Carrie Goes Off the Map (18 page)

‘This is crazy,' he said, shaking his head. ‘We both know that we shouldn't be doing this. I need to see if Natasha is okay,' he added, looking away from her as if he felt guilty.

Still stunned, Carrie nodded. ‘I need to find Rowena.'

Stepping aside for her to go ahead, he followed her out of the alley to the front of the club. Rowena was hopping about outside, haranguing the door staff.

‘Where are they? What have you done, you great big ape! Do you know who I am?'

‘Rowena. It's okay. We're here,' called Carrie.

Rowena hugged her. ‘Carrie! I was so worried about you! I saw the fight but those gorillas wouldn't let me get to you. What happened? You look awful, hon. And Matt, my God, look at your face. You look like you've gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.'

‘Worse. I got involved with Carrie,' growled Matt.

‘Matt, darling, are you all right?' said Natasha, flinging her arms around him. ‘Oh my God, is that blood on your face? You could have been seriously hurt, or even killed!'

‘Stop fussing, Tasha. I'm fine,' said Matt.

Rowena punched numbers into her mobile and looked at Carrie. ‘I'll call us a minicab—the door staff gave me the number. If I tell them who I am, they might come a bit quicker.'

Natasha stared at Carrie with contempt while Matt wiped his mouth with a tissue. ‘You had a lucky escape there. It was a good job Matt and I were on hand,' she said.

‘Yes. I'm, er… very sorry about your dress. I'll pay to get it cleaned,' said Carrie, goaded to the limit but desperate to avoid any more trouble.

‘Don't bother. It's only fit for the trash now and I wouldn't put you to the expense of dry-cleaning. I'm sure you need to count the pennies now Huw's gone.'

‘Carrie. Cab's here!' Rowena dragged her away before she said something she'd regret.

Natasha called sweetly after them as they got in the cab, ‘Thank you for the tickets. It's been a very entertaining evening.'

‘Well, he must fancy you rotten to start a fight over you,' said Rowena, as they huddled in a Häagen-Dazs bar the next day. Rain poured down the windows. Rowena was attacking a hot fudge sundae with a spoon while Carrie was toying with a banana split.

‘He didn't exactly
start
a fight, and I expect it was just the testosterone talking. There was no need for Matt to jump in like that; I can take care of myself.'

‘Yeah, yeah, but it's still so cool, having two blokes beating the crap out of each other for you. God, I wish it would happen to me.'

‘You wouldn't really. In the flesh, it's scary. Somebody could get really hurt,' said Carrie, dipping a chunk of banana into chocolate sauce. Now that it was all over, she had to admit that Matt had been rather magnificent. In fact, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him, bristling with fury, lunging in on her behalf. But what had happened afterwards, in the alley, had totally confused her.

‘How's your banana split?' said Rowena, arching her eyebrows.

‘Very nice,' said Carrie, realizing she'd been staring into space. As she dug into her ice cream, she could still feel Matt's mouth on hers. He was a wonderful kisser. Confident but tender. Even though he'd been furious with her and said some outrageous things, he'd been so gentle when he'd kissed her. And he'd been extremely turned on too. She'd felt him as he'd pressed against her.

‘Fighting always gets a bloke's blood up. One of the medical consultants on the show told me. Makes them really horny,' said Rowena, scooping up a spoonful of squirty cream and eyeing Carrie over the top of her sundae. ‘So will you be going on the yacht trip thing after what's happened?' she added, slightly too innocently.

Carrie remembered what had happened afterwards. Matt going all cold and the humiliation of Natasha's contemptuous remarks.

‘Of course I don't suppose you'd dare face Natasha after making her boyfriend defend your honor in a club,' Rowena said.

Carrie wiped her mouth with a napkin and smiled enigmatically. ‘What time did you say your train was tomorrow, Rowena?'

***

Matt arrived back at the van the next day, rucksack over his shoulder. Carrie buried her head in her novel, pretending to be utterly absorbed.

‘Hello,' he grunted.

