The shock had literally knocked her off her feet. She was overwhelmed with disbelief at what had happened. Then came the grief, laced with anger at what he’d done to her. She never wanted to see him again; she’d give anything to have him back. He’d change his mind; she wouldn’t see him again if he was the last man on earth.
The night he’d told her they were splitting up, she kept asking herself why. She’d kept screaming the word at him over and over but got a hundred versions of the same answer. He felt trapped. He felt suffocated. They’d never known any other life. The fact that it was Huw who’d begged her to marry him made no difference. Nothing could change the way he felt and that was that. Goodbye and thanks very much. He’d told her she could stay at the farmhouse, but she’d rather have walked over red-hot coals.
That was when Rowena had arrived.
Two weeks later, Carrie had finally found the courage to text him and arrange to collect her stuff from the farm—on the condition that Huw stayed out of the house until she’d finished.
Even on a raw March day, Packley Farm had held a strange kind of beauty. The farmhouse was largely Victorian, though parts of it were much older. It straggled across the yard with odd wings protruding here and there as generations of Brigstockes had added their own mark. Inside, the rooms were just as unconventional, shooting off landings unexpectedly, some reached by little half-flights of stairs. She’d adored it from the first day that Huw had taken her home.
As usual, the farmhouse door hadn’t been locked, and as she pushed her way inside, feeling as though she was burgling her own home, something furry brushed against her legs.
‘Macavity.’
Tilting his face up, the farm cat turned his green gaze on her before strolling to the food cupboard and twitching his tail hopefully. Fighting back the tears, she ran her hand along his coat and whispered, ‘I’d love to take you with me, but Rowena’s allergic to cats, and to be honest, Mac, I think you’d be allergic to Rowena.’
Macavity wasn’t the kind of cat you could scoop up and cuddle, so she filled his bowl with fishy biscuits and straightened up, knowing she was only putting off the next task: clearing out the bedroom.
Grabbing her cardboard box, she trudged up the stairs, hearing every familiar creak. The beamed door to their bedroom had been padded with foam to save the heads of several generations of Brigstocke men. The latch door was wide open and she noticed that the pillows were plumped and there was a new duvet on the bed she’d never seen. It was one she wouldn’t have tolerated on any bed of hers, all chintzy flowers and Laura Ashley tweeness.
She wondered if Huw had decided to change the bed linen along with her, but that was just being dramatic. It was more likely that his mother or her ‘little woman’ had come over and changed it. Either that or he couldn’t bear sleeping in the same sheets they’d shared. Maybe he wanted to move on… or was there a chance he was regretting what had happened?
She tossed a few paperbacks and trinkets into the box, then set to work on the wardrobes. Her jewelry casket was the only other thing left. She knew what she’d see if she opened the lid, so she just stuffed the casket on top of the box. Finally she took her shopping bag and went into the sitting room. It was silent but for the somber ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Carrie had never liked the clock; it was an ugly old thing, shaped like Napoleon’s hat, but it had been in the sitting room forever so she hadn’t had the heart to get rid of it. There was only one thing she really wanted: a photograph from the sideboard. It showed her and Huw goofing around in mortarboards and gowns on graduation day.
‘Carrie.’
Her heart beat faster at Huw’s deep voice but she didn’t turn round.
‘You promised to stay out of the way,’ she whispered.
‘I know I said that. I stayed out as long as I could, but we had a problem with one of the cows.’
‘Which one?’
‘Millicent. She’s got mastitis. I’ve just left the vet with her.’
It never ceased to amaze Carrie that Huw, unromantic and businesslike in every other respect, knew each of his four-hundred-strong herd by name. She had to fight the urge to sympathize with him; her emotions were so raw that their shared concern over the cow might well set her off.
‘She’ll be fine, though?’
‘Of course.’ Finally she faced him. He was taller than she’d remembered, even in his socks. She knew that his wellies, caked in mud, would be abandoned outside the door. His thick straw-colored hair hadn’t seen a comb and there were darkish blue shadows under his eyes, almost the same shade as the overalls he always wore for farm work. He also had cow muck spattered across his face, which for some strange reason made her heart lurch with a perverse longing for him.
‘I know I said I wouldn’t bother you, but I had to come in and see how you were.’
Her heartbeat quickened. Could he be trying to holding out an olive branch? Then she saw his grim expression and knew there was no hope. She clutched the photo frame tighter. ‘Oh, I’m fine. Never been better. There was a bit of a wobble recently after my fiancé broke off our engagement, but apart from that, you know, life’s hunky-dory.’
‘I suppose I deserved that, but you know I do care about you. I didn’t just make this decision on a whim.’
‘Didn’t you? Oh, silly me. Here I’ve been thinking you just rolled home after your stag night and told me to piss off out of your life. I hadn’t thought it might be a whim.’
She could see he was trying desperately to be patient with her, which infuriated her even more.
‘I know you’re upset, Carrie, but this isn’t helping either of us.’
