The Road Trip(32)

‘Are you OK?’

She gives me a short smile. ‘Fine.’ She looks at Marcus. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she says, with some irony if I’m not mistaken, and then she walks out the door.



‘I want her.’

This is the first thing Marcus says to me.

‘You . . .’ I’m still looking at the door, a little lost. Addie left so fast, and . . .

‘That one. I want her. She looks interesting.’

Suddenly that protective instinct that was so lacking when we heard the noise on the balcony kicks in full-throttle: You can’t have her, I want to say. There comes a rush of what must be aggression, or maybe adrenaline – something deep and instinctual, some distant relation of the impulse that sets my heart racing when Addie touches her lips to mine.

Marcus looks at me appraisingly. He tucks a curl behind his ear and pouts.

‘Oh, you like her,’ he says. ‘I figured you were just fucking her.’

I recoil. Marcus laughs.

‘Oh, you really like her. You won’t even let me talk about fucking her.’

‘Just . . .’ Stop saying that, stop saying it, stop saying it.

‘So is that girl the reason you didn’t tell me your family hadn’t turned up? We could have spent a fortnight here already!’ Marcus says, spinning on the spot, arms outstretched. He’s dressed in a loose white shirt and shorts that would look absurdly short on me, but somehow work on him; his hair is long enough to be pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck now, and even that looks good.

‘I’m here with my uncle Terry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to come.’

Marcus raises his eyebrows, clearly not buying the lie. ‘You knew I’d take her off you, that’s why,’ he says, leaning forward to punch me on the arm.

It hurts. I turn aside, half laughing so he can’t tell it’s made my eyes prick. My whole body aches to go after Addie – I should be downstairs with her, not here with Marcus.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little plastic bag with a round plug of weed inside. He waggles it at me.

‘Here, or outside?’ he says.

I haven’t smoked since getting here. It’s been a pleasant change to have a clear head, and I consider saying no, but even as I have the thought, I know I won’t do it.

‘Outside,’ I say, thinking of Addie having to clean the smell out of the curtains and bedsheets. ‘Come on. I’ll take you down to the pool.’

As we talk about Marcus’s week down on the terrace, our feet trailing in the water, I think of Addie and Deb. From what Addie’s told me, she and her sister are just the same as me and Marcus: joined at the hip, always a pair. I wonder if sometimes Addie resents it, always being Deb’s little sister, her partner in crime.

‘You sure I can’t have that pretty one with the blue eyes?’ Marcus says abruptly, kicking up a splash with one foot.

It takes me a moment to realise he’s talking about Addie. ‘You’re such a caveman.’

‘What! I’m asking. I’m being polite.’ He stretches his hands out, like, Look at me, aren’t I evolved?

‘You can’t have her.’ I’m surprised to hear how steady my voice sounds. It’s not often I say no to Marcus – not often anyone does.

‘Oh, she’s yours, is she? My, aren’t we getting territorial! Now who’s the caveman?’

‘She’s . . .’

Addie is bigger than that sort of talk. She is wild and clever, sharp and bright, always twisting out of my reach. She isn’t mine. I’m hers.

‘She’s different,’ I settle for. ‘Addie’s different.’





Addie

It takes me ages to calm down. What a wanker. Who does that? Who arrives at someone else’s house and climbs up on to the balcony and tries to break in instead of just knocking on the bloody door?

I throw laundry into the washing machine. Is this Dylan’s life away from here? People like his uncle Terry and that prick who called me a little doll? It’s midnight – not my usual laundry hour, but I can’t sleep and I want to do something.

I wish Deb was here to make me laugh about it all. It wouldn’t seem like a big deal to her – Marcus is clearly a bit of a dick, but yeah, that’s all there is to it. Whereas to me, it seems like . . . the bubble bursting. I should have known things with Dylan were too good to be true.



The next morning I stick to the routine and head down to the village to fetch us all croissants. When I get back Terry and Marcus are lying on either side of Dylan on the terrace. They’re quiet, sunglasses on. The stone is already hot under my bare feet.

‘Ooh, for me?’ Marcus says, raising his sunglasses as I approach.

Dylan gets up quickly, meeting me halfway.

‘Hey,’ he breathes. For a moment as our fingers touch it feels like it’s just the two of us in the heat.

‘Come on, Dylan. Have you forgotten how to share?’ Marcus calls.

I let go of the bag. ‘There’s plenty of croissants in there,’ I say, already backing away. ‘I bought enough.’



I stay away for the rest of the day. Marcus puts me on edge. He’s built like a Topshop model, skinny and pale and cool with this half-styled shock of curly hair. So yeah, he’s attractive, in an I-sing-in-a-band kind of way. But he’s kind of cold behind the eyes, somehow.