‘Mmm,' she grunted back.

‘Your book.'

She glanced up. ‘What?'

He grinned. ‘Upside down.'

Gah! So this was going to be a battle to see who was first to mention the nightclub fight. She had no desire or motivation to back down. As a result, it was evening and her stomach was gurgling audibly before they progressed to monosyllables.

‘Food?' said Matt.

‘Yes.'

‘Fridge?' he asked.

She shook her head and turned a page. ‘Takeaway.'

‘Oh. Chips then?'

The laughter was rising in her throat and her shoulders were shaking. ‘Suppose so,' she managed sulkily.

‘Shall I go? I need a bit of a walk and you'll forget the mushy peas and curry sauce. You can't get them in the jungle.'

When she looked up at him, his warm, sexy smile socked her as hard as any punch. She laid down her book and smiled back, wondering if he could see the way she'd lit up inside. ‘Okay. See you later. I'll open some beers.'

Later, they sat on the grass, eating the chips with their fingers, steam curling in front of their faces. The damp paper crumbled under her hands; the smell of vinegar was sharp in her nostrils. Matt popped a chip in his mouth and Carrie squirmed inwardly. Even watching him eat chips was turning her on, which was really bizarre.

‘Finished?' said Matt, seeing her lay down her paper.

He'd scrambled her brain now. ‘Sorry? Oh, yes.'

He scrunched up the used paper, his eyes sparkling. ‘Glad you enjoyed it.'

Carrie wished he wouldn't twinkle, or smolder or brood or smile or be outrageous or gentle or tender with her, all of which seemed to drive her insane with lust. In fact, she wished he would just vanish away. But there again, that meant she'd never see him again. The awful truth was that she'd developed a monumental crush on Matt. Ever since she'd got back from the nightclub, she'd battled against how much she wanted sex with him; more, even, than she'd wanted Huw. Or maybe she'd forgotten what it was like to want someone so much; she must have wanted Huw this much too, when they first met. Maybe Huw betraying her had tainted and twisted every memory until she couldn't trust her feelings. This trip was meant to change her life and it had, but not quite how she'd envisaged.

‘Despite what you might think—how things might have seemed at the club—I really didn't mean to get you involved in a fight,' she said.

Matt shrugged. ‘It's okay.'

‘But Natasha's dress was ruined. She wouldn't let me pay for it.'

‘She's forgotten about it now,' he said, gruff again.

‘I didn't know what the guy was like,' said Carrie.

‘Forget it.' His expression softened. ‘To be honest, I haven't had a good scrap since some forward tried to elbow me in the face at uni. The linesmen had to drag us apart. I got a fractured cheekbone and was banned for three matches,' he said proudly.

‘What happened to the other guy?' she said.

He gazed at her steadily. ‘He's taken up ballet instead. I'm going for a run tomorrow morning, but I'll be back about ten. Be ready.'

‘For what?'

‘This bloody yacht trip.'

He held her gaze, daring her to answer him back. She was so thrown, she didn't know what to say. It was almost as if he was challenging her to back down.

‘Well?' he said, his brow creasing as she hesitated, lost for words.

‘I suppose I'll have to if I've no choice.'

He jumped to his feet. ‘Nope. No choice at all.'

‘There it is. That's the
Prospero
.' Matt was pointing to the far end of the quayside. Even from here, the yacht was easy to spot. It was far bigger than Carrie had imagined, with a gleaming silver and white hull and scrubbed wooden decks, and it was attracting admiring glances from tourists and seen-it-all-before shrugs from the locals.

A familiar face was also waiting by the quay.

‘You didn't mention Lola was coming too,' whispered Carrie as they exchanged waves.

‘Yes. I thought you might be more comfortable if it was a group of us rather than couples.'

To Carrie, comfortable meant lying in bed eating a Cadbury Flake while reading your latest great reviews in
The
Stage
. Comfortable did not mean sharing a boat with a girl who had a crush on you and another who, possibly, would like to tip you overboard.