‘Upset? I’m not upset. See, I’m already over it.’ She hoisted up the shopping bag. ‘I’ve collected my things and moved out of your life, just like you wanted. You don’t mind me taking a few bits and pieces, do you?’ she added sarcastically.
Huw shook his head. He looked like a great big shaggy hound who’d peed on the carpet. Guilt and shame dripped from every pore. She so badly wanted to hate him, but it was no good. It wasn’t hate making her heart thud so hard it was hurting her chest.
‘Of course I don’t mind. Take what you want,’ he said wearily.
‘Do you really mean that?’
‘You know I do.’
‘No, I don’t,’ she said, alarmed at the way her voice had risen higher.
‘I meant that you should take everything you need.’
‘Everything? You want me to have everything? Like the cowshed? The chickens? Your tractor?’
‘You know exactly what I mean. You may as well have what you want. We’ll have to sort things out sometime.’
‘What exactly do you mean by sorting things out?’
‘I mean financially. You’re entitled to your share of the house and business,’ he said gruffly. ‘That’s only fair.’
Had it come to this already? Barely two weeks after they’d split up, he was already making her part of his balance sheet?
‘Isn’t it a bit soon to be thinking about that?’
The sun, suddenly shining through the old panes on to his face, showed his true feelings. His expression wasn’t unkind, but she felt a chill run through her. She’d seen that set of his jaw before, when his mind was made up.
‘Sooner or later we have to sort things out financially. I want to be fair to you after all the work you’ve put in over the years.’
‘You mean you’re feeling as bloody guilty as hell!’
‘Carrie, please don’t be like this again.’
‘Don’t be like what? You’ve jilted me, Huw. You asked me to marry you. I didn’t ask for the bloody royal wedding. You and your mother wanted it.’
‘And you didn’t?’ he said angrily, then rolled his eyes to the ceiling. ‘Look, I won’t be drawn into another shouting match
. There’s nothing more I can say. I’m sorry for what happened between us and I wish things could have been different but they’re not. The only thing we can do now is get on with our lives. I want you to be happy, Carrie, and I know now that you could never have been happy with me.’
‘Well, thank you so much, Huw, for that string of platitudes.’
‘If you’re expecting some kind of deep emotional response, you’re going to be disappointed. You know me by now. I’ve got to get back to the milking parlor.’
He was going. He was leaving again and the panic was almost suffocating her. She’d known she should keep her mouth shut and maintain some pride and dignity but she couldn’t. She’d known what she was going to say next and had even guessed what the answer would be, but she had to go ahead like a moth drawn to the flame.
‘Do you—do you even love me anymore?’
‘I’m…’ he stammered. ‘I’m… very fond of you…’
She was glad that no one had come with her to the farm, because that meant no one else had to witness what happened next. Suddenly the photo frame was flying through the air. Huw must have ducked or her aim was wildly off target because the frame smashed into the clock with an enormous crack. Shards of glass and mechanism exploded into the room.
‘Jesus Christ, Carrie!’
As he cowered by the hearth, she snatched up her plastic bag of belongings and screamed, ‘You know, I’ve always hated that bloody clock!’
***
She hadn’t seen Huw since that day, three months ago now, and despite what he’d said, nothing had been sorted out between them. But that was the last thing on her mind now as she hurtled towards Steeple Fritton in the taxi. What cowards Fenella and Huw were—choosing a church twenty miles away from Packley!
It was obvious now, of course. It was so she wouldn’t find out about the wedding. In fact, she didn’t know how she hadn’t heard about it before on the Packley grapevine. Someone must have known, but if so, why hadn’t they told her? For now, that could wait. She had a job to do first. She might not be able to prevent Huw and Fenella becoming man and wife, but she could manage one thing. She could make sure that everyone in that church—and for miles around—would remember the bride and groom’s special day for the rest of their lives. They would just remember it for all the wrong reasons.
Chapter 7
The cab screeched to a halt. Throwing money at the driver, Carrie jumped out, hurtled up the path to the church, and almost crashed into the barrel-shaped usher blocking the way to the doors. His embroidered frock coat made him look like an extra from a campy Dickens musical, but she wasn’t the least bit surprised. Trust that bitch Fenella Harding to have no taste whatsoever.
‘Have they started yet?’ she demanded.
The fat usher mopped his brow. ‘Er… well, I’m not sure, ’cos I just stepped out here for a breath of fresh air. Maybe. I think they might have just got going.’
‘Exactly how long ago?’
‘Well, it was all supposed to kick off at three thirty, but Her Highness kept Huw waiting a good ten minutes, so I reckon they can’t have got very far through the service. Must have wanted to give him time to ask for any last requests, I reckon, though I’d have taken the chance to leg it myself.’
‘Well, could I possibly still come in? I’ve had rather a rush to get here.’
His eyes roved over her cami top and miniskirt. ‘I can see that, my love. Alarm clock didn’t go off, eh?’
‘It’s such a hot day, I thought I’d ditch the silk two-piece and just go for comfort,’ she said sweetly.
