Chapter 4
Carter
The house was cold, mainly because no one had lived in it for over eighteen months, and also because the boiler had a leak and a part had corroded, a part that couldn’t be replaced or repaired, so a new boiler was now at the top of list of things to pay out for.
January was proving to be an expensive month, which, had I been an average sort of surgeon, saddled with debt and lack of paid overtime, would be a problem, but I’d been born with a silver spoon in my mouth and had what my mother referred to as ‘family money’.
Usually I felt guilty for having family money, but right now, I was glad of every penny because in another twenty-four hours I’d have heating, although the house would still feel empty.
I’d never lived on my own. I’d always had a flatmate or my parents, for a few months, a girlfriend, so the last couple of weeks I’d felt lost, rambling round a big old house with just random memories for company – and a lengthy to-do list.
I’d ignored the to-do list, having as much enthusiasm for it as most people had for an enema. There’d be no nagging for not having done any of it from my partner – literally partner-in-crime – because their enthusiasm for it was even less than mine.
The TV was piping out some reality shit that I didn’t usually bother with, but I needed the sound of another human’s voice.
I stared at my phone, scrolling up and down my contacts, wondering why I wasn’t just calling Rose to see if she wanted to get a coffee or go to a museum like we used to when we were bored teenagers.
I knew she wasn’t on shift because we were on the same rotas for the hospital where she worked, and we’d likely share the same patients, those Rose was treating for the reason behind why I might be treating them.
The reality that we dealt with was nearly always difficult, and I wondered on a regular basis why we’d chosen to go into the roles we had, but someone had to do them.
I put my phone down, sure I’d heard a knock at the door. The doorbell had stopped working, which left a heavy door knocker the only option and in some rooms it wasn’t that audible. I needed to get my arse into gear and do some odd jobs.
The floor felt cold under my bare feet, rugs being added to the mental list of things to get. My intention was to live here permanently, the house now in my name, my working hours committed to the two London hospitals for the foreseeable, and this was where I wanted to be.
I’d spent the first fourteen years of my life in New York before moving to London because my dad changed jobs to be working at the hospital where Rose, Fallon, Harriet and Erin were treated.
I’d finished school here, then gone onto university in London.
Being back in New York for a few years had been great, and there’d been opportunities on the west coast that would’ve provided a different life, but London had always felt the most like home.
That was one of the reasons I was back. There were more. Too many.
I opened the door and saw a short woman with blonde pixie cut, looking as much like Tinkerbell as anyone I’d ever met. Harriet had stopped growing when she was twelve and she hadn’t changed much since then. She was Rose’s best friend and probably the only person who had read more books than Rose.
“Carter – I don’t have your number so I thought I’d track you down.” She stepped into the hallway, and I closed the door. “It’s Erin’s birthday on Friday so I’m arranging a meal and thought you might like to come.”
She followed me through to the kitchen, keeping on her coat.
“It’s cold in here.”
“The boiler’s knackered. The plumber’s installing a new one tomorrow. The fire’s on in the kitchen though.” Every room in the house still had a fireplace, which was lucky, if a bit of a faff. If I lit the ones downstairs, the chimneys through the house got warm, which provided some heating.
“Do you have any tea?” She took her coat off as soon as she got into the kitchen, which was tropical.
“Always.” I put the kettle on – the instant hot water tap another thing that needed fixing.
“What’s the plan for Erin’s birthday?” I’d missed that, the constant stream of get togethers for the slightest excuse.
The four of them were good at arranging things, finding the time when they were all free to meet up.
“Fosters for food, we’ve got a private room for the evening. I know they’re arranging a leaving party for me as well.” She sat down at the table, the old wooden top the one we’d inherited from the Callaghans that had a history of its own. My dad had liked it, so we’d never replaced it.
“I’ve heard about that from Fallon.” But not Rose. Rose hadn’t said much to me about Harriet leaving, which suggested she was trying to pretend it wasn’t happening.
I knew her too well.
“You probably know more than me. How’s things since you’ve moved back?” She unwrapped her scarf.