‘And you're sure she'll want to see me?'

‘I'm never sure about anything these days, but I thought it might be a good idea if you talked to her. This could be a good opportunity.'

‘Has anyone ever told you that you interfere too much?'

‘All the time. It's in my genes.'

In the distance, a minicab was pulling up. A man got out and wobbled his way along the quayside. ‘Hold on. Isn't that Robert?'

Matt squinted into the sun. ‘Do you mind going on ahead? I'll be with you in a minute.'

Lola caught sight of them. ‘Hello again,' she said quietly.

‘Hi,' said Carrie, smiling far too widely. ‘Where are Spike and the others?'

‘They said they might head off to Perranporth. You should come along with us again one day. You were doing really well.'

Natasha saved her from replying. ‘Hello-ooo! Welcome to our humble abode,' she called from the deck. She was obviously cheery again, showing off the boat. Which, Carrie thought in total awe, really was magnificent. She and Lola walked up the gangplank to find Natasha every inch the yachtie, in white cropped jeans, a striped Bardot top, and a Hermès scarf round her hair. Carrie had chosen a tank top from the extensive wardrobe in her backpack, teamed with a new skirt. It was a gloriously swishy affair she'd bought in a weak moment from a hippie shop in St. Ives, and she'd hoped it gave her a touch of the gypsy maiden, but the way Natasha was looking down her nose, she felt more like a tavern tart.

‘You look charmingly bohemian. Well done, it's a terribly difficult look to carry off,' said Natasha, air-kissing her before flitting off. ‘And you must be Lola. Matt's told me all about you.'

Lola looked horrified. ‘Has he?'

‘Shall I show you round before we get under way? Do come into the saloon,' trilled Natasha.

Saloon
conjured up images of a Wild West bar in Carrie's head, but this one couldn't have been further from the spit-and-sawdust of a whisky joint. In fact, there was no denying it,
Prospero
was the most luxurious place Carrie had ever been in her life. It was like a gentlemen's club crossed with one of Elton John's mansions. It oozed luxury, from the polished wood fittings to the leather upholstery.

Natasha beamed. ‘Well?'

‘Wow,' breathed Lola.

‘Ditto,' murmured Carrie.

Lola raised her eyes in wonder to the leather ceiling. ‘And this is your
auntie's
?'

‘Godmother, darling.'

‘She must be absolutely loaded.'

‘She was a hedge fund manager, but she made so much cash, she retired at thirty-five. She lives in Antigua now but she keeps the
Prospero
to stay on when she pops home for a visit.'

Natasha flung open a timber door. ‘This is the master stateroom.'

Well, of course it was. It had a huge bed with a rounded end. Carrie tried not to think of the master and Natasha romping in it.

‘There's an en suite of course, but if you want the loo, the main bathroom's next door,' Natasha said breezily. Carrie instantly wanted to have a pee, just to check it out, but Natasha swept them off. ‘
Voilà
. The galley. Bijou but adequate.'

Footsteps on deck led them all outside again. Matt was standing by the wheel with a face like thunder. Robert was lolling across the seats, grinning. Carrie could smell the whisky fumes from several meters away.

‘Hello, Rob,' said Natasha, kissing him briefly then stepping hastily back.

‘Hello, ladies,' he said, attempting a wink but not quite managing it. ‘Caroline, we meet again. Nice top you don't have on. And who is this?' he said, leering at Lola, who shrank visibly back against the bulkhead.

‘This is Lola. Friend of Matt's,' said Natasha.

‘Lola?
Lola
lo-lo-lo-lo Lola
…'

‘Ignore him,' said Matt.

‘Just having a bit of fun.
Lola
lo-lo-lo-lo Lola
…'

‘Robert. Shut up,' snapped Matt.

‘
You
shut the fuck up, Matt.'

‘Shall we get something to drink?' said Natasha brightly.

Rob grabbed the wheel. ‘And I'll drive.'

‘You must be joking,' said Matt.

