The Road Trip(39)

Dylan Getting this lot off on a hike is akin to herding cats, but if I let them all lounge around the pool as they’re requesting then I will have an under-exercised and petulant Cherry to deal with, which on balance will likely be worse.

Marcus is in a foul mood, which isn’t helping matters, and Addie is . . . I don’t know quite where Addie is. Never with me, that’s where. At least Marcus has lost interest in her now, predictably – no woman has ever retained his genuine attention for more than a day or two, and it seems the danger time has passed, thank God.

‘Come on, Dyl!’ Cherry wheedles, bouncing on the spot. ‘You said wait until it cools down, and it’s cooler now, so can we just go?’

‘Marta! Connie!’ I yell. ‘Trainers on!’

‘All right, Dad,’ says Marta, pouting; Connie laughs as I scowl at the pair of them.

‘Where’s Addie?’ I ask. ‘Marcus, are you wearing those shoes?’

‘Evidently,’ Marcus says, shoving past me on his way to the kitchen.

‘Grace, are you ready?’

‘Not at all,’ she says, lying back on a sun lounger.

‘Could you try?’ I snap.

Grace’s charm is a lot less charming now that I’m not interested in sleeping with her, I must say. She lowers her sunglasses and gives me a look that says she knows precisely what I’m thinking. I redden; she smiles slowly.

‘Isn’t it a good thing that I’m not the sensitive type?’ she says. ‘I’ll be ready before Marta and you know it, darling. Go take your frustration out elsewhere, please, you’re in my light – or better yet, go and find the beautiful woman we’ve all rudely ripped from your arms. That’s really what’s got you so grumpy, isn’t it? That we’ve ruined your romantic tryst by arriving en masse, as if we’re all in a terribly comical scene from The Marriage of Figaro?’

Damn Grace – I always forget how perceptive she is behind the glamour and indolence and allusions. She gives me another beautiful smile and pushes her sunglasses up her nose again as I stomp off the terrace and down the steps to the courtyard.

There’s a new car parked rather haphazardly behind Grace’s rental car; I step a little further, and there’s Addie, in the shade of a plane tree, speaking to a woman who I immediately realise must be Deb. She has black, wavy hair and light brown skin, and she’s standing on the edges of her feet, tipping them in and out as she talks, her T-shirt sliding off her shoulder. There’s an air of careless confidence to her even from here, as if she is in possession of the genuine no-fucks-given attitude the rest of us are feigning when we pose for Instagram.

I catch sight of Addie’s expression as I approach them and pause, watching, because oh, this is my Addie. Wide, open smile, no tension, easy laughter. That glint of sharp humour in her eyes, like she’s poised to surprise us all.

‘The one with the bald patch?’ Deb’s saying. She’s peering towards the terrace; I’m hidden here, I realise, behind the bulk of Grace’s car.

‘What? No, you mongoose, that’s his uncle, Terry,’ Addie says, laughing.

‘Oh, yeah, the one with the ponytail and the eyepatch?’

‘No,’ Addie says, more sharply this time. ‘That’s Marcus. Dylan’s mate.’

I step forward; staying here any longer feels like lurking. Addie’s face lights up when she sees me and something explosive happens in my chest, a chain reaction, a Catherine wheel sent spinning.

‘Here’s Dylan,’ she says, coming towards me. ‘Dyl, meet my sister.’

Deb turns and looks me up and down so openly I almost laugh. She looks nothing like Addie, but there’s an Addie-ness to her all the same – the way she tilts her head, the sharp narrowing of her eyes as she takes me in.

‘Interesting,’ she says eventually. ‘You went for the one with the cock on his face?’





NOW





Addie It is so hot and everyone in this car is so annoying.

I’m driving, with Dylan beside me. We’re somewhere outside Stoke-on-Trent. That’s about two hundred miles south of where we should be right now.

‘Is there anything to eat?’ Marcus asks. ‘I’m hungry again.’

I don’t need to check my mirror to know that Rodney has just offered him a flapjack.

‘Not that,’ Marcus says. ‘There’s only so much glorified porridge one man can take. No offence, Rodney.’ He twists to look in the boot.

‘For God’s sake,’ Deb says. ‘Would you boys please watch your extremities? Addie, I need to break soon to pump again.’

‘That boob contraption you were using when we broke down? You have to do it again? Why?’ Marcus asks. I glance at him in the mirror. He’s managed to get some Fruit Pastilles from the back of the car and is staring at Deb’s chest while he tries to open the sweets with absolutely no elbow room.

‘I lactate,’ Deb says, deadpan.

‘Next services in twenty-one miles,’ I say, nodding to the sign on the roadside. ‘That OK, Deb?’

‘It would have been if someone hadn’t poked me in the nipple.’

‘Did I?’ Marcus says. ‘What a waste, I didn’t even notice.’