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She’d hated him from the moment Claire had introduced them, in a bar in Edinburgh. Carrie had seen the look in her sister’s eyes as she looked up at him, and had felt a stab of anger in her stomach. She’d known Claire was seeing someone, but, usually, it was casual and ended within a few months. But Graham was different. Carrie had seen that immediately. Claire looked at him as if he was the most remarkable person in the world, and not an accountant from Manchester. The way they’d touched each other, as if being away from the comfort of each other’s presence was a kind of torture. The lingering looks Claire gave him when she thought no one was looking; Carrie had never seen her sister give anyone those before.
So, Carrie had been brittle and unfriendly to Graham that night, and ever since. That was why she and Claire had been edgy with each other the day of the crash; because Carrie had been avoiding her sister for months. Their relationship had gone from talking to each other on the phone or seeing each other every day to keeping in touch with the odd text message once or twice a month.
How are you?
Fine.
Want to come for dinner? I’d love you to get to know Graham more.
I’ll let you know. Busy with work.
When the invitation to the wedding of an old family friend had arrived, Carrie had assumed Claire would want to take Graham, but she’d suggested they go together instead and have somequality sister time. Carrie had cautiously accepted. She knew she had pushed Claire away, but she’d felt unable to do anything else.
In the car, it had been strained. That was why Carrie had been annoying her sister with the radio, refusing to turn it down. She hadn’t known how to be with Claire anymore, because she was too angry. Angry because Claire had replaced her in her heart. Or, that was how she had felt, anyway.
And that anger had made the accident happen. Carrie had caused it. Because she was jealous.
Her phone lit up, taking her attention. A message flashed on the screen.
Hi, Carrie. What a bolt from the blue! Yes, Len was my dad. You think we’re related? How? Happy to chat and maybe meet for a coffee. Bess x
Carrie stared at the message for a minute, temporarily distracted. However, she didn’t have the bandwidth to reply.I’ll text back later,she thought, and started removing Claire’s dresses from their hangers and folding them up, trying to stop crying. She could hear Graham in the lounge, moving things around. Why wouldn’t he just go?
Carrie folded some more clothes, but the knowledge that Graham was out there, touching Claire’s things, made her antsy. She couldn’t cope with his presence.
She stormed into the lounge and found him kneeling next to Claire’s bookshelf.
‘Some of these are mine,’ he said, taking a book out and adding it to a small pile by his feet. ‘I’m taking them home. And I want to take some of her things. To remember her by.’
‘You can take anything that was yours originally. But that’s all.’ Carrie crossed her arms over her chest.
‘Carrie, don’t be unreasonable.’
Graham looked like a ghost. There were black rings around his eyes; he didn’t look like he’d slept. Carrie wondered how long he’d been in Claire’s flat. Whether he’d been sleeping in her bed. The thought was awful. Not that Carrie didn’t know that Graham would have spent many nights here with Claire; it was more the thought that no one should be sleeping in their dead partner’s flat. It wasn’t healthy. Reluctantly, Carrie allowed herself to feel a glimmer of sympathy for him.No one should be living like this, she thought.Not even Graham.
She sat down on the sofa and sighed. ‘This is hard for me, too, you know,’ she said. ‘Please understand how hard it is for me to be here. And you can take some things. Just…’ Carrie trailed off. ‘I-I just don’t want to let any part of her go. That’s all.’
‘I know.’ Graham sighed. ‘Look, Carrie. We don’t have to be friends. We never were, even though I wanted to be, and Claire wanted us to be. But that’s okay. After today we never have to see each other. But I want to be here and sort out her things. I need this closure. Agreed?’
‘Agreed.’ Carrie needed the help; there was so much to do. ‘But I still don’t like you.’
‘I know.’ Graham nodded, and gave her a small smile.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Carrie checked her phone for the millionth time that day: nothing. She refreshed her messages, pulling down the screen and hoping that Rory’s name would pop up to the top, but there was nothing.
She sighed. She knew that Rory was away doing some kind of secret navy training mission, but was he really so busy that he couldn’t manage a single,Hi, how are you, thinking of you xxmessage? Would that have been so hard?
She had replied to Bess, though, and arranged to meet for a walk along the loch in a couple of days’ time. Carrie didn’t know what to think about potentially having a new living relative but, overall, it felt good.
Carrie stood at the entrance to St Bernadette’s Hospital, watching June approach. It was ten thirty exactly, and it was raining heavily in the way that it only could in Scotland: seeming to come in sideways, underneath Carrie’s brolly. However, despite the weather – she rationalised that it was November now, and the fine October they’d been having had to run out eventually – Carrie was enjoying wearing the red polka-dot dress she’d bought at Fiona’s Fashions. June wore a long rain mac and a plastic headscarf of the kind that only elderly ladies seemed to wear.
Carrie still had her eye on quite a few things in the shop, including some other lovely dresses that would be perfect for dates.
Not that you’re likely to be going on any dates, she thought, a little glumly.Not with Rory, anyway.
‘Carrie! You look lovely. Excited to see what it’s all about?’ June took her arm.
