Chapter 8
Rose
There wasn’t much need for a car in London, but Harriet had one, and she had somehow persuaded a driving examiner to give her a licence. How, we weren’t sure, because we were definitely convinced she hadn’t passed legitimately.
I was quiet. I’d been quiet all week and immersed myself in work.
Luckily, it was the week where I had a psychology conference planned, and I was one of the speakers over the two days, which narrowed down the chance of me seeing Carter at work.
I was pissed off with him in more ways than I could name, and for the first time in seventeen years I felt like I didn’t know him.
And I didn’t want to talk about it.
“Harriet, I think you needed to indicate there.” Erin gestured an apology at a driver who was clearly not happy with Harriet’s driving skills.
“That was his fault. He should’ve given way automatically.” Harriet put her foot down on the accelerator.
“I feel like I’m in a really bad version of Thelma and Louise.” Fallon looked at me in the back seat. “Have you made a will, Rose?”
“Of course, I’m from a family of solicitors.
Have you not?” I was studying my phone so I didn’t have to pay attention to Harriet’s driving.
I’d decided I’d rather not spend the journey holding my breath, so I was developing my detective skills on social media instead, pending phone signal, which was intermittent at best.
“I have no will. That statement’s true in more ways than one. What time are we booked in for afternoon tea?” Fallon shifted in her seat, a long leg moving rather like a twitching spider, and she kicked me in the shin.
“Three. We should get there with time to spare, the rate Harriet’s driving.” I wasn’t quite sure, but she could’ve been related to a Formula One driver.
“If we get there at all,” Erin was fixed on the windscreen. “We have about twenty miles left where we need to clutch on and pray.”
“I’m never driving you anywhere again and that includes back to London on Sunday.” Harriet’s tone was sweet but cutting. ‘You can spend four hours getting the train back.”
“I might just stay in Stratford.” I’d found Laurie’s profile on Instagram and she looked as nice as she had been when we’d met her last week.
Her profile was full of books, as mine was when I could be bothered to post anything, and there were reels about her shops and interviews with authors.
She was exactly the sort of person we’d want to get to know as all four of us were readers and give us a book to talk about and we were at our most sociable – Harriet and I were at least; Erin and Fallon were more outgoing.
“Is that to avoid Carter?” Harriet nailed it.
“Yep. But I still don’t want to talk about it.
” I really didn’t. He’d told me he was single, but not available which now sounded like something from a cryptic crossword where the answer was wanker.
Carter had usually told me about girlfriends, never in loads of detail, but I knew if he’d gone on a date or how a relationship was going.
He’d never struggled with dating. For him not to mention Laurie at all – that was strange in itself, or had he?
He’d talked about someone he’d met who’d been upset, and I couldn’t recall her name.
“You need to stop sulking then,” Fallon said. “Either shit or get off the pan. We want you fully present and not living in your head.”
“Fair enough.” I already felt like I’d spoilt Erin’s birthday meal last Saturday, Carter’s unplanned appearance having caused ructions for the rest of the night. “Where are we staying?”
“A hotel near the theatre. Nice and central. We’re checking in, then heading straight for afternoon tea and champagne – our first trip to Stratford.” Fallon patted my knee. “First of many trips.”
“And we’ll celebrate each one with champagne,” Erin added. “Sounds like a good reason to come back.”
“It’s actually not that far. Just over two hours.” Harriet indicated left, demonstrating that she did actually know what an indicator was because we had been wondering, along with half the motorists we’d passed. “I wonder how long it would’ve taken Shakespeare.”
“Days,” I said.
“Imagine life before cars,” Fallon said, staring out of the window. “I’d be so less busy at work.”
“So would I. And if social media didn’t exist, I’d be even less busy.
” I’d started working with a girl whose body dysmorphia was so acute, she wouldn’t walk near anywhere she could see her reflection.
This was significantly impacting on her life and showing no sign of easing.
At the moment, she was a day patient, coming to see me twice a week, but I suspected that she’d be admitted at some point in the near future.
I just wished there was a way of preventing that from happening.
Harriet took a turn a little two quick, causing a roar from her passengers.
“Do you not want us to live?”
“Have you met the brake at all?”
I clutched on and forgot about my phone. I didn’t know why I was torturing myself; I also knew that I needed to give Carter the chance to explain himself.
