Carrie Goes Off the Map

by Phillipa Ashley

  ‘Jesus…’

  Slowly he turned full circle until he was facing Spike and Carrie again.

  ‘That is truly awesome,’ said Spike, raising his bottle in salute.

  Matt felt Lola’s fingertip tracing the patterns that flowed across his skin in whorls and loops. They covered his back, across his shoulder blades and down his spine, disappearing into the waistband of his low-rise jeans. They were tribal patterns, some kind of rite of passage for warriors, but he wasn’t going to tell Spike and his mates that.

  ‘Where do they end?’ Lola asked, awestruck.

  Matt was embarrassed. ‘Where do you think?’ he joked.

  Lola said nothing. She’d switched her attention to Carrie, who was staring at Matt, her face a strange mixture of emotions. He couldn’t fathom her. She seemed as fascinated as the rest of them.

  ‘Did they hurt?’ The voice was small and quiet. He hadn’t expected Carrie to ask that.

  ‘If I said no I’d be lying, but tattooing is part of life for some of the people out there. The village elders—the local leaders—asked me if I wanted these after I’d been running a clinic for them. It was a great honor. I couldn’t say no.’

  ‘How long did it take, man?’

  ‘How do they do it?’

  ‘Did they—like—give you anything while they stuck you?’

  The questions came from everywhere except Spike, who was silent and, Matt thought, trying to look bored.

  ‘My back took all day. They use a sharp thorn and a small mallet to hammer the design into the skin, then they press bits of burnt tree trunk in it,’ he said.

  ‘A thorn?’ said Lola throatily.

  ‘Fuck me,’ said Baz.

  Right, thought Matt, he’d provided enough entertainment for one night. He shrugged his T-shirt back on, refusing to titillate Lola with any more gory details.

  ‘Any chance of more beer?’ he said, even though he didn’t want one.

  Spike indicated a pile of bottles sitting in a bucket of water. ‘Help yourself, mate,’ he said from his place next to Carrie.

  Matt watched her hugging her legs. She was definitely cold and probably nervous, he guessed. She was also a big girl and could make her own decisions. Downing his beer quickly, he made his excuses, and as he’d expected, Lola came with him.

  Chapter 22

  The first time is always the worst, Carrie told herself as she lay next to Spike in the van in the early hours. He was propped up one elbow, lighting a joint. She took a drag herself and hoped she wouldn’t throw up or pass out. The sex had been furtive and graphic but that was okay. She hadn’t expected fireworks—hadn’t wanted them. She’d wanted sex that was dirty and real. But maybe not so short.

  ‘Where are the others?’ she asked Spike.

  ‘Probably stoned. They’ll sleep on the beach. Apart from Lola, that is.’

  She pressed her cheek against Spike’s chest, trying to block out an image of Lola astride Matt in Dolly. Nelson would go nuts if they were smoking stuff in there.

  ‘Told you there was a first time for everything,’ he said.

  She lifted her chin to look at him. ‘It wasn’t my first time.’

  ‘Your first time cheating, I meant.’

  ‘I’m not cheating. There’s no one else.’

  ‘No one else now. Bastard, was he?’

  She realized she didn’t like Spike calling Huw a bastard, even though he was. She’d said it herself, and much worse, many times.

  ‘Let’s forget him. Sorry if I was nervous.’

  ‘You were great, but you folded up your top when you got undressed. Force of habit?’

  She closed her eyes. ‘Oh shit, did I? I don’t remember.’

  ‘That’s what happens when you stay in the same place with the same guy too long.’

  ‘And you never do?’

  He took a long, lingering puff of his joint and stared up at the ceiling of the van. She wasn’t quite sure if he was going to speak again or just pass out. ‘I never say never. Too final. I just see where life takes me. Making plans scares me,’ he said eventually.

  ‘What about money. How do you live?’

  ‘I did have a job until last year, but one day I was on the beach at Croyde with a load of other dudes. They were all living in vans by the sea and I realized: life’s too short for work. This is where I want to be. So I sold my car and the flat, and cashed in the pension plan.’