‘You do look very comfortable, I must say,’ he said lecherously.
She smiled the smile of a crocodile before it swallows up a fat and fluffy duck. ‘I am. So can I go inside?’
‘Wouldn’t want you to miss the execution, would I? Not every day a man signs his life away forever.’
He pushed open the heavy door to the church vestibule and Carrie almost punched the air in relief. She’d thought she might have to wrestle him to the ground if he hadn’t let her past soon.
‘Bride or groom’s side, love?’ he asked.
‘Oh, the groom, definitely.’
‘In that case, strictly speaking, you should sit on the right, but it’s packed in there so I’d just plonk down anywhere you can find. I’m sure a trim little thing like you will be able to squash in somewhere. Personally, I’m going to have a sneaky cigarette before the photographs start.’
The vestibule smelled of disinfectant and musty vestments. The door to the nave was open a crack and Carrie could hear the vicar’s voice booming through the gap. As she crept to the doorway, her heart was pounding so loudly she was sure one of the guests would hear her and turn round.
Carrie couldn’t believe what she saw. The church was a sea of big hair-do’s and enormous hats. Naturally, the bride’s side was by far the worst. It reminded her of one of those cheap bouquets you could pick up in the market: a clash of horrible colors like cerise, turquoise, and acid lime. The groom’s side was more muted. Huw’s family and friends were farming stock, mostly old county and very conservative. They’d gone for taupe, olive, and the occasional daring beige. And the flowers… The whole place looked like an explosion in a florist’s shop and stank like a tart’s boudoir.
Fenella was wearing a long beaded dress in dazzling white with a stand-up collar that made her look like the Evil Queen in Snow White. As for Huw, even with his back to her, in his campy frock coat, he was imposing and handsome.
‘Marriage was ordained for the procreation of children…’ declared the vicar.
Carrie balled her hands into fists, anger beginning to replace shock.
‘Secondly, it was ordained for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication; that such persons as have not the gift of continency might marry…’
As if on cue, Fenella clasped Huw’s hand. Carrie gave a tiny snort. A remedy against sin and fornication? Too bloody late for that!
‘Thirdly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity, and therefore if any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together…’
She opened the gap in the door a little wider.
‘…let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.’
This was the point at which she could have stepped out into the aisle and made herself known. The point at which everyone would have turned round in horror and gasped as she stood in the middle of the aisle and said loudly, for everyone to hear, ‘My fiancé is a spineless bastard and Fenella is a husband-stealing witch!’
The vicar’s voice would falter. The congregation would gasp. Huw’s jaw would drop to the floor and Fenella’s face would turn even whiter than her horrible frock. The vicar would peer at Carrie and say, ‘Well, this is most irregular, but I’m afraid I have to hear what this person has to say. Do you have an objection to this marriage, young woman?’
Every eye in the house would be glued to her, every ear straining to hear what she had to say. It would have been a leading lady’s dream.
But the moment passed by and she hadn’t said a word. Even though she was knotted up inside with fury and the injustice of it all, she had her pride. She was a good actress, and a good actress knew when to hide her feelings, knew how to pretend to be calm and dignified when every instinct made her want to scream out. She closed her eyes as she heard Huw promising to love and be faithful to Fenella and she knew she’d had enough. She closed the door, hardly caring about the thunk it made in the hushed church.
She’d come here to see with her own eyes what Huw had done, because she hadn’t quite been able to believe it. He’d broken off their engagement just a few months ago and now here he was actually standing at the altar with another woman.
S
he walked down the steps and out of the church. Next to the door stood a totally over-the-top flower arrangement. From the corner of her eye Carrie saw a hose snaking along the ground. She glanced around, but there was no sign of the fat guy who’d let her into the church. In fact, there was no sign of anyone, only the sound of a hymn being sung from inside.
She knew that what she was going to do was childish, but she just couldn’t resist it. Calmly but purposefully she headed for the tap and turned it on full. The hose filled with water instantly, the end whipping up like a demented snake, spraying water everywhere. She picked it up and was just about to aim it at the flower arrangement when one of the ushers came out of the church. It wasn’t the fat guy, but a much taller man with a ponytail and a beard.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ he said, as Carrie stood with the hose in her hand. ‘Believe me, you really don’t want to do this.’
‘Yes I do,’ she declared, raising the hose so that the stream of water spurted on to the ground a few feet from the flowers. Droplets splashed the usher’s shoes.
He folded his arms. ‘What good will this do you?’
What good? He was talking as if he knew who she was, yet she didn’t recognize him. At least, she thought she didn’t. She stared hard at him. He did seem vaguely familiar.
‘Why don’t you calm down?’
‘Why don’t you mind your own business and get out of my way, unless you want a soaking.’
She edged the stream a little nearer, but her aim was off and she ended up wetting the bottoms of his trousers.
‘Look, I don’t give a flying fuck if you drown me, but trashing these flowers won’t help you one bit.’
Carrie Goes Off the Map Page 4
