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We’re here if you want to talk.
I don’t.
It’s not good to bottle up your emotions.
Just leave me alone.
All she wanted to do was hole up in her room and not come out. She survived on eating macaroni and cheese from a box – bright yellow comfort food – which she sneaked into the kitchen and made with milk in a saucepan at night after Patty and Marcus had gone to bed. She stockpiled energy bars, apples and chocolate in her room, and apart from using the bathroom, stayed in bed under the covers.
Two weeks after the accident, Carrie realised that not only did she not want to be in her flat anymore, but she also couldn’t go back to work. She’d been temping at an accountancy firm for six months. It was okay, nothing special, but it paid the bills and Carrie liked the fact that she didn’t think about the job when she wasn’t there. But even after her sick leave had ended, and she could have at least started doing some work remotely, Carrie was completely unable to function. She could hardly lift her head from the pillow, let alone book in meetings in the online calendar, type up minutes or order in catering, all of which was usually in a day’s work. It felt as though all life had been sucked out of her the moment Claire died.
Meanwhile, Patty and Marcus had fussed around her like concerned hens, trying to feed her soup and make her do guided visualisations, until she’d begged them to leave her alone. She’d gone online in a fit of desperation and messaged Gretchen Ross to see if her cottage was available for months at a time. Gretchen had replied that, yes, the cottage was currently free, and she was happy for it to be rented long-term.
Carrie had some savings that she could live off until she was ready to temp again, plus the cottage was less expensive than her London flatshare, and so she’d given Patty and Marcus her month’s notice and moved out. She’d never owned much, and none of the furniture was hers, so it wasn’t hard to pare everything she needed down to two bags and a few boxes, that she’d couriered up separately.
There was still Claire’s flat and all of her belongings to sort out at some point, but Carrie wasn’t ready for that yet. Not by a long way. The cottage would be home now, for a few months at least – until she felt like rejoining the human race.
TWO
‘Oh. Excuse me.’
The man hadn’t seen Carrie standing there: that was obvious. He’d charged into the small grocery store like the proverbial bull in a china shop and almost knocked over a pyramid of tinned peas as he entered, holding out a redundant hand to steady them.
If they want to fall, one manly hand isn’t going to stop them, Carrie had thought as she bent over to choose a loaf of bread from the shelf. And, then,wham! He’d walked straight into her.
She’d caught the impact on her hip, mostly. It didn’t hurt, but she was instantly irritated at the way the man apparently thought his time was more important than anyone else’s, and at his boorish barging around in the small shop.
She stood up, frowning. ‘I don’t excuse you, actually,’ she said. She was wearing her waterproof mac and boots, jeans and a Fair Isle jumper underneath. Her dyed red bob was probably messy – she’d battled the wind and rain in and out of the car, and she probably hadn’t brushed her hair properly for a number of days. Most of the time, she just ran her fingers through it now and again. Pampering was Claire’s habit, not hers. The thought of her sister made her feel dizzy, and so she banished the thought from her mind as quickly as it had come, and glared at the man again.
‘What?’ The man frowned back at her. He had dark brown hair, longish around the ears and onto his collar, and a short beard. He was wearing jeans and a black jumper, and was probably about her age or a little older, judging from the lines around his eyes.
‘I said to look where you’re going. This is a small shop,’ Carrie said, raising her voice. She didn’t have the filter for politeness right now. ‘You almost had those tins over when you came in, and there’s elderly people around. Just pay attention to your surroundings. Manners are free.’
‘Oh. I didn’t expect a lesson in manners today. Thank you so much for the education,’ the man snapped. He had an English accent, like her, and not the broad Scots of the locals. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in a hurry. I need some fresh parsley.’
‘Seems like an essential purchase,’ Carrie muttered to herself, thinking how ridiculous this man was to come and make such a fuss because ofparsley. ‘Heaven forbid your scrambled eggs might go ungarnished.’
‘What?’ the man repeated, looking genuinely confused this time. ‘I’m sorry. Is there a problem I’m not aware of? I need parsley. I don’t see that it’s any of your business.’
‘Oh. It’s not.’ Carrie walked away, past the man. She heard him mutter something under his breath, but ignored it.Rude.
After finding milk and a few other bits and pieces – bananas, peanut butter, some biscuits to go with her tea and some cheese and cold meats – she found the till and waited to pay, noting that the man was now in front of her. He paid the sales assistant and left, holding three large bunches of fresh parsley. Carrie watched as he jogged away up the high street.
The sales assistant, a teenager wearing a blue tabard over a floral polyester dress, and a name tag stating she was DEBBIE, must have noticed Carrie watching the man with the parsley run up the street, or she was bored, because she said, ‘Rory McCrae. He’s a chef in the restaurant up on the hill.’
‘Who? That guy?’ Carrie narrowed her eyes at Rory’s retreating form.
‘Aye. Always runs in here about this time, lookin’ fer somethin’ he’s run oot of. Yesterday it was carrots. Got to be the local ones, though, or he doesnae want ’em.’
‘Oh, right. Hence the parsley.’ Carrie carefully finished putting her groceries on the counter and got a shopping bag out of her pocket as Debbie started passing the items through the scanner.
Carrie still wore a sling when she was at home, but she’d taken it off to come to the shops, which she was regretting. It had been hard enough lining everything up carefully on the conveyor; now she had to pack it all in a bag.
‘Aye. He’s no’ bad, really. When ye get tae know him.’ Debbie watched Carrie as she fumbled with her shopping bag. ‘D’ye want a hand?’
‘No, I’m all right. Thanks. Well, I doubt I’ll be getting to know the guy. But, thanks for the heads-up,’ Carrie said, reaching for her purse.She’s a proud one,her great-aunt’s voice sounded in her memory. Carrie had never really considered herselfproud: she’d just had little opportunity to depend on other people. Except Claire.
She paid, and headed back to her hire car. She also doubted she’d be trying out the restaurant on the hill anytime soon. She wasn’t exactly in the right frame of mind for fine dining, or for being among other people for very long. A quick visit to the shops every couple of days would do her just fine; in between, she was happy to live on bread and cheese, with the occasional biscuit and cup of tea. That was as much contact as she wanted with the outside world right now. She certainly wasn’t up for random meetings with the boorish local chef.That’s very much off the menu,she thought, surprised that she’d inadvertently thought of a pun.