They glared at each other for a moment before Rob shrugged and said, ‘Suit yourself. Make mine a double Scotch, Tasha.'

They followed their hostess down the stairs into the galley.

‘Do you have any chamomile tea?' whispered Lola. ‘And can I use the loo?'

While Lola was in the bathroom, Natasha extracted two bottles of champagne from the fridge. ‘This was all I could get from the local supermarket but it will have to do. There are some nibbles in the cupboard up there.'

Carrie found a box of breadsticks and some very posh crisps made of parsnip and beetroot. ‘Are these the ones?'

Natasha wrinkled her nose. ‘Yes. Hardly a gourmet feast, but I managed to get some guacamole and olives from the deli by the harbor. I expect they're vile, but never mind. Let's open the bubbly, shall we? Glasses above the TV cabinet.'

Carrie took down the flutes from the cabinet while Natasha removed the wire from the first bottle and pushed her thumbs under the cork. It came out with a muted pop. ‘Glass, please!' she cried as the foam bubbled out of the bottle. She wrinkled her nose before braving a sip. ‘Go on,' she said, pouring a glass. ‘Try it.'

Carrie doubted she could tell fine champagne from cheap plonk today, but she swished her glass theatrically, shoved her nose into it, downed a good swig, and smacked her lips.

Natasha arched her eyebrows. ‘Well?'

‘Slightly corked, I'd say. And I'd guess it wasn't this grower's best vintage.' She held out the glass. ‘I'd need a refill to tell properly.'

The engines started throbbing as Matt steered them out of the port.

‘Seems like we're under way,' said Natasha as she refilled the glasses. ‘So, have you slept with Matt yet?'

Carrie started coughing and spluttering, spraying bubbly all over the leather seats. Through streaming eyes she saw Natasha calmly holding out a napkin.

‘Judging by that reaction, I'll take that as a yes.'

Carrie's evil twin took over, wanting to torment Natasha. ‘We've shared the same tiny camper for weeks, of course…'

‘I know that, darling, but have you
actually
screwed him?'

‘Have you?' said Carrie.

‘To ask that you're either being spectacularly naive or deliberately obtuse,' said Natasha, sipping her drink and sighing appreciatively.

‘Not that it's really any of your business, Natasha, but no, I haven't slept with Matt. Not in the sense you mean anyway.'

Natasha let out a little of sigh of satisfaction. ‘I thought not. I know you think I'm being a bitch, but I'm not. Can you pass me those terra-cotta bowls, please? You see, I know your type, darling. A serial monogamist.'

Furious, Carrie clattered the bowls along the table. ‘You don't know me at all, Natasha.'

‘Ah, but I do. You tried to crash your ex's wedding, so don't try to tell me you're not a one-man girl.'

‘Thanks for the advice, but you're wrong. We're just friends.'

Natasha gave a tinkling laugh. ‘I'm sure you're the
best
of friends, darling. Maybe that is all you want, all he wants. Take my advice: Matt's not the kind of guy who will ever settle down. He needs to take risks, and frankly, he needs variety. He seems kind and caring, which he is of course, but there'll always be a part of him that he'll never show you.'

‘And you'd know from experience, would you?' said Carrie, sloshing champagne viciously into the rest of the glasses.

Natasha gave a hurt pout. ‘Darling, I'm only telling you this to save you from getting hurt. Matt's not the one to help you get over Huw. Screw him senseless if you like, but don't be stupid enough to fall in love with him.'

That was it. Carrie was definitely going to commit murder on the high seas if she stayed a second longer. Wobbling horribly in every way, she set off with the tray of drinks and bloody nibbles. The boat was definitely bucking about more and she could see more whitecaps on the waves as she made it on to the deck.

‘Let me give you a hand,' said Lola, taking two of the glasses from the tray. Behind her, Natasha emerged with bowls of guacamole and olives.

Robert swiped a glass. ‘What, no whisky? I suppose this'll have to do, though I expect it tastes like lemonade.'