  ‘You had a pension?’

  He turned to her languidly, running a finger over her stomach. ‘I did.’

  She shivered as his finger stopped at her navel. ‘What did you do for a living?’

  ‘Some boring-as-shit office work. I can barely remember. What about you?’

  She laughed softly. ‘You know what I did. I worked for my boyfriend running his farm.’

  ‘Oh yeah. Sorry. I forgot. But who cares about all that stuff? I only care about now.’

  His hand crept to her breast. He took her nipple in his thumb and forefinger. Her stomach swirled again as he said, ‘I think I short-changed you last time. In fact, I think it would be a good idea if I put that right, now.’

  Shifting his weight, he rolled on top of her and kissed her. His mouth was wet, his tongue slippery. She wrapped her legs around his back and arched her pelvis. She wanted to screw Spike on the beach, in a cave, up against a wall, everywhere. She was smoking weed and having sex—not making love—with him in a sleazy camper van. She really hoped he hadn’t been an accountant. She hoped he was on the dole, never paid his council tax, and sold the Socialist Worker on street corners. He was everything Huw hated, and she couldn’t believe how good that felt.

  ***

  Sunbathing, sex, and surfing. What more could a girl want? Less of the last one, actually. A huge wave spun Carrie round like a stray sock in a spin dryer. She wasn’t going to come up this time. This time she was going to drown. Her battered body would probably be hauled out of the sea a few weeks from now, minus a few bits the fish had taken a fancy to. She wondered if Huw would come to the funeral…

  A hand reached down, grabbed her wrist, and hauled her to the surface. She came up spluttering and coughing, gasping for air.

  ‘You can put your feet down if you like. It’s not that deep,’ shouted Spike.

  ‘I th-think I might take a b-break.’

  He laughed as he paddled off. ‘It’s awesome out here today. I’m staying. Catch you later.’

  Dragging the board behind her, she waded out of the sea, spitting out water. Her eyes were raw, she was aching all over, and there was water in orifices she didn’t know she had. A week. She’d spent a whole week of her life surfing and managed the amazing feat of standing on the board for about five seconds. Spike said she was doing great, but as far as Carrie was concerned, surfing was definitely not the orgasmic experience the others made it out to be.

  Sex with Spike hadn’t been quite as orgasmic as she’d hoped either, but that hadn’t seemed to matter. They’d done it in the van, on the beach, in a cave—the last two not as much fun as you would have thought, with seaweed stuck to your bum and sand everywhere. It had been rough and ready and so unlike making love with Huw that she’d felt, at times, as though her whole world had been tumbled around and washed away. Maybe this was the only life she’d ever known. This life of shagging and lying on the sand. With Huw, she’d worried about mortgages and rents, milk yields and subsidies. With Spike she worried about drowning and whether they’d got enough condoms.

  Shading her eyes with her hand, she watched Lola catch a wave, surfing it as if she was part of the foam. She hadn’t seen Matt with Lola again and she had no idea if they’d slept together that first night. It was none of her business. Tugging down the zip, she wriggled out of her wetsuit. She was freezing; she needed a hot shower. S
pike was wading out of the waves, dragging his board, as she gathered up her stuff ready to go.

  He grinned. ‘Had enough already?’

  ‘I thought of swallowing a bit more of the Atlantic but decided, hey, why not leave all that to you guys.’

  He laughed. ‘A few more months and you’d crack it.’

  Months? She searched his face. He was thinking months?

  ‘See you later on the beach? We’re having a special party. It’s Lola’s birthday today.’

  ‘Is it? I must get her something.’

  He winked. ‘No need. I’ve got her a present already. From all of us.’

  Chapter 23

  Later turned out to be much later. The sparks from the fire were white and orange and scarlet against the darkening sky as Carrie sat on the beach that evening. She had Spike’s arm around her back and they were sharing a joint. Well, it was a birthday party—even if Lola hadn’t actually turned up.

