“Well, it wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs.” Her lips twist sourly at my knee-jerk flippancy and she turns away; I have to put out a hand to stop her. “Sorry. I didn’t . . . Sorry. Though it really wasn’t.” She turns back, waiting for more. And she has a right to more, I suppose. “Didn’t Pete ever tell you?” She shrugs. I can’t tell if that means he did or didn’t. “Well, we had no money. Like, zero; the bank account ran out pretty quick. And there was no family to help. Mum’s parents had already died, and my dad’s parents had never been fond of Mum—there was no way she was going to ask them for help. They would have told her to give up painting and get a proper job . . .” A not unreasonable viewpoint. “So. Anyway. She was trading on old favors and friendships for places to stay. I went to a new school at least twice a year. You can imagine how thrilled I was about that.” Different places to live and different Karens each time, a new spin to the story, a reinvention with every new location. I deliberately move onto safer ground. “But then she met Pete.” I expect her to smile at that, but she doesn’t. She just nods, like she’s slotting a piece of a puzzle into place. I try to conjure up the Karen that Carrie must remember, but it’s impossible. To all intents and purposes, Carrie and I had different mothers.

A flash of moving color catches my attention. “Shit, that’s your train. Go!”

“Yikes.” She’s already half out of the car, but she sticks her head back in to say, “Thanks for the lift.”

The platform extends beyond the station itself in both directions. I’m able to see Carrie climb onto the train before it draws slowly away. I can’t see her once she’s aboard; the reflection of the bright sunlight on the windows prevents it. I wonder if she’s sitting by the window, waving good-bye to me, but by the time the thought occurs to me, it’s already too late to wave back. It feels significant, as if it’s an omen of things to come between us. Perhaps I’m destined to forever be a little too late.

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