmed by what she'd just heard and, like most people, at a loss about how to respond. But then she surprised him.

‘What about you?' she asked.

‘Me? Oh, just this,' he said, touching his nose. ‘Plus a couple of cracked ribs. Serves me right for trashing a Jeep and Aidan in one go. Two for the price of one, eh?' He laughed at himself to avoid telling her about his other—ha!—injuries. That he was not quite himself afterwards and had to be persuaded to come home after he'd lost it during one of the clinics they were running. He'd been about to stitch someone up after a minor op when suddenly he'd smelled burning. That smell, sickly, acrid, of burning metal and rubber had made him gag. He could no longer see his patient, let alone focus on what he'd been doing. All he could see was Aidan lying in the Jeep, the flames as the whole thing exploded. His hands had started shaking so much he'd had to hand over to his colleague. Then Shelly had turned up to find him sitting in the office with his head in his hands. It turned out that some of the kids had lit a fire in the clearing and thrown an old tire on it, but it had been enough to earn him a ticket home to England.

Matt knew that even a moderate head injury could make you act out of character, could affect your emotions and perceptions for weeks and months afterwards. But the scans had shown nothing sinister and he was self-aware enough to know that blaming a bump on the head was easier than admitting he'd been shaken up and that he'd felt guilty.

‘I was driving too fast, I wasn't paying attention. No wonder we went off the road,' he said out loud.

He and Aidan had been up all night attending a difficult birth in the outlying village, but being tired wasn't an excuse. His colleagues had told him he'd been tired; he wasn't to blame. But they weren't the ones who'd crashed the Jeep.

‘You're very hard on yourself, Matt. I'm sure it wasn't your fault. It could have happened to anyone,' Carrie was saying.

Okay, thought Matt, she was trying very hard to be kind now. She was speaking in a soft voice, because she felt sorry for him and wasn't quite sure what to say. Inside he felt angry, embarrassed, and very much like lashing out at someone. He felt like saying: ‘Stick to the acting. Leave the sympathy and understanding to me. I'm a professional at it, remember, and so much better than you.'

But he couldn't bear the thought of seeing her face crumpling like a little girl's, so he leaned forward and kissed her very gently on the forehead. Then he got up and headed outside before he said something he'd really regret.

‘Would you like to drive?' said Matt as they packed up the next morning. ‘You might feel safer, considering.'

She tried not to rise to the bait. Neither of them had mentioned the night before, neither the vodka-fueled confessional nor the kiss. She'd felt the kiss was the equivalent of a pat on the head: a signal to back off from his personal life. She'd felt dismissed, gently but firmly.

‘Actually, I've got a bit of a headache. Maybe you should drive. You haven't got any Tylenol, by the way?'

‘Sorry. No. Try a cup of coffee. If it gets really bad, I'll stop at a pharmacy.'

‘You are such a caring person, Dr. Landor.'

Ignoring her, he pulled the map from the dashboard and opened it, frowning.

‘Where are we going?'

‘I thought St. Ives?'

She shrugged. ‘Sounds as good a place as any.'

They ended up at a site just outside the town. Matt claimed he'd stayed there when he was in his last year at high school. They headed down the steep streets into the town center, splitting up so that Matt could visit the Tate Gallery. Carrie was longing to go there too, but she was longing for some time on her own even more. Making an excuse, she wandered round the surf boutiques, window-shopping. She wouldn't have admitted it to Matt, but money was becoming an issue. She'd be starting her teaching course soon and she needed to talk to Huw and sort out their finances, but the thought of seeing Fenella, her bump maybe showing by now, didn't appeal.

When she reached the Tate again, Matt was outside, chatting to a tall, dark-haired girl in jeans and a T-shirt so ostentatiously free of patterns and logos, Carrie knew they'd cost a fortune. He was whispering something to her and she turned round sharply.

‘Hello, Natasha,' said Carrie. ‘This is a surprise.' She could have kicked herself. She hadn't meant the words to sound sarcastic.

‘Isn't it?' trilled Natasha.

‘Not really,' said Robert Landor, emerging from a nearby newsagent with a packet of cigarettes. ‘Seeing as Matt knew we were here.'

‘I didn't know until yesterday,' said Matt evenly.

So the text Matt had received on the beach the day before wasn't from Nurse Bryan or Stewart; it was from Natasha or Rob.

‘Does it really matter? I'm sure he meant to tell you,' said Natasha.

Carrie squashed down the unlikely but horrible thought that Natasha and Rob might want to share Dolly with her and Matt. ‘Where are you staying?' she said, mentally crossing her fingers.

‘Not in a bloody camper van, that's for sure. Bryony's godmother has a gin palace down at the marina. We're staying on that,' said Rob.

‘That sounds very luxurious. Cozy too. Is Bryony here too?' said Carrie, generous now she knew there was no chance of them sharing the van.

‘Fenella wouldn't let her have time off, the evil witch.' Natasha's hand flew to her mouth, then she lowered her voice. ‘I am so sorry. I'm sure you never want to hear her name again.'

‘It's fine,' said Carrie, gritting her teeth. Matt's face was impassive.

‘Of course. Anyway, you asked me about the yacht. Frankly, it's dreadful. Really vulgar, all white leather and gold taps. You must come and see it,' she said, stroking Matt's arm as if he were a small furry animal.

Rob gave a sigh. ‘Yes, you simply must, but for God's sake let's get something to eat first. I'm starving. Is there anywhere in this place that doesn't serve bloody meat pies?'

Surprisingly there was, and the four of them were soon sitting in a restaurant overlooking the harbor.

