The Road Trip(95)

‘You’re our hero,’ Addie tells Kevin as he pulls into the large car park. ‘Thank you. Will you come and join the party?’

‘D’you think I could?’ Kevin says, breaking into one of his particularly alarming grimace-smiles.

I’m finding Kevin very useful right now; Addie has just climbed out of my lap and down to floor level, and before I move into a standing position I am going to need to spend the next few moments concentrating on Kevin’s grimace.

‘I’m sure Krish and Cherry wouldn’t mind,’ I say, immediately realising that they absolutely, definitely would.

‘I warned Cherry about the situation, by the way,’ Deb says, still perched in Marcus’s lap.

‘What!’ Addie and I say in unison.

Deb turns bemused eyes our way. ‘What?’

‘Didn’t she totally panic?’

‘It was a text. Hard to tell,’ she says, handing me her phone. ‘You know what Cherry’s like with the exclamation marks.’

Addie pulls a face as I climb down from the cab and show her the message. It starts with a string of emojis, followed by:



Call me as soon as you get here!!! And HURRY UP!!!!



‘I think she might have panicked a smidgen,’ Addie says.

‘The Mini is in the car park,’ Marcus says, pointing. ‘Looks like Rodney’s parked up and gone inside.’

Addie swears.

‘What now?’ I ask.

‘Break into the Mini so we can change?’ Marcus says, looking down at his clothes with distaste. ‘I can’t turn up at a wedding looking like this.’

Addie rolls her eyes. ‘We need to get to the venue and find Rodney before he does any damage. If we’re not already too late.’

‘Gah,’ Marcus says, but he follows us as we head out of the car park.

There are signs directing us to the wedding venue itself; they are all intricately hand-drawn with curling calligraphy and watercolour explosions of fireworks at their edges. It takes about a minute of following the trail to clear the towering pine trees around the car park, and as soon as we do, we let out a collective gasp.

Above us is an enormous, ornate castle. It’s definitely not a genuine castle – or rather, it’s a castle, but when it was built, nobody was thinking about defending this area from marauders – but it’s so impressive it doesn’t matter. There are turrets with flags flying, there’s a thickly flowering vine climbing up almost as high as the battlements, and there’s a moat complete with drawbridge.

We cross the water in stunned silence. We all knew Cherry and Krish were planning a large and fairly extravagant wedding, but this is something else.

There are guests already milling on the vivid green lawn at the front of the castle, a cacophony of colour: elaborate headpieces and hats, full-length ballgowns, saris and lehengas. Beside me, Addie looks down at herself, as if just remembering that she’s still in the same white dress she put on this morning, with a shirt collar and a belt at the waist.

‘Shit,’ she mutters. ‘It had to be white, didn’t it?’

I scan the crowd for any sign of Rodney, but there are scores of people here already, perhaps hundreds, and I don’t know what he’ll be wearing. He could easily have changed into his suit, given that he had access to the entire contents of the Mini. Or he could be in Deb’s pyjamas, come to that.

‘Addie!’ comes a voice from behind us.

We all spin. The synchrony is becoming uncanny. I think it must be the two days of poor air conditioning and endless country music: we are united now, as one, having breathed the same stale air for so many hours.

‘Yeah?’ Addie says, bewildered. Nobody nearby seems to be looking at us. We’re near the building, right by a flowerbed overflowing with pink and purple flowers and . . . something . . . white.

‘Addie,’ I say, pointing to the offending patch of white fabric just visible behind a large bush.

‘Addie! Get back here!’ the voice hisses.

It’s Cherry. She’s in full wedding dress with her hair in pins; for a brief moment her face pokes out from behind the bush, eyes wide, cheeks rosy.

We all crowd in around her. Cherry scans us with the expression of a woman who does not have the mental energy to absorb anything that isn’t immediately relevant to the crisis at hand – she barely even blinks as she registers the presence of the burly lorry driver beside Deb, and the large, technicolour bruising around Marcus’s nose.

‘Well? Where’s Rodney?’ she hisses. ‘Is he here?’

‘Happy wedding day,’ I say, leaning to kiss her on the cheek and getting a faceful of leaves. ‘How are you?’

‘Insane,’ she says. ‘I’m insane. Don’t ever get married, Dylan. It turns you into a monster.’

‘OK, noted,’ I say, trying very hard not to look at Addie. ‘Listen, we haven’t found Rodney just yet, but . . .’

Cherry groans, burying her face in her hands.

‘Don’t worry! We’re on it!’ I say, as Addie plucks a leaf out of Cherry’s hair. ‘Can you give us any clues as to what he might be planning? Given what you know about him?’

‘I don’t know him! I just slept with him! Once!’