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‘What happened, Carrie?’ he asked, quietly. ‘Tell me, for goodness’ sake.’
Carrie tasted the tears in her throat.I guess this is happening, she thought. ‘If you were more of a gossip you’d know by now. I expect Dotty’s told everyone within a five-mile radius.’
‘Well, I’m not. I like to keep to myself as much as possible.’ He gave her an odd look. ‘Quite frankly, it’s not like me to ask you about your past. I don’t usually like to get too close to people, but you…’ He trailed off. ‘You seem to have a strange effect on me. I… I like being around you.’
‘I like being around you too,’ Carrie replied, quietly.
‘You can trust me with whatever you want to tell me,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she sighed. And she did know, somehow, that she could trust Rory. She felt it, instinctively. ‘Claire… I had a sister. A year older than me. We were involved in a c-car crash. And Claire…’
‘She didn’t make it?’ Rory asked, his voice low.
‘No.’ Carrie looked at her hands. It didn’t get any easier, talking about what had happened.
‘I’m so sorry.’ He took her hands in his. ‘Carrie, that’s terrible. Now I understand why you were so tense in the car earlier. Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I didn’t want to. I have to be able to be in cars again. I can’t develop a phobia. It’s impractical.’ She shook her head, impatient with herself.
‘It’s not impractical. It’s human,’ Rory said, softly.
‘Yeah, well. I didn’t want to talk about it. I still don’t, really. But I have to. So, I’ll tell you. It was my fault she died. I was playing the stereo really loud and being an arse, and she was trying to concentrate on the road. It was terrible weather. She could hardly see. It was my fault,’ Carrie repeated the mantra, a sliver of steel piercing her heart every time she did so. ‘And then…’ A sob escaped her. ‘And then, when it had happened, I could have donated a kidney she needed, but they didn’t take it and I was unconscious and she… she died before I woke up.’
Carrie started to cry, desperately trying to stop herself and failing. The emotion felt like a black balloon of bitterness that filled her chest. She imagined a pit, and throwing herself in it. That was all she was good for. To drown in her own sorrow.
‘Oh, Carrie. Come here.’ He held her tight against him, and she didn’t resist.
The wave of sorrow engulfed her, and she sobbed loudly against his chest.
He stroked her hair gently and continued to hold her tight. ‘I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere,’ he breathed.
And she clung to him gratefully, like a buoy in a storm-ridden sea.
TWENTY-TWO
‘I’m glad ye popped by. I was thinkin’ I should come over and see ye, check in, like.’ Angus ushered her into the hallway of his cottage.
Not for the first time, Carrie thought about how unsuited this huge Viking was for the tiny whitewashed house. He towered above her, having to stoop in the hallway where the ceiling was low.
She had woken up that morning with Maud on her mind. Perhaps it was all a distraction from having to think about Claire, but after she had opened up to Rory the night before, Carrie felt like she needed some answers about her great-aunt. Anything not to think about that day in the car.
And when you need me in the dead of night,I’m just a minute away… ooh, ooh.
Carrie shook her head imperceptibly to get the song out of her head. She’d be grateful if she never heard it again.
‘Come in, come in. Time for a cuppa?’
‘I’d love one, thanks.’ Carrie followed him, noting that the layout of Angus’s cottage was the same as Gretchen’s. ‘So, these cottages were all built at the same time, I’m guessing?’
‘Aye, I think so. These were end o’ the nineteenth century, but there’s been dwellins up on Queens Point for hundreds o’ years.’ Angus led her into the small sitting room and gestured to an aged, wine-coloured corduroy sofa. ‘Take a seat, dear. I’ll make the tea. Or d’ye prefer coffee? I have the good stuff. None o’ ye instant.’
‘A coffee would be great, then, thank you.’ Carrie settled herself gratefully into the sofa and looked around her. She needed a distraction. She neededcompany, and Angus had offered, after all.
Angus’s cottage was decorated in what she privately recognised as Single Man Style, which meant that there were several expensive-looking electric guitars hanging from wooden holders on one wall, an untidy pile of paperwork on the coffee table, along with several dirty cups, but a pristine shelving unit containing what looked like hundreds of CDs. On a wooden shelf to her right, a number of small metal sculptures were arranged neatly. She remembered Angus saying something about his workshop at the back of the house: they could be ornaments he’d made. His furniture was dated but clean and comfortable, and though the cottage didn’t have the cosy, girly feel of Gretchen’s, she decided she still liked it.
Angus returned with a tray, holding two steaming mugs of coffee and a plate of chocolate biscuits.
‘Ooh, biscuits!’ Carrie smiled, taking a mug.