‘That was rather good, considering,' said Natasha with a sigh, wiping a tiny trace of raspberry coulis from her mouth with a table napkin. ‘You know, I think I saw this place mentioned in the
Sunday
Times
Style. A.A. Gill gave it four stars so I thought it would be heaving with men in patterned sweaters, all outraged by the size of the portions.'

‘The portions were outrageous. I might have to suggest we stop for fish and chips on the way home,' said Matt.

Natasha laughed. ‘Is that what you've been living on for the past month?'

‘Only as a treat,' said Carrie. ‘Mostly we've existed on beans on toast.'

‘Not much fun in a confined space, but we do know each other a hell of a lot better, don't we?' said Matt, winking at Carrie.

Taken aback at this unexpected display of comradeship, she was slow to react.

‘Well…'

‘Matt used to set light to his own farts at school,' declared Natasha, hastily marking her territory.

‘Do you mind? This is a classy establishment,' said Rob, topping up Carrie's glass from a bottle of wine.

‘So, Matt's filthy habits apart, you're having a wonderful time together. As you mentioned, sharing a confined space like that must be hell.'

‘Dolly's been lovingly restored,' said Carrie loyally.

‘I'm sure she has, but come on, it's just a tin can on wheels.'

‘It's a lot better than boarding school, as you'd have to admit, Tasha,' said Matt unexpectedly. ‘I'll go and get the bill.'

‘Excellent,' said Rob.

‘I ought to pay my share,' offered Carrie, dreading how much they'd spent.

Natasha patted her hand. ‘Let the guys pay. It makes them feel useful.'

While Matt was at the bar, Tasha slid into his seat next to Carrie. She smelled spicy and expensive, probably courtesy of Jo Malone. Huw had bought Carrie some JM cologne once and she'd kept the bottle long after the last drop had evaporated. Natasha was chattering about the boat and where they were planning to go on it. Carrie thought it sounded really awful, all that white leather upholstery, the comfy beds, the proper toilet…

When Matt came back, Natasha was back on their boarding school days. ‘Do you remember what a dump it was? Never any hot water, gross food. Matt rebelled against it all, of course.'

‘
Quel
surprise
,' said Rob.

Natasha ignored him. ‘Carrie, you might find this hard to believe, but he actually kidnapped the bursar and held him for ransom in the common room. He got into the most terrible trouble. The head sent him on a ten-mile cross-country run.'

Carrie couldn't resist. ‘It all sounds like a spiffing prank. Did you have midnight feasts too, like Malory Towers?'

She smiled broadly to show she was joking but Natasha called her bluff. ‘Well, not quite, darling. We weren't really there to enjoy lemonade and buns. There were cakes involved but not of the chocolate variety. I seem to recall they were Matt's contribution—though my memory is naturally a bit foggy now.'

‘Ah, but Matt's a reformed character these days. He doesn't do naughty things anymore. Do you, Matt?'

Natasha's eyes glinted. ‘Really? That's not what I heard. Is it, Matt?'

Carrie cringed. They were behaving like a couple of rival sisters, and Matt did what any indulgent parent would when asked to choose. He linked both their arms in his and said: ‘You know what I think, girls. I think we should all go down to the harbor and look at the pretty boats.'

***

Later, back at the campsite, Carrie returned from the shop with an out-of-date copy of
Heat
and a Twix to find Matt shirtless. He was shaving, using her makeup mirror wedged in the frame of the awning. She'd grown used to the back view of him by now; the tattoos, so weird at first, were now just part of him. She didn't think he'd noticed her watching him. He was scraping the blade over his neck, skimming his throat. Every so often he'd dip the razor in a bowl of water, leaving shaving foam and stubble behind. His hair was still damp at the ends, curling into his neck.

‘Hot date?' she said, dropping her shopping on the table.

‘I'm having dinner with Natasha.'

Right. Of course. Why shouldn't he? ‘Isn't it the same thing?' she said.

He gave the razor a final rinse and laid it by the bowl. ‘If you say so.'

She opened her magazine and sat down as he took a white shirt from the back of a deck chair. After he'd buttoned it up, he squinted in the mirror and ran his hand over his chin.

‘What's so funny? Do I have spinach on my teeth or something?' he asked when he caught her smiling at him.

‘No spinach, though if there was I probably wouldn't have told you.' She flicked the pages and stared hard at a photo. Now that was interesting… Paris Hilton had had a cat specially bred to match her favorite pair of stilettos. ‘I don't suppose I should wait up for you?' she said casually.

‘Probably not.'

Matt pulled on his socks and stuffed his feet into a pair of chunky black boots.

‘You look ravishing, darling. Divine socks.'

His smile when he turned was wry and knowing. ‘Thanks. I do like to make an effort. Clean underpants and all that.'

‘That's more than I need to know,' she said, trying to take an interest in J. Lo's new yoga regime instead of Matt's mating ritual, but it was almost impossible. As he rolled up his cuffs midway to the elbow, she was heartily wishing that he would just bugger off. She didn't want him to linger any longer, preparing himself to have sex with another woman. It was just too intimate.

Relief came at last. Picking up his wallet, he shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans. She tried not to look for the telltale circle of a condom in his back jean pocket, but of course Natasha would have that covered. When he was ready, he said, ‘Carrie, if you're not comfortable being here alone tonight, I can stay. This may be old-fashioned, and I expect you'll be sarcastic, but I don't really like leaving you on your own like this.'

She laughed. ‘Matt, you sound like my mum. Go and have a good time. To be honest, I'm looking forward to having a night on my own. I think it will do us both good to have a bit of space. I can do without your smelly feet for one night.'

‘In that case, I'll see you tomorrow. My taxi will be here in a minute. Goodbye.'

‘Don't fall off the boat,' she said after he'd gone.