  Baz was playing the guitar and Carrie felt mellow. Mellow yellow. Baz was really, really brilliant. He was fantastic. He should go on The X Factor, she thought. Maybe she should phone up Simon Cowell and tell him about Baz.

  ‘You should be on the telly,’ she said to Baz when he’d finished his song, but no one seemed to hear her. Oh well, she thought, maybe she was invisible. Now that would be fun. She could sneak into the men’s locker room at the health club… She laughed, laughed until her sides hurt and she was rolling about in the sand.

  ‘How are you, Caroline?’ said a voice.

  She turned her head, which took ages. Spike was next to her, grinning, and his mouth was huge, like a big open cave. ‘Can you get up, sweetheart?’

  ‘I’m amazing, and…’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Did you know I’m invisible?’

  ‘I think not,’ said Spike.

  ‘Oh, I am. You know. I think we’ve all become invisible,’ she said. ‘Which is tricky, because if we can’t see each other, we’re going to be bumping into one another and—’

  ‘Carrie, you’re talking out of your arse.’

  His voice sounded harsh but she didn’t care. ‘You know, I might be. Or you might be because I can’t see you but I can hear you, so maybe you’re really talking out of your arse.’

  ‘Come on. Get up. It’s five o’clock in the morning.’

  He pulled her up off the sand like a puppet on a string. She was bouncing slowly up and down and it felt so mellow. She blinked. Her eyes weren’t working very well so she tried to hold them open really wide. She needed matchsticks to prop them open like Tom and Jerry did in cartoons. But hey. This was totally weird. ‘You smell nice,’ she said. ‘You’re not Spike. You’re Matt.’

  ‘Have a gold star. Now come home.’

  ‘Nah. Don’t be silly.’

  ‘You’re stoned.’

  ‘No. I’m just enjoying myself. You’re a boring old fart.’

  ‘You know, Carrie, I’m trying very hard to be patient here. But if you carry on like this, I’m going to get—’

  ‘Very cross. Very, very cross. I know. You’ll report me to the head and I’ll be expelled.’

  ‘For God’s sake, woman, stand up.’

  It was funny, being on her feet. It was so funny, she was laughing. Laughing like a drain, whatever a drain laughed like.

  ‘Ow! You’re hurting me, you spoilsport prefect,’ she protested.

  ‘Whatever you say. We need to take you home.’

  ‘I don’t wanna go home. I want to stay here with my friends. Whoa…’

  ‘Your friends aren’t here, Carrie… Be careful, Lola. She’s heavier than she looks.’

  ‘I am not fat.’

  ‘It’s fine. I can manage her,’ the other prefect said as she took flight again. That was it. That was it! She was a kite caught by the wind, and Matt and his friend were flying her. Wheeeee!

  ***

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ said Matt, as Carrie collapsed on top of him and he struggled to wriggle free. ‘She weighs a bloody ton.’

  ‘Do you think she’ll be all right?’ asked Lola.

  Carrie lay in the sand, waving her arms and legs. ‘Lola? Is that you? Look, I’m an angel.’

  Lola knelt beside her. ‘Yes. It’s me. Are you all right?’

  ‘Please don’t let that nasty man take me home. I want to stay with you and my friends. I’m having such a great time. I can fly, you know.’

  ‘You are home,’ said Lola.

  ‘Oh, lovely,’ said Carrie, snuggling up under her warm Take That duvet, fresh from the airing cupboard. ‘You are so lovely, Lola. Like a beautiful mermaid. Will you wake me up when Terry Wogan comes on?’

  ***

  The next morning, Carrie had a stomach like the contents of a hoover bag. She wasn’t in a fit state to have a conversation, but she knew that she’d been brought back to the van in the early hours by Matt and Lola. She remembered having a beer, and then oblivion. It was like the whole night had been erased. She might have ended up in the sea, or Tuman, and she’d have been none the wiser. She thought that Lola or Matt—or both—had been stroking her hair as she knelt beside the loo, then held her up as she nearly passed out.

  ‘Ganja shouldn’t make you sick. Unless you had some other stuff with it,’ said Matt.

  ‘Is she okay?’