“Sorry everyone, I thought the turn was a bit further up. We’re nearly there now.” She didn’t sound sorry at all.
Harriet was the sweetest, pleasantest person you could meet, apart from the sadistic side that was quite shocking if you didn’t expect it.
I picked my phone up again and opened up my messages, scrolling to the last one from Carter.
Laurie is a friend – nothing else, but it’s complicated. I’d rather explain in person. Please don’t be mad at me X
Then another sent a couple of hours ago.
Have a great weekend in Stratford. X
Then there had been nothing. Carter clearly had a lot going on and I was wondering how much it had to do with this Laurie.
I started to type out a message. I wasn’t good at ignoring people. I was good at taking my time to give a situation space, to process what was going on and to let other people do the same. It was unlike me to not respond out of spite, which I knew this was.
Carter would want to hear from me. He hated the silent treatment.
Even just as friends.
Maybe that’s all we were meant to be.
When I’d mentioned to him about us both being single for the first time in forever, I hadn’t really thought about what that meant.
When I’d had a boyfriend, he’d either been dating someone or just being a bit of a lad.
The times when I’d been single in my twenties, he’d been seeing one woman or another, and the possibility of us being more than friends had never been there, I’d never even considered it.
So why I’d mentioned it at the start of last September, I wasn’t sure.
I had thought about it; Carter had sent me a photo of him at the beach and he’d looked ridiculously gorgeous, all sandy haired and a scratching of stubble, his torso defined, and his legs tanned.
He’d been holding a surfboard, although he hadn’t done much surfing, he’d told me later.
The photo had reminded me of how much he’d starred in my teenage dreams.
I started to type back.
Will try, thanks X
Hope you have a good weekend X
I deleted that one because I didn’t want him to have a good weekend. I’d had a crap week feeling utterly confused so I was hoping for karma.
Have the weekend you deserve.
I deleted it. Locked my phone. Realised Fallon was looking at me.
“Shit or get off the pan, Rosaline. That was a Shakespeare name, wasn’t it?” She looked impressed with herself.
“Rosaline was in Romeo and Juliet. At the start of the play, Romeo’s in love with her, but it isn’t reciprocated. Then he sees Juliet and completely forgets about Rosaline, which is probably good for her, else she’d have ended up dead on the stage too.” Our resident Shakespearean expert chipped in.
“So Romeo wasn’t in love, he was in lust,” Fallon added, probably stopping Harriet from starting a two hour lecture that would continue through at least one bottle of champagne. “People died because he wanted to get his end away. Jesus.”
“He was fickle,” I added, happy to be distracted. “And she was enthralled by him. They’d have never lasted anyway. He’d have turned his head every time he saw a pretty woman.”
“Girl,” Fallon corrected. “She was a girl. Can we talk about a more realistic play? Macbeth. I feel like I could’ve played a good Lady Macbeth.”
“So who would we all have been as Shakespearean characters?” Harriet’s driving seemed to have improved now we were on an A road with a speed limit and just one lane. “Fallon would’ve been Lady Macbeth.”
“Except I’d have made sure Macbeth wouldn’t have lost his mind and I certainly wouldn’t have felt guilty.” She folded her arms. “Or am I being too harsh on myself?”
“I’d be Rosalind from Twelfth Night. Collected, calm and in control,” Erin spritzed herself with perfume which then scented the whole car. Thankfully it was nice, unlike some of her experiments where she’d tried making it herself.
“I think you’re Beatrice from Much Ado. You’re too argumentative to be Rosalind. And I think Harriet is Cordelia from King Lear.” This was a good way to take my mind off Carter.
“Why would I be Cordelia?” The driver asked.
“Because you don't care what anyone else thinks of you, you’re not bothered about being noticed – except when you are – and you’re our moral compass.” I could’ve added more, but I wanted her to concentrate on us getting to the hotel without some kind of event.
“I would’ve said I was Ophelia.” She actually used her indicator again.
“You’re not that delicate or dippy. You let people think you are, but you’re anything but.” I could say that with confidence.
“I think you’re Viola,” Harriet said. “You’re an observer who doesn’t cause any drama.”
“Unlike last Saturday.” I grumbled it, still feeling bad for derailing Erin’s birthday.