Sitting down next to Lola, Carrie tried to take some deep breaths and calm down. Natasha stood beside Matt like a loyal first mate beside her captain. But Carrie suspected that Matt was not so sure of his position. He didn't seem quite comfortable at the helm. Natasha constantly stroked his arm and even let her hand linger over his jeans pocket, patting his bottom as if to say:
Hands
off, he's mine, darling
. Matt didn't reciprocate. He laughed at Natasha's jokes, was polite and friendly, but kept his hands firmly on the wheel.

At one point, Natasha went into the saloon to fetch a cardigan and Matt's eyes flickered in Carrie's direction. His lips parted as if he was about to say something, but Natasha came back before he could. She scanned their faces and frowned.

It was like some terrible period film where the wife realizes that her husband has been shagging the parlor maid. I feel like that parlor maid, thought Carrie. I am a scarlet woman and yet I haven't
done
anything.

‘Where's Rob been?' she said, desperate to change the focus to the figure that was stretched out across the seats, comatose.

‘He stayed the night with some bloke he met at a medical conference, but I'm not sure he remembers that much about it,' said Matt quickly. Carrie was sure she heard relief in his voice.

‘You can stop insulting me. I
do
remember. Some of it. Did you know I can see an albatross?' said Rob unexpectedly.

‘Is he all right?' asked Lola.

‘With a bit of luck, he'll pass out properly in a minute,' said Matt, not bothering to keep his voice down. ‘In fact, I think you'd better go down below where you'll be safer than rolling about sloshed up here in the cockpit.' Surprisingly Rob did as he was told with the minimum of fuss and was soon sound asleep in the palatial stateroom.

Natasha talked nonstop to Matt as they skimmed the edge of the coastline, past beaches and low rocky headlands.

Excluded from their conversation, Carrie started chatting to Lola about surfing. It was the only safe topic she could think of, but it led on to talk about traveling and what they both might like to do one day. As the wine took effect, she began to relax and really enjoy Lola's company again.

‘I'll fetch us all a drink. Do you want bubbly or something else? I think they've got a full-blown cocktail bar down there. I could rustle up a margarita if you'd like one,' she said, seeing Lola's glass was empty.

‘And an absolutely vile nibble?' whispered Lola, imitating Natasha's cut-glass accent.

Surprised at Lola being catty about anyone, Carrie laughed, then put her hand to her mouth, but they'd already attracted Natasha's scrutiny. She was craning her neck, a little like a giraffe, and that set them off some more. Natasha shot them a very disapproving look before turning her attention back to Matt. She was nodding her head enthusiastically at something he was saying as Carrie wiped her eyes.

As Carrie tried to stand up, Lola reached out and rested her fingers on her arm.

‘Matt's told you, hasn't he?' she said quietly.

If you'd asked her first, Carrie would much rather have avoided this conversation, but she realized that it had been inevitable, so she managed to smile and say quietly, ‘Yes, he has.'

‘And you really like me as a friend?'

‘Well, now you come to mention it. Yes, I do,' she said, and she meant it.

‘And if you were gay, it would be me?' Lola was smiling ruefully.

‘Well, of course. Absolutely,' stammered Carrie.

‘There's no need to feel awkward. I knew you weren't interested in me in that way, even without Matt spelling it out. It was obvious, really, you and Spike being together, but I hoped for a moment.'

‘And I thought you had a huge crush on Matt,' said Carrie.

‘Oh I do, intellectually I suppose,' said Lola, giggling. ‘He's an amazing doctor. Has he told you some of the things he's done in Tuman?'

‘A few,' said Carrie, thinking of the night they'd seen the play at the Minack. ‘He told me a bit about the accident but he hasn't gone into detail. I could see he hated talking about it. He doesn't like people making a fuss about him.'

Lola's face was puzzled. ‘What accident?'

‘He hasn't said anything to you about it?'

‘No. You don't have to tell me if you'd rather not,' said Lola, smiling slyly. ‘But I still think he's wonderful. If I was into guys, he'd be the one. He's rather beautiful, isn't he?'