The Road Trip(80)

‘That’s what friends do, Ads. Come on. What would you do if it was Cherry? Or Deb?’

It wouldn’t be Cherry or Deb. They would never expect this of me. And, frankly, if they sent a text like that to Dyl, I’d be pretty pissed off with them.

‘I just think Marcus clearly doesn’t like us being together,’ I say, standing up, moving towards him.

It takes effort doing even that. I want to walk away, that’s my instinct. I want to take the power back.

‘And I sometimes feel like he’s trying to sabotage things between us.’

Dylan shakes his head impatiently. ‘Marcus said you’d say that.’

He takes a step back.

‘He said it’s not healthy, that you won’t let me see my best friend.’

‘I don’t not let you see him,’ I say. I’m stood still on the rug, Dylan out of reach again. ‘In fact, I am always letting you see him. Name a time when I’ve said you can’t.’

Dylan looks so lost. ‘What do you want me to say, Addie? That I’ll stop being friends with him?’

‘No! No.’ Although, actually, I wouldn’t mind. ‘I just want you to notice that he seems really set against me in a way that – that often causes these sorts of conversations. When we argue, it always seems to be about Marcus.’

‘And that’s his fault?’

‘You think it’s mine?’

Dylan sighs, looking up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know. I feel totally confused. I can’t seem to get my head straight. I love you both, and you’re both telling me opposite things.’

He looks so distressed my heart melts. Taking those steps between us doesn’t feel so hard, all of a sudden. I move towards him and pull him in for a hug, ignoring the fact that his hands stay in his pockets.

‘I’ll try harder,’ I say. ‘I’ll try harder with Marcus, if that’s what you want me to do.’





NOW





Dylan ‘A traitor in our midst,’ Marcus says. He’s prowling around the Budget Travel family room, checking the windows as if we’re in a le Carré novel.

‘So we have no reason to believe Rodney is dangerous?’ I ask. This feels like an important question which has yet to be taken seriously. Marcus loves intrigue; the Gilbert sisters take such news in their stride. I am the only person who would quite like to know if Cherry’s stalker is going to kill anyone.

‘Nah,’ Deb says. She’s freshly showered and looking significantly less bedraggled. ‘Come on. It’s Rodney.’

There’s a knock at the door of our dysfunctional family room.

We all look at each other.

‘Is that – what if that’s him?’ Addie whispers.

‘That’s a good thing,’ Deb points out. ‘We want him back. We need our car, for starters.’

‘Hello?’ calls a voice.

We all exchange glances again. The need for immediate action has rendered us all totally useless.

‘Well? Is it him?’ Marcus says, full volume.

Everyone hisses at him to shut up. The fact is, I’m not completely certain whether that’s Rodney – I’m not sure I could identify him by voice alone, which is a little damning. Did any of us listen to Rodney at all during the last eighteen hours?

‘Hi, guys? It’s Rodney?’

‘At least that clears that up,’ says Deb, getting up to let him in.

We all sit up a bit straighter as Rodney enters – we’re trying to look ‘normal’, I suppose, though judging by Rodney’s puzzled expression we’re not doing an especially good job of it.

‘Everything all right?’ he asks. He has a sleeping bag under his arm and the car keys in his other hand.

‘Absolutely fine,’ Addie says, rallying. ‘Chuck me the car keys, would you, Rodney?’

Rodney obliges. It is such a poor throw Addie has to lunge across the bed to catch it with her good hand, and she grimaces in pain as the movement jolts her bad wrist. Marcus snorts with laughter at Rodney’s shoddy throw, then seems to remember that Rodney is a potentially dangerous individual, and much more interesting than he’d first assumed, and stops snorting.

‘So,’ Rodney says, rubbing his hands together, ‘Addie and Deb in the double, Marcus and Dylan on the singles, me on the floor?’

‘That’s right,’ I say. ‘We’ll set you up at the bottom of our beds, Rodney.’

‘There’s more space here,’ he says, pointing to the floor at the end of the double bed.

Addie shoots me a pleading look. There’s something so beautiful about the silent conversation that follows – not for its subject, of course, but for its familiarity, the easy way we can slip back into each other’s language. Get him as far away from me as possible, she’s saying. Already on it, I reply.

‘Let’s give the ladies their privacy,’ I say. ‘If it’s too much of a squeeze for you, I’ll take the sleeping bag, and you can have the bed.’

Marcus looks at me as if he thinks I may have gone temporarily insane, but I’m relying on Rodney’s gallantry here.

‘Oh, of course, the ladies should have their space!’ he says, horrified. ‘Gosh, yes! And don’t you be giving up the bed, Dylan.’