  As Lola spoke, Carrie tried to turn her head. Big mistake.

  Bleurghhh…

  ‘I don’t deserve this,’ she muttered.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Matt grimly.

  When she’d stopped being sick, when she’d sat there on the floor of the cubicle for half an hour without throwing up again, he left, leaving her a pile of clothes and a toothbrush. She staggered back to the van, where Lola was sitting on the steps, her chin on her hand, like a Gothic pixie.

  ‘Are you feeling better now?’ asked Lola, looking very worried.

  ‘Yes thank you,’ said Carrie in a teeny, tiny voice.

  ‘Can I get you a cup of ginger and chamomile tea?’

  Carrie smiled weakly. She was grateful for Lola’s help, but the thought of chamomile tea made her want to barf again. ‘A glass of water would be nice. Matt said I was on my own. What happened to Spike and Baz and the others?’

  Lola seemed embarrassed. ‘They were stoned in their van. I don’t expect they meant to leave you. They might not have known you were there.’

  Carrie was confused. Surely they hadn’t just left her. ‘But how did you find me?’

  ‘I went out with Matt. We went clubbing in town, and when we came back we went for a walk on the beach.’ Lola faltered as Matt appeared. ‘Then we found you.’

  ‘Oh God. Was I that bad?’

  Lola nodded. ‘You were stoned. I think you had my birthday present.’

  ‘Thanks for bringing me back here. I don’t know where I’d have ended up without you. Probably washed ashore on a desert island.’

  ‘Oh there was no need to worry about that. The tide was going out, but Matt said you might have choked on your own vomit if we’d left you.’

  ‘Nice,’ said Carrie, feeling nauseous again.

  ‘Not really. I’ve seen it happen a few times,’ said Matt, grinning.

  Lola glanced up at Matt with an expression close to hero worship. ‘Do you think she’s going to be okay on her own? Do you think one of us should be here to watch her? I don’t mind staying with her but you’re the professional.’

  ‘Oh, I think she can be safely left, if she behaves herself for the rest of the day,’ he said.

  Carrie bit back a very rude word.

  ‘The guys will be along to pick us up in about twenty minutes,’ said Matt. ‘Why don’t you go and get your stuff, Lola?’

  Lola seemed reluctant but Matt spoke firmly. ‘Carrie will prob
ably be better left on her own, and anyway, I promised to teach you to dive.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll get my things. Back soon.’

  When Lola was out of earshot, Carrie said to Matt, ‘You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?’

  ‘No. I don’t think you’re an idiot. We’ve all been there. Don’t you remember what I got up to at uni?’

  Carrie watched him pack his diving gear into a bag, thinking that she hadn’t really known him that well at university at all. He’d been Huw’s friend but they hadn’t hung out together that much. He’d just been one of the rugby crowd and a drinking buddy. Matt had existed on the outer edge of her universe, while Huw had been at the center.

  Today Matt was wearing board shorts and a gray T-shirt that was a little too tight to cope with his broad shoulders. His thick, coal-black hair was wet from the shower and glistening in the morning sunlight. She could see why so many other woman had noticed him at university, and how easily he might have occupied the center of their universes. Lola certainly seemed to have an enormous crush on him.

  Hoisting the bag on his shoulder, he said, ‘You seem fine now, so I’m taking Lola diving. Despite what I said about leaving you alone, you can come if you want to,’ he added gruffly.

  ‘I think I’ll pass if you don’t mind, but thanks for asking,’ said Carrie, knowing they both wanted her to come diving about as much as they wanted a hole in the head. But at least he’d asked… Suddenly she felt horribly emotional. It must be the drugs, she told herself, rather than how touched she was that Matt and Lola had cared when Spike hadn’t given a toss.

  Chapter 24

  Carrie was getting some fresh air on the beach that afternoon when she saw Spike. He was surfing and seemed as fresh as a daisy. Lucky bloody Spike. She watched him for a while and thought he hadn’t noticed her. Then he walked out of the waves.

  ‘Hi there. How you doing?’ he said, as if the previous night hadn’t happened.