“Chaotic. I could’ve done with having a month off before starting work but that’s not how life decided to shaft me.” I found the teabags, still in a box rather than in the ceramic jar my mother had used.
“I’m hoping for a couple of weeks to get settled before I start work.” She looked nervous. “It’s going to be a big change.”
“What is it you’ll be doing in Stratford?”
Harriet explained her new role, cataloguing and curating a gifted library of rare books, her dream come true.
I was glad of the chance to not think about my own situation and the drama that was about to unfold over the next few months, which I was acting like Rose was with Harriet moving.
Head in the sand. Ostrich mode activated.
“Sounds ideal. Any nerves?”
“Plenty. I know one person there, so I’m going to have to try and be sociable. But I can see lots of plays, so I’m sure I’ll meet people through that. Can you add half a sugar?”
I finished making the tea and sat down opposite her. “How’s Rose dealing with you moving out?”
“I think she’s still dealing with you moving back. Why didn’t you tell her you were coming over?”
I knew I hadn’t made the right decision not to tell her. I’d lied when I said I’d just been too swept up in things, and she was the one person I would usually tell something like that too, mainly because it involved her.
“Busy juggling things – there’s been a lot going on.”
Harriet tipped her head to one side. “Do you really expect me to just accept that, Carter? Vague has never suited you.”
I plonked my elbows on the surface of the kitchen island, missing a smear of jam by a millimetre. “For a variety of reasons, I need to be away from New York for a couple of years.”
“Are you going to share those reasons?”
“Beyond saying that it’s nothing illegal or anything worrying, no.” Because I couldn’t say anything. While it wasn’t illegal and was a favour for a friend, the favour involved telling a lie.
It wasn’t exactly a small one.
Harriet studied me, looking interested, and I wondered if I’d said too much already.
She was the quietest of the four of them, the most watchful and the most unsure.
After Rose, I was closest to her, mainly because I could get a word in edgeways which was almost impossible with Erin and Fallon, although I’d spent more time with Fallon recently.
“Are you going to be living here alone?” Harriet looked around the kitchen. “It seems weird to be so empty.”
“What makes you think I won’t be here alone?”
She laughed. “Because you’re never really on your own for long, Carter. I don’t mean a girlfriend but a flatmate or someone staying over. And you’ve only filled half your coat hangers, as in precisely fifty percent is clear, like you’re expecting someone else to put coats there.”
I’d forgotten how observant she was. “Guests. And I have someone coming over from New York for a few months.”
“Who?”
“A friend – she’s setting up a London branch of her company – a bookshop, don’t get too excited - ” I braced myself at the sight of Harriet’s expression.
She leaned over the kitchen island and looked like a child who’d just come downstairs on Christmas Day. “Your friend is opening a bookshop? What sort of bookshop? Where? What’s the one like she has in New York?”
Another gazillion questions followed. I had no way of keeping up with them, so I didn’t try.
“She has three bookshops – two in New York and one in Chicago and they specialise in first editions and collectors’ editions in lots of different genres – crime, romance, sci-fi, fantasy.
She gets limited edition prints of just released books with all fancy stuff on them and does subscriber boxes and things like that.
” I shrugged, proud but somewhat confused.
Laurie had worked hard to get where she was; she was a good person who’d helped me out when things had been going pear shaped, or potato shaped – it’d been heavier than a pear, that was for sure.
“She needs to meet me – I can help her with contacts. I can also see if they’re the sorts of books we can add to this Stratford collections.” Her eyes were bright and dark, like a cat’s before it captures a mouse.
I felt slightly disconcerted.
“I thought your new collection was things like Shakespeare’s First Folio, and antique stuff?”
“It is, and everything after. It’s meant to show the development of literature over time, that’s the purpose behind it.
But part of the role is to continue to grow it – special and signed editions of acclaimed new fiction will only add to it.
What’s the name of the Bookshop – I might already know of it? ” Her phone was ready to google.
“Silversmith’s. It was her grandmother’s maiden name.” And part of the reason why we were in this situation.
“I have heard of it.” She sounded surprised with herself, staring at her phone screen.
I wasn’t - I doubted there was a bookshop in existence that Harriet and Rose hadn’t heard of.