by Carla Blake
‘ At a premiere?’ Carrie wrote.
“That’s right.”
“But, like I said, it was all years ago!”Andrea said. “And as far as I was concerned it was just a party fling. I don’t remember ever saying or doing anything that might have given her the impression it was anything more serious.”
“Well, Isobel clearly thought it was. And when she saw you on TV, she obviously thought it was time to get reaquainted. The fact that you had a new girlfriend made no difference to her. She simply saw Carrie as an obstacle to get rid of.”
Carrie made it home for Christmas, and soon after arriving, Andrea stole her away to explain what had happened with Isobel.
“I had no idea she’d read so much into a one night stand.”She said, sitting on the sofa with Carrie, the fire warming their legs. “I thought she was just having a bit of fun like me, not preparing to settle down and pick out curtains. If only she’d found me when she’d first started looking. Maybe then we could have sorted things out without resorting to violence.”
“Maybe.”Carrie replied, whispering to spare her throat. “If you could have got her to listen. But it seems to me the only thing she was really interested in was getting you back.”
“I suppose. But if that was her plan, she went the wrong way about it. She nearly killed you! And you’re so calm about it! Aren’t you the least bit annoyed?”
“Annoyed? I’d love to throttle her, the little bitch. But what’s the point of getting all steamed up about her when I’ve got much better things to think about.”
“Like what?”Andrea frowned. “I thought we had everything sorted for Christmas? What’ve we forgotten?”
Carrie grinned. “Such a short memory.”She chuckled. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already that I asked you to marry me?”
Andrea looked aghast. “No, of course not, I just thought that with everything else that’s happened..”
“I wouldn’t want to talk about it? Rubbish! I was thinking about setting a date. Soon. Before anyone else crawls out of the woodwork and tries to lure you away from me.”
New Year and on a crisp, bright day with frost coating the lawn and Carrie still lounging in a nice, warm bed, Andrea crept out of the house, climbed into her car and set off to visit the prison where Isobel was serving remand before her trial.
The wedding date was set for late Spring, when the weather would be warmer and the flowers would be out, and Carrie had even managed to persuade her parents to come down a week early. Primarily to lend their moral support, but more importantly, so Carrie could spend some time with them.
Amanda had offered to make the cake, or more precisely, had insisted upon it, whilst Carmichael, initially rocked to the core that his beloved Carrie was going to marry, soon rallied round and became glued to the phone. Fending off as many requests to attend the wedding as he had done with the Christmas party, although with such an intimate wedding planned, most of those who called ended up disappointed.
The press, meanwhile, speculated on what the two brides would be wearing for their big day. Their interest only surpassed by who would win the battle to gain exclusive rights to the wedding pictures.
Snow had started to fall by the time Andrea reached the grim looking building and brushing flakes from her shoulders, she followed the burly prison officer inside the heavy, iron doors and along a concrete corridor. Only stopping when they reached an equally grim, grey painted door, and he paused to peer through a tiny spy hole.
Then, after uttering a few, brief instructions, he left her to it. Returning to a plain looking work station half way down the corridor where, feet up on the desk, he sat and watched, confident that she wouldn’t attempt to enter the cell and actually try to speak to Isobel.
Not that that had ever been her intention. In fact, she wasn’t even sure why exactly she was here? To look at her? To try and equate Isobel with the same person she’d made such erotic love with? It was hard to say because she hadn’t even recognized her. A truth that had made her feel guilty at first before Carrie had reminded her that it had been a long time ago and Christmas. The traditional time for getting outrageously drunk and letting inhibitions go.
She still thought she should have felt something though, other than this numbness, but as far as she was concerned, the woman on the other side of this door could be anyone.
Just another stranger. Sitting at a battered, wooden table and rocking back and forth on a rickety looking chair.
A single finger patiently tracing the same thing again and again. Never deviating from her task. Never looking up. Just scrolling the same thing over and over, whilst on the other side of the door, Andrea watched her and frowned and watched again.
Her eyes following the pattern until finally she had deciphered it, and with a shudder, walked away.
Leaving Isobel Pierce to scratch the letter ‘ a’ in one, continuous loop.
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