The Road Trip(61)

‘Yeah. Damn,’ I say, watching Marcus amble his way towards the hotel entrance.

‘I am really sorry about him,’ Dylan says quietly.

Rodney unclicks his seat belt and shifts up into Marcus’s seat so he and Dylan have more room. They each sigh with relief.

‘Yeah, well. Marcus is Marcus,’ I say, still watching him go.

‘Do you two not like him?’ Rodney asks.

‘I don’t like him, no,’ I say flatly.

‘I don’t like him most of the time, either,’ Dylan says.

I glance at him, surprised.

‘He . . . he’s a complicated man. But he’s family, really. I’m holding out hope that one day he’ll turn things around and change. It’s just . . . When do you give up on a person, you know?’

‘When they’re bad for you,’ I say, before I can stop myself. ‘It’s like any relationship, romantic or friendship or family or whatever. If it’s toxic, you should walk away.’

‘I think . . .’ Dylan pauses, choosing his words carefully. ‘I think you step back when it’s toxic, certainly. But I’m not sure I would want to give up. Not if I thought there was good in someone, and that I might be able to help them find that good. Not once I’d recognised how the relationship was hurting me, and hardened myself to that.’

I look at him. I don’t agree with him – I don’t think you can harden yourself against the hurt someone like Marcus inflicts on people. But if I’ve learned anything over the last year or two, it’s that there’s no one way of dealing with pain.

‘Someone should stay here, in case Deb figures out where we’ve gone,’ I say after a moment. ‘But I think the rest of us should split up and go looking for her. If we all take our phones, there’s no harm in that, right?’

‘Marcus should stay here,’ Dylan says immediately. ‘He’ll definitely wander off if we leave him to it, then we’ll have two wedding guests to track down.’

I snort. ‘OK, fine. You tell him, would you? I’m going to go over the fields. I feel like I need to . . . do something.’

Dylan nods. ‘Are you happy to leave Marcus with the car keys?’

I pause for a moment. ‘Umm.’

‘Yeah,’ Dylan says.

‘He’s an adult,’ I say. ‘He wouldn’t drive off without us.’

We all think about it.

‘Maybe you should stay with him,’ I say. ‘Just in case.’





Dylan The first emergency phone call comes from Rodney, approximately forty minutes after he and Addie have left in search of Deb.

‘Oh, hi? Dylan?’

‘Yes?’ I say patiently, watching Marcus pacing the perimeter of the car park, kicking an empty Coke can as he goes. He’s antsy, which is concerning: if he doesn’t find entertainment soon, he’s going to create some. A line of poetry takes root as the sun beats down on my neck – Heavy-handed heat/Drumbeat, a Coke can skits between his feet . . .

‘Oh, hi, it’s Rodney. Umm? I think I’ve, I think I’ve found something. Was Deb wearing white trainers?’

I squint against the sunshine. Marcus is doing keepy-uppies now, very poorly.

‘Yeah? Maybe? I can’t really remember.’ I take a swig of water. The kind lady on the Budget Travel desk let me refill our bottles, and said she wouldn’t charge us for parking, in the circumstances. That might have had something to do with Marcus flashing her one of his oh-so-charming smiles, usually guaranteed to get him his way.

‘Because I’m in the river,’ Rodney begins, ‘and I think I’ve found one of Deb’s shoes. Is it possible she may have drowned?’

I spit out the water.

‘What?’

‘Well, in films, when you find someone’s shoe on a riverbank, it’s usually because they’re dead?’

‘Bloody hell, Rodney. Hang on. Are you sure it’s her shoe?’

‘It’s a white trainer,’ Rodney says. ‘Wasn’t she wearing those?’

‘I don’t . . . can you send me a picture? Maybe she just kicked them off and went for a dip to cool off.’

‘Where’s the other shoe, then?’ Rodney asks helpfully.

On her corpse obviously, according to my overactive imagination. No, that’s clearly ridiculous – Rodney is, after all, a completely ridiculous person.

‘Send me a picture of the shoe, maybe. I’m sure it’s fine, Rodney.’

‘OK. Thanks, Dylan! Speak soon!’ He rings off, casual as you like. I blink down at my phone.

‘Any news of our runaway?’ Marcus calls, kicking the Coke can at someone’s four-by-four. I flinch as the can catches the bumper.

‘She didn’t run away, technically,’ I point out. ‘We ran away from her. And no, Rodney’s just being weird, he thinks he’s found her . . . shoe . . .’ I finish, looking down at the photo Rodney has just sent over to me. ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake.’

I hit dial.

‘Hello, Rodney speaking! How can I help?’

‘What? Rodney, it’s Dylan. That shoe. It’s a man’s shoe. Obviously. What size does it say on the bottom?’

There’s a pause.