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“What kind of thick, stupid …”
“Diego is dead, Carrie.”
Carrie opened her mouth, then shut it again. She opened her mouth, then closed it, over and over, like a fish, struggling for food. She clutched for Juanita, and grabbed her shirt, but it was not enough. She fell to the floor, rendered unconscious by the shocking delivery of such news.
She came to almost instantly, her eyes clouded with confusion. Gael crouched beside her, his hands confident at her back.
She shook her head, and when she spoke, her mouth was thick. “I thought you just said …”
“He’s dead.”
Carrie, who had been fighting tears almost constantly for a week, didn’t cry now. She pushed up off the floor and brushed her dress of any invisible flecks of dust. “Let’s go.”
Juanita was silent. She didn’t look at Gael. “Do you need me to do anything, Care-Bear?”
Carrie turned around, and the sight of Juanita’s gentle face finally brought tears to her eyes. Her lower lip quivered. “I … I don’t know,” she whispered.
Juanita wrapped her arms around her best friend’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Be brave, beautiful.”
Carrie nodded, trying to bring her tears in check. “I’ll call you.”
Gael must have stowed Carrie’s suitcase, because it was gone. She slid into his car and stared at the mews street. It looked different somehow.
It wasn’t until they were clear of London that Carrie heard herself say, “When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Yesterday?” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Why didn’t anyone …?”
“Your mother tried to call you last night. Your phone was off.”
Carrie looked in his direction out of habit, not because she wanted to see him. She’d left it at home and the battery had run flat. She’d wanted to escape from everyone and everything for a while.
“But today?”
His fingers were white on the steering wheel. “We’ve been busy.”
She felt like a chastened child. She also felt excluded. As though the big people had been occupied, taking care of things, while she, Carrie, had been left aside. An irrelevancy that had to be ‘dealt’ with when there was time. “How is my mother?”
Gael’s glance flicked to her momentarily and Carrie felt a charge of angry electricity. “How do you think?”
Carrie would not have answered that question confidently in a thousand years; not if her life depended upon it.
“Was he …” She swallowed, thinking of Diego. Her voice broke. “Was he comfortable?”
He shook his head. “He’s dead, Carrie.”
Her heart turned over. A need to comfort Gael bubbled through her. She discarded it as childish.
* * *
Being at Forest View without Diego was entirely strange. How used to his presence Carrie had become! Initially, it had felt like an invasion, and now it was as much a part of life in the estate as the birds and the lake.
The grass was wet beneath her bottom. She didn’t care. She stared out at the early morning fog, watching as a diligent little sparrow dug his beak into the grass and lifted out a worm. The worm was tough though, and did not come easily. The sparrow made a warble of disapproval and tugged again, until it had the entire squiggling beast in its captivity. Away it flew, satisfied with the morning’s hunt.
Carrie’s fingers rubbed against the rose petals; they were soft like a peach, reminding her of the frangipani on Gael’s island.
Gael. Her body physically clenched at the memories.
