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Carrie felt the tug in her heart as he said Claire’s name; she saw the corresponding sadness in his eyes as he said it too. But she was also glad to talk about her sister.
They all stood, and did a solemn toast with their tea mugs.
‘So, what do we do now?’ Bess asked, catching Carrie’s eye. ‘Cheers to the dead. A thousand per cent. Now what?’
Something in her expression made Carrie burst out laughing, unexpectedly, and the seriousness of the moment was dispelled. Something seemed to burst, gently, in the room – a tense energy that had built up, and had now disappeared like a bubble popping.
Bess smiled. ‘What are you laughing at?’ she asked, chuckling.
‘Cheers to the dead?’ Carrie echoed Bess. ‘A thousand per cent?’ She started laughing harder.
‘What?’ Bess was still chuckling.
Graham gave Carrie a look like he thought she was vaguely unhinged.Possibly, I am, she thought.
‘I don’t know. I just thought… you reminded me of Claire just then. My sister. She would have said something like that. She was never serious.’
‘Ha. Sally always accuses me of being too quippy. Too irreverent.’ Bess raised an eyebrow. ‘I like to keep it light. Life’s too short, right?’
‘It certainly is.’ Graham put his mug down and strode to the kitchen. ‘Wait. I’ll be back,’ he called over his shoulder. He returned almost immediately, holding a half-full bottle of brandy.
‘Where did you get that?’ Carrie asked, surprised.
‘Found it at the back of one of the cupboards when I was looking for the teapot,’ he explained. ‘Come on. Let’s toast them in style, this time.’
They drained their mugs of tea, and Graham poured a slosh of brandy into each one.
‘Cheers to the dead. A thousand per cent,’ he repeated, seriously, and clinked his mug against Carrie’s and Bess’s.
They all drank.
Making new traditions, Carrie thought.This is what families do. She realised she was glad, and she was grateful for the feeling. It had been a long time since she was glad of anything. ‘I’m glad you’re both here,’ she said, out loud.
‘Me, too,’ Graham agreed.
Bess nodded, blinking owlishly as she downed the remaining brandy in her mug. ‘Me, too,’ she echoed. ‘I’m gonna be pished before long, though.’
Carrie giggled and topped up all their mugs. ‘Come on, then. We might as well.’
THIRTY-THREE
Carrie was cleaning the cottage bathroom when she was interrupted by a knock on the door. Swearing quietly to herself, since she was right in the middle of descaling the taps and the rather vintage shower, she stepped out of the bath in her bare feet and went to the door.
Since she was cleaning, she had on her house-cleaning attire, which consisted of a pair of pyjama shorts she didn’t care about getting bleach on and a loose T-shirt she tended to sleep in. It featured a picture of two bears cuddling each other, and the phrase I LOVE BEAR HUGS at the top. Her hair was tied back with a rainbow-coloured scrunchie and she wore rubber gloves.
She opened the door, thinking it was probably the postman with a package for Gretchen; publishers still sent her books now and again for her opinion, even though she’d been retired from her high-powered publishing job for years. Carrie was building up a pile of book packages by the door to take over to her friend soon. She was looking forward to tea, cake and a catch up with Gretchen.
‘Oh. God. It’s you.’ The words were out of her mouth before she could control them, and Carrie stared almost uncomprehendingly at Rory McCrae, who stood on her doorstep, glowering dark clouds behind him in the sky over the loch, holding a bunch of pink roses.
‘Not quite the greeting I was hoping for, but… yeah. It’s me. Hi.’
‘Hi.’ Carrie didn’t know what else to say. It had been a couple of months since Rory had left, and she’d started to accept that whatever the moment between them had been, it had passed. They’d had one amazing night, and then he’d left, and never messaged, texted or called. Not even once. That seemed a pretty clear message to Carrie.
‘Hi.’ Rory held out the roses to her. ‘These are for you.’
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Carrie looked warily at the sky. It looked like it was about to hurl it down at any moment.
‘Thanks.’ She took them, refusing to ask him in. If it rained – or hailed – then Rory would just have to get wet. She put the roses on top of the pile of Gretchen’s book packages by the door. ‘So, you’re back.’
