The Road Trip(76)

‘Yeah, him and Moira, the assistant head.’

Marcus gives Dylan a significant look.

‘What?’ I ask, looking between them.

‘Marcus . . .’ Dylan trails off.

‘I have a theory,’ Marcus says. ‘If a man ever recruits a woman, on some level, he wants to sleep with her.’

‘That’s . . . that’s horrible,’ I say. ‘And definitely not true?’

‘So he doesn’t want to sleep with you, then?’ Marcus asks.

I blush again. Never have I hated my pale skin more.

‘No, he doesn’t want to sleep with me,’ I say firmly. But I can feel Dylan’s gaze on my cheeks. I can feel his uncertainty. ‘It’s not like that. Obviously.’

I want Dylan to say something. Isn’t this where he should step in? Shouldn’t he tell Marcus to shut up, back off, get lost? Marcus gives a little smirk and my blood boils.

‘So anyway, I have some news,’ Marcus says into the silence. ‘I’ve got a new idea. An app.’

Marcus generally has a new idea on the go. All of them fizzle out or evaporate to make room for the next one.

‘I figure, I can work on this anywhere, why not here?’ he says, spreading his hands.

It takes me a moment to process. I’m still humming with embarrassment and anger. Still hot with it.

‘You mean here, like, Chichester?’

‘Yeah. I’m going to rent a place just outside town. Two-bed house with a jacuzzi,’ Marcus says, leaning back. ‘I’ll throw a housewarming, obviously.’

‘That’s great,’ Dylan says, but he’s blinking too much – he’s taken aback too. ‘I thought you said nothing happened in Chichester, eh?’

‘Well, I bring the party,’ Marcus says with a grin. ‘Chichester won’t know what’s hit it.’ He slides out from his side of the table. ‘Time for another drink. Same warm ale again, Addie?’

He doesn’t meet my eyes. He hardly ever does, to be honest. Like I’m beneath him, not even worth looking at. I want to remind him, sometimes. How he looked at me at the start. He fancied me in France, I’m sure of it. He wasn’t too good for me then, was he?

‘Yeah, the same again, please,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’

Once Marcus has ambled away, I watch Dylan sip at the last of his lager and feel a rush of rage at his mildness. He always gives Marcus the credit. He’s the same with me, too, and that’s something I love, so it makes no sense for me to hate it. It’s totally hypocritical. But I feel the anger all the same.

‘Don’t you think it’s weird?’ I say. I can’t stop myself. ‘Him moving to Chichester now, after making such a fuss about you coming here? And him bringing up Etienne being hot, like that? In front of me?’

‘Why?’ Dylan says, eyes flicking to mine. ‘Is it awkward for you to talk about?’

It’s the sharpest I’ve ever heard him speak to me. He yells sometimes, when we argue, but he’s never quick and catty like that. I’m still staring at him when my phone buzzes into life on the table. It’s Deb. I frown. Deb hardly ever rings me out of the blue, she usually messages first.

‘Hang on,’ I say to Dylan, sliding out of my seat. ‘Back in a minute.’

I pass Marcus on my way out the door, already lifting the phone to my ear. His eyes lock with mine. It’s so unusual, him looking me right in the eye, that it sends a jolt through me. His expression is hard to read, but it’s soft, unlike himself.

‘Leaving so soon? Was it something I said?’ he asks. The corner of his mouth begins to lift. A slow, sardonic smile, and that softness is gone.

‘Hello?’ I say into the phone, moving past Marcus. I hear him breathe in sharply as I brush past. His shoulder collides with mine a touch too hard to be an accident, though I’m not sure if that’s him or me.

‘Addie?’

I step out into the cooling summer evening and press the phone to my ear. Deb sounds . . . strange.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask.

‘Probably,’ she says. ‘Probably.’

‘Are you crying?’

‘Yes,’ Deb says carefully. She sniffs. ‘I’m having a bit of a crisis.’

‘What can I do? What’s wrong?’

‘Well. Hmm. I think I may be pregnant.’



Deb is breathing hard, like she’s preparing to leap off a diving board, or maybe in the very early stages of labour. Her expression’s weird. Way too serious. I hate seeing my sister looking worried, it’s like seeing Dad cry.

‘It’s just a stick,’ I say. ‘All you have to do is look at it, and then you’ll know.’

‘It’s a life-changing stick,’ Deb corrects me, looking down at the pregnancy test half hidden in her fist. ‘And I’m finding looking at it totally impossible. Because then I’ll know.’

‘Yeah,’ I say weakly. ‘Yeah, that makes sense. I probably oversimplified, really.’

Deb pokes at her boobs with her free hand. ‘They’re not that sore,’ she says. ‘It’s probably just a menstrual thing. I’m probably just about to start my period. My very overdue period.’

‘Yes. It’s probably that. So just take a little look at the stick and then . . .’