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EIGHTEEN
In her dream, Carrie found herself in Maud’s cottage. She looked down at herself: she was wearing her favourite dress from when she was nine – a red and white polka-dot smock with a lace collar – and her frayed red slippers.
She stood in the kitchen, watching Maud, who was stirring a hot chocolate.
Of course, this Graham is very like William, Maud said, continuing to stir.Don’t you think so, dear?
Carrie looked down at her dress, wondering how it still fit her, because she was grown up now – wasn’t she?Why am I here?she wondered.
Graham, Claire’s boyfriend?Carrie asked her aunt. Part of her brain knew that Maud was dead; part of her wanted to hug her and bury her head in Maud’s shoulder and take in her familiar smell. But another part of her was in that present-dreamer state, where she followed along with wherever the dream took her.
Just like William, Maud said, smiling over at Carrie.You changed your hair.
Why is Graham like William?Carrie asked.
He lost Claire just like William lostClara, Maud said, mistily.Such sadness. I could never fully heal William’s heart, though I tried.
But you loved each other, Carrie said, immersed in her memory of Maud’s kitchen: the mismatched plates, the row of colourful ceramic teapots on a shelf.Whatever happened between you, you loved William and he loved you.
Yes, dearest. But we were both heartbroken by forces outside our control, Maud said, evenly. Carrie looked at Maud’s hands: now, she was hulling strawberries, just like Carrie had done in the kitchen for Rory.You should be kinder to him.
I don’t want to, Carrie replied, knowing she was a little girl in the dream. She knew she sounded petulant.
You know how he feels. And you have to open your little locked door, Maud said, pointing to a door that had mysteriously appeared in the wall on the other side of the kitchen.There it is now.
Carriecouldempathise with Graham. That was the truth of it. She knew exactly what Graham was feeling, but she didn’t want to face someone else’s grief alongside her own.
However, in an odd way, reading Maud’s diary had made her feel more receptive to him. Perhaps it was because she knew, deep down, that Maud would have welcomed him into her home and treated him like one of the family if she’d still been alive. Or the fact that Carrie now understood better, from reading Maud’s diary, how transitory love could be and how heartbreaking it was to lose the person you thought you were destined for. She knew that was how Graham and Claire had felt about each other: she’d seen it in their eyes every time they were together. That was the reason she had felt so threatened.
What’s behind the door?she asked Maud, in the dream. It was a fairy tale door, small, with an odd handle made of a bread roll.
Maud shrugged, and continued making jam.Only you know, she replied.Only you can open it.
Carrie felt a wave of unease flood her as she stared at the door.But I don’t want to, she told Maud.I don’t want to.
That’s up to you,Maud said.
* * *
Carrie woke up, staring at the ceiling as the dream faded. The feeling of unease stayed with her. What was behind the door? It didn’t matter, she supposed. It was just a dream. Dreams didn’t mean anything.
Only, this one had. She felt as though Maud had given her a clear message about Graham, and she could guess at what was behind the strange little fairy tale door.
It was guilt, rattling the strange handle made of bread, trying to take her over.
You know, she thought.You know it’s your fault your sister died. You made her crash and then you couldn’t save her. You failed her.
Carrie picked up her phone and stared at it. What would she even say to Graham? She had no idea; she hadn’t a clue how to cope with losing Claire. To talk about it with someone who had known her as well as Graham had was terrifying. But the guilt was part of it, too. She didn’t want to talk to Graham, because then she’d have to acknowledge her role in Claire’s death. Because Graham knew Claire as well as she did, there would be no hiding with him.
She found Graham’s number in her contacts and pressed the icon for a new message. Her fingers hovered over the screen.
Hi, Grahamshe tapped out.I don’t know what to say to you right now. I miss Claire. And I know you miss her too. But I’m not ready to talk about it yet.
She looked at the message for a moment, feeling conflicted. Part of her wanted to reach out to Graham, but she was scared to. That was the truth of it. She was scared that Graham would know it was her fault that Claire died.
She deleted the message, and stared at the blank screen for a long time, until she felt the grief in her heart almost overwhelm her.
NINETEEN
