“No! I just thought—well, this commute isn’t that convenient for you. That’s all.” I feel her eyes upon me in the darkened interior of the car. I’m making a mess of this, I can tell. “Carrie, you’re welcome at the Manse as long as you like. Of course you are. I invited you.” She isn’t speaking. Does she think that I invited her out of politeness? Does she think that I didn’t expect her to accept? I didn’t, exactly, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want her to. I should have made a joke out of her comment, but it’s too late now—by addressing it earnestly, I’ve given it credibility. I risk a glance at her on a straight section of the road; when she sees me turning toward her, she looks straight ahead, tension somehow apparent in her profile despite her slumped position. I can think of absolutely nothing to say that will improve the situation. Our colorless bubble continues to eat up the meters and kilometers to the Manse.

“Well, okay,” Carrie says finally, breaking the deafening silence.

I search around for some way to return the (slim) olive branch, if that’s indeed what it was. “Oh, I went to the hotel yesterday, to see the leisure club.”

She clears her throat. “Really?” Her tone is still belligerently neutral. “How was it?”

So I describe the hotel. I even tell her about the manager’s reaction and the incident with Morag; I joke about not actually getting to see the health club. I’m overcompensating now, adding more color and detail than I ordinarily would, but little by little I can feel Carrie thawing out—and her hint of righteous indignation on my behalf is a reward in itself, so I tell her about the newspaper too. We’re almost back at the Manse now. Turning carefully into the driveway, I have to slam the brakes on suddenly—“Shit!”—as the headlights wash momentarily over a figure in the driveway, a scant meter or so from my front bumper.

“Ow,” complains Carrie, rubbing a knee which presumably connected with the dashboard.

“Jesus, I nearly hit them.” My skin is still singing with the sweep of adrenaline.

“Hit who?”

“The man. Didn’t you see someone?” I look around, but outside the bubble of the headlights, there is little chance of seeing anybody or anything clearly.

“I was checking my phone.” She holds it up. “Did you recognize them?”