The Road Trip(69)

‘All right, well . . . he seems different.’

‘Does he?’

‘More grounded. Less tolerant of Marcus. More mature. More self-aware.’

‘Those are all excellent things.’

‘I know. I know.’ I rub my eyes with my good hand. ‘But maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see.’

‘You still love him?’

Trust Deb not to beat around the bush. I swallow and stare up at the ceiling.

‘I hate when people say shit like I think I’ll always love you when they’re breaking up with someone, because, like . . . in that case, why aren’t you still together? But with Dylan . . .’

‘You think you might always love him?’

‘Well, let’s put it this way: I don’t think I’ve stopped yet.’

‘Not even when you wanted to burn his effigy at Bonfire Night that time?’

I smile. ‘Especially not then. That was a blatant attempt to kickstart hating him. Fake it ’til you make it.’

‘What about when you were seeing that guy from the school?’

My smile fades. ‘I . . . He made Dylan disappear for a while. But he didn’t make him go away.’

And then, more quietly, Deb asks, ‘What about when he left you?’

The window’s cracked open to let some cool air in, and you can hear the roar of the motorway.

‘I’ve never let myself . . . I . . .’ My throat seems to be closing up.

Deb waits patiently.

‘I’ve never said it out loud, before, Deb,’ I manage.

‘That’s OK,’ she says. ‘You can say it now, though.’

‘I understand why he left.’ I breathe out.

The cars roar on.

‘He was wrong to leave you,’ Deb says.

‘But I understand why he did. Even then, I understood. That’s why I was so angry. Because I knew – I felt – he was right to go.’

Deb turns her head to look at me. ‘You once said to me you’d never forgive him for walking away.’

‘I know. Forgiving him felt weak. And I wanted to feel strong.’

‘“Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong”,’ Deb says. ‘That was Gandhi, that was.’

A tear has worked its way from the corner of my eye towards my ear. I close my eyes, and another two go tumbling, wetting my hair.

‘Do you think I should have forgiven him back then? Like he forgave me?’

‘Addie . . .’

‘No, it’s OK, I can talk about it. I can say it.’

‘You’re crying.’

I laugh through the tears. ‘Sometimes crying’s good. Sometimes you need to cry.’

‘Addie, your phone,’ Deb says, rolling on to her side to reach my phone where I left it on the bedside table. ‘It’s Cherry.’

‘Shit.’ I sit up, then let out a gasp of pain as I accidentally move my hand. ‘Pass it, would you? We need to tell her we won’t be there until tomorrow. I should have called already.’

I wipe my face and answer the call.

‘Hey Cherry,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s bad news.’

‘No!’ comes Cherry’s tinny voice down the phone. ‘No! No! No! You are five minutes away! You are!’

‘We’re not,’ I say, grimacing. ‘We’re really not.’

‘Krish’s aunt and uncle are held up too, coming from London. This is so bad, Ads.’

‘It’s not, it’s fine! There’s just some bad traffic today, that’s all. It’ll have cleared up tomorrow and everyone will be there in plenty of time for the wedding.’

‘Everyone was meant to be here today! We had to have our family barbecue without you!’

I smile, wiping my wet cheeks. ‘I’m not technically your family, you know.’

‘Shut up! What! Oh, God, Krish is beckoning me over – probably some new crisis – they’re out of gypsophila at the florist, have you ever heard of such absolute rubbish? Out of it? It’s the bread and butter of the floral world, Addie. The kidney bean in the chilli. Do you understand?’

‘Not exactly, but I understand that things are seeming a little overwhelming right now,’ I say, in the most calming voice I can manage. ‘But you have Krish. That’s all that matters. And even if the florist runs out of every bean in the chilli, or whatever, Krish will still be your husband by the end of tomorrow.’

‘Yes. Yes.’ I hear Cherry take a deep breath. ‘That’s what matters. Except . . . the other stuff does also matter. Not as much, you know, but still quite a lot?’

I laugh. ‘Yeah, I hear you. Look, we’ll be there as early as we possibly can tomorrow, and I’ll give you the biggest hug, and then I’ll run around pilfering all the gypsophila from the other florists of Ettrick if you want me to. Or I’ll just stay with you saying calming things. Whatever you need.’

‘I love you, Addie,’ she says. ‘I really do. Is it OK, the journey? God, sorry, I haven’t even asked – you’ve spent the whole day with Dylan! Are you all right?’

‘I’m OK. I’ve got Deb.’

‘Thank God for Deb,’ Cherry says. ‘I wish I had Deb.’