Raine demanded.
‘For the things I did in my past.’
‘Ah! The past.’ Raine tapped the sheaf of envelopes on the kitchen table until they were aligned together. The sound, growing more insistent, echoed her agitation. ‘We’ve all done things in our past that make us wince. Show me someone who hasn’t and I’ll stick pins in them to see if they bleed. No one has the right to sit in judgement—’
‘God has—’
‘God? When did you start believing in God?’
‘It’s easy to mock, Raine.’
‘I’m not mocking you,’ Raine replied. ‘But I want to hear about this God who freeze-framed your past and is now demanding retribution. Is he the same God who said, “Suffer the little children to come unto me”?’
‘It’s the emptiness,’ Carla said. ‘Nothing can fill it. There has to be a reason—’
‘Yes,’ said Raine. ‘A terrible crime was committed. What happened to you and Robert is a tragedy, not a punishment. Have you any more of those letters?’
Carla opened a drawer and emptied the contents over the table.
‘Jesus!’ Raine caught some of the mail in her hands as the letters began to slide over the edge of the table. She placed the letters out of Carla’s reach and pointed towards the kitchen door.
‘Go upstairs, Carla, and change out of that hideous dressing gown. You look like a grizzly bear. You need to get out of here and fast. I’ve some good news for a change. I’ve been offered a job. I’ll tell you about it over lunch.’
When Carla returned downstairs, Raine had sorted the mail into two piles.
‘This stuff has to go.’ She pointed towards the smaller bundle. A much smaller bundle, Carla realised, yet those were the letters that filled her mind. Raine opened the back door. The rain had stopped. A ray of sunshine flared through the clouds. She pulled a barbecue set into the centre of the terrace and flung the letters into the tray.
‘The people who wrote this filth have nothing to do with you…or your past.’ She handed a box of matches to Carla. ‘Torch them,’ she ordered.
The first match blew out but Carla managed to light the second one. She flamed one page then another. They watched the letters curl and brown, the obscene words startlingly visible for an instant before they were consumed.
Over lunch in Sheens, Raine told her that Fuchsia, the British chain store group, had plans to open six fashion outlets in Ireland. They had commissioned Raine to design their rainwear collection.
‘Raine-Wear,’ she said and clinked Carla’s wine glass. ‘What else can it be called?’
‘Here’s to Raine-Wear.’ Carla glanced out the window to see that the rain had once again started falling. ‘Looks like you could be onto a winner with this one.’
‘It’s going to involve a lot of travel.’ Raine frowned, her earlier excitement replaced by anxiety. ‘Mum seems well at the moment, but I suspect she’s doing what she always does, keeping us in the dark about the real situation.’
‘I’ll take care of her.’ Carla reassured her. ‘I need to keep myself busy. This could shorten her life…’
‘That’s not true.’ Raine shook her head. ‘If anything it’s made her stronger. She has no intention of dying until Isobel is back with us again.’
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