The Road Trip(74)

I slouch down on the sofa, the furry white cushions tickling at the back of my neck. They’re somewhat less white than they used to be after five months of Marcus and me living in the log cabin.

‘And then she literally ran off. How are we meant to move forward when she always does that?’ I say, picking at the label on my beer bottle. ‘Lately every time I try to get closer she pulls away.’

There’s a loud bang from the kitchen; Marcus is cooking, which usually involves an extraordinarily complicated recipe, a trip out to a large number of supermarkets for ingredients such as lemon basil and tamarind paste, hours of intense focus in the kitchen and an eventual Deliveroo.

‘She said I have a problem with her?’ he says.

‘Hmm? Yeah. Something like that.’

I wait, but there’s no response, just more banging and clattering.

‘You’ve not said anything to her, have you? Like . . . the things you said to me, you know, that night before I moved in here?’

‘I avoid her wherever possible,’ Marcus says grimly.

‘Not all the time,’ I point out. ‘The other night you guys watched a film together while I was working on the Masters application.’

‘Yeah, well,’ Marcus says, and I hear him crack open a new bottle of wine. ‘There’s been the odd lapse. It’s not easy being consistent.’

I roll my eyes. ‘If you don’t like her, why would you watch a film on the sofa with her?’ I ask patiently.

‘Good question, my friend. And if you do like her, why do you spend so much time sitting on that very sofa complaining about her?’

‘I don’t,’ I say, frowning.

‘You do. Half the time you’re in agonies over what she’s thinking. She’s always keeping you on the edge, playing games.’

‘She’s not playing games.’

Marcus appears in the kitchen doorway, his eyebrows drawn together. ‘You’re too busy lusting after her to notice. But don’t you think everyone gets that vibe off her?’

‘What – what vibe?’

‘The dark, sexual energy thing she’s got going on. I hate to break it to you, Dyl, but that’s not just for you. She gives it out in spades.’

‘I have no idea what you’re saying.’ But my heart is suddenly beating sickly and hard, because in truth I do know what he means. There’s this total honesty to Addie, an openness, a rawness; she’s so sexy. I suddenly remember how she looked in that bar when I came home, how effortlessly that tight dress had clung to her, how she’d known it. I think of all the times we’ve walked into a pub and I’ve caught a man’s gaze drawn her way like she’s something magnetic.

‘She’s going to hurt you, Dyl.’

The frustration hits me quite suddenly; it’s unusual that Marcus manages to get a rise out of me, but that tips me over the edge.

‘You just don’t want me to move out,’ I snap. ‘You want to keep me here.’

He recoils slightly, and I watch as the hurt registers in his eyes.

‘I’m trying to look out for you. That’s all I’m doing.’ He’s keeping his voice carefully steady, but the hand on his wine glass is white at the knuckles.

My phone beeps in my pocket; I fumble to check it so quickly I drop it, and I hear Marcus snort with derisive laughter as he heads back into the kitchen. It’s a WhatsApp message from Addie.

Let’s talk again tomorrow? Sorry things got heated – I shouldn’t have bitched about Marcus to you. I’d love to move in with you ? xxx

Thank God. The worries melt away, the anger extinguished like a gas flame flicked off at the switch; I’m going to live with Addie, and find a job, and make my own way until I’m Professor Abbott, scholar and poet and lover of Addie Gilbert. Marcus’s protective instincts will ease eventually; he’ll grow to trust Addie, and she’ll start to understand him better. Everyone will come around.





Addie

It’s early summer, June time, and I’m still getting used to the pure joy of sharing a flat with Dylan.

Well, maybe not pure joy. We fight a fair bit now we live together. Teething problems, I think – and Marcus. He’s always a good source of arguments. This morning me and Dylan yelled at each other for half an hour because Dylan spent two hundred quid on a television stand we don’t need, but really we were arguing because yesterday Marcus accused me of manipulating the situation during a game of Charades at Cherry’s house and Dylan once again failed to clock Marcus being a dick to me. And I couldn’t exactly say, Marcus was mean about my charades technique and you didn’t stand up for me, so instead I said, We can’t afford this. Money’s such an easy thing to argue about. Especially with Dylan.

As I pull into the school car park, Etienne is climbing out of his BMW. He raises his hand to me in greeting and I wave back, yanking the handbrake on and trying to remember if I pencilled both eyebrows or just the one. Can’t recall for the life of me. It’s been one of those days. Already.

‘Ready for the summer to start?’ Etienne calls as I lock the car and jog over. He smiles. We’ve relaxed around each other over the last few months. I don’t think about every word before I say it any more, and my heart doesn’t beat quite so hard when he comes into my classroom unannounced.