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Carrie pulled her knees to her chin, and rested her head on them. “We were halfway through Moby Dick. I can’t believe he didn’t wait to hear how it ended.”
Gael picked up a stick and tossed it far off into the distance. “He waited longer than I believed he would.”
“Really?” She pressed her cold cheek against her knee, so that she could see him. His face was pale.
He made a sound of agreement. “I thought he was about to die. Six years ago, when I came here. I was certain it was the end.”
Carrie let out an uneven breath. “That feels like a lifetime ago.”
“It is,” he agreed stonily. “So much has changed since.”
“Yes. We’re the same cast, but different characters.”
“Carrie?”
She heard the serious note in his voice and stood abruptly. “I should go in. There must be something I can do.”
Gael followed her lead, though he wanted to stay there more than anything. Where it was just the two of them, alone in the world. “Yes, you’re right.”
The funeral took place two days later, in the grounds of Forest View. It was the second man Carrie had loved who was brought to rest in amongst the ancient elms of the West Garden. She clung to Juanita and Tom, immaculate in a black Prada dress with dark sunglasses pulled low over her face. Only the translucent shade of her skin communicated her inner-torment.
Alexandra was stoic and stunning; poised in a designer suit, her blonde hair brushed long and straight. She spoke eloquently, and brought most of the crowd to tears.
Carrie was beyond tears. Even when Gael delivered a eulogy and quoted from Moby Dick, she didn’t react.
She just wanted it all to be over, so that she could go back to her townhouse and stare at a white wall in silence.
“Carrie?” A voice, familiar yet not, caught her attention. She turned, realising that everyone else had gone. She was alone, amongst the elms and some forgotten tissues. “Carrie?” She angled her face, and startled when she saw Gabriella.
“Oh!” The watery smile felt tight on her face. “Hello, Gabriella.”
The older woman extended her arms, and Carrie sobbed, finally, as she fell into them. She shook her head against her shoulder, straightening swiftly. “I’m sorry. I stayed away from everyone else because I didn’t want to seem maudlin.”
“You are not maudlin. You are sad. Your sadness is an honour to Diego’s life.”
Carrie nodded. “I’m pleased to see you. I’m glad you’re here.”
She nodded. “I came for Gael.”
Carrie swallowed. “I’m sure he’s grateful.”
Gabriella put an arm around Carrie’s waist, not sure if it was to take or give support.
Carrie felt her warmth, and for the first time in days, she felt a small part of herself warming. “Would you like to go inside? We can get a quiet cup of tea away from the crowd?”
Gabriella shook her head. “Surely it is a time for wine, darling.”
Carrie’s laugh was frail. “Yes. For Diego, I can do that.”
The house was deserted; the mourners were gathered in the courtyard. Carrie slipped her glasses and coat off and discarded them carelessly on the hallstand. “Let’s go to the study upstairs. It’s more private.”
Gabriella winced. “I’ll admit, I’d prefer not to have to speak to anyone today.”
“I know how you feel. Wait here.”
Carrie returned a moment later with an ancient bottle of Shiraz, a corkscrew and two fine glasses. “Desperate times,” she said, lifting the assortment in front of her.
The study had been her father’s retreat. When he’d died, it had been sealed. Alexandra’s third husband had made a brief incursion, but Carrie had wiped away all traces of him since then. The vulgar monster truck memorabilia he’d displayed had long ago been relegated to the trash.
