The Road Trip(96)

‘That hardly counts,’ Deb says kindly.

‘He likes romantic gestures, though, right? Hence the poems and stuff,’ Addie says. ‘Don’t you think he’ll try and find you before the ceremony? To change your mind?’

‘Why do you think I’m in this fucking flowerbed?’ Cherry says. ‘This is Vivienne Westwood, you know. And that’s bird poo,’ she says, pointing to a leaf bobbing perilously close to her dress. Her hand is covered in beautiful, intricate henna art, ready for today’s wedding ceremony.

‘We need to lure him out,’ says Marcus. ‘And then pounce.’

He demonstrates pouncing. Cherry jumps.

‘Where would he expect you to be?’ Addie asks.

‘I’m meant to be having my hair done in the bridal preparation chamber,’ she says.

‘That sounds unpleasant,’ Deb says.

‘Yeah, I think they went for “chamber” because of the castle vibe,’ Cherry says, waving a vague hand at the battlements above us. ‘But it’s a bit unfortunate, isn’t it, with all the torture associations?’

‘So let’s go there,’ Marcus says. ‘We’ll hide, jump out on him . . .’

‘And tie him up!’ Deb finishes triumphantly.

Addie and I look at each other. The tying-up plan is sounding like quite a good one, presently, which I think shows how far we have all fallen. I have a feeling that if this journey had been any longer, it would have become progressively more Lord of the Flies, and Marcus probably would have eaten somebody.

‘Addie? Dyl?’ comes a voice from behind us.

Cherry squeals and ducks down again. ‘Get him away from me! Get him away!’

‘Cherry! It’s just Krish,’ Addie says, as we turn.

Krish lifts his hand in a slightly bemused wave. He’s dressed in a traditional wedding sherwani, and looks magnificent in its golds and deep reds. ‘Are you all all right?’ He cranes his head. ‘Is . . . Cherry? Is that you?’

‘You can’t see me! It’s our wedding day!’ she calls. ‘Go away!’

Krish starts to laugh. ‘What are you doing in a bush?’

‘Last-minute crisis,’ Deb says.

‘Nothing for you to worry about,’ Addie says, as Krish’s grin drops. ‘All under control.’ She tucks a corner of Cherry’s wedding dress behind her.

‘You go mingle,’ she says, waving a hand at Krish. ‘We’ll just . . . sort . . . things.’

Krish’s expression turns suspicious. ‘Is this very bad?’ he says. ‘I’m getting very bad vibes.’ His eyes settle on Kevin and his frown deepens.

I straighten up and pat him on the arm. ‘Absolutely not,’ I say. ‘You go and enjoy your special day.’

He is still looking unconvinced. I glance over his shoulder.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Is that your grandparents? Talking to Mad Bob?’

Krish’s eyes widen. Mad Bob makes Marcus look like the picture of restraint: he is known for compulsively undressing every time he has more than three drinks, and has been arrested so many times he couldn’t get a job even if he needed to, which he doesn’t, because he’s just inherited half of Islington.

That gets rid of Krish. But it also draws my attention to something that, in all the excitement and stress and joy, I had genuinely forgotten I’d have to confront today.

My father is making his way towards us across the grass. Dressed in white tie, he looks as severe and sharp-cut as his top hat; there are new harsh lines on his face, scores on either side of his nose, blueish bags beneath his eyes. My mum’s nowhere to be seen, which is unusual – she’s generally by my father’s side – and her absence makes my stomach turn. It’s always safer if my mum’s here too.

‘Oh my God, is that . . .’ Addie begins. ‘Shall we go? Let you talk?’

I reach for her as she moves to walk away. ‘No,’ I say firmly, but my heart is racing. ‘Stay with me – please. Deb, get Cherry back inside, and take Kevin, would you?’

‘On it,’ Deb says. ‘Come on, Cherry, mind the bird shit.’

Marcus moves to stand beside me; he’s on my right, Addie’s on my left. I can feel Addie looking at me uncertainly; her sore wrist is cradled at her chest, and I slide my hand into her free one, locking our fingers together.

‘Dylan,’ my father says.

I’m holding Addie’s hand too tightly, but I can’t seem to loosen my grip. I’ve thought of this moment often; I’ve imagined telling my father, Look how well I’ve done without you; I’ve imagined saying, You know, you could have been kind, just once. I’ve imagined telling him that I’ll never forgive him for the way he’s always treated Luke.

But now that I’m here, I’m afraid. The truth is, I haven’t done well without him – not in his terms, at least. I’m still a part-time Masters student with a small but significant debt on my account; I’m single but in love with a woman who I hope has it in her heart to give me another chance. To him, I look like I’m still on pause – the lost boy wandering the world, weak-willed and daydreaming and achieving nothing.

‘Who’s this?’ Dad says, eyes settling on Addie.

‘This is Addie,’ I say. My voice comes out in a squeak, and I clear my throat.