by Beth O'Leary
‘Well, you went to A&E,’ Rodney begins, ‘and it took Kevin a little while to . . .’ He trails off under my glare. ‘A rhetorical one?’ he says.
‘Yes, Rodney, a rhetorical one. We need to get back on the move as soon as Deb’s done.’
‘But I’m starving,’ Marcus whines. He’s lying on his back on the carpet, arms and legs outstretched like a star. Gone is the subdued man in the car, the strange new Marcus who cared when my wrist hurt. He’s disappeared as suddenly as he came.
‘We haven’t eaten in a really long time,’ Deb points out. ‘Shouldn’t we get some food, at least? There’s a Harvester right next door to this place.’
‘A what?’ Marcus and Dylan chorus.
I laugh. ‘A Harvester. Come on. You’ll love it.’
Marcus sits up. ‘If it’s food,’ he says, ‘I’m delighted with it.’
This mentality lasts until we’re settled in a booth at the Harvester’s and he’s looking at the menu.
‘What the fuck?’ he says.
I hide my grin behind my menu. ‘What?’
‘What is this place? Pizza and cooked breakfasts?’ He looks genuinely nonplussed. ‘Is it, like, fusion?’
Deb snorts with laughter. ‘It’s food,’ she says.
‘And what, you go and get meat from there?’ he says, pointing in the direction of the roast laid out in trays in the centre of the restaurant. ‘This is monstrous. This is wonderful. Can I have as many Yorkshire puddings as I like?’
Forty minutes later and Marcus sits back with a groan, rubbing his stomach.
‘That should keep him quiet for a while, at least,’ Dylan mutters to me. ‘How’s the traffic looking, Rodney?’
I’m not sure at what point Rodney became chief of travel news, but it’s stuck. He loves having a job to do. He’s already whipping his phone out to check Google Maps.
‘Ooh,’ he says, pulling a face. ‘Umm . . .’
‘Not good?’ I say.
‘The M6 north is closed.’
‘That sounds . . . bad . . .’
‘It’s not great,’ Rodney says apologetically. ‘Google’s redirecting us through the North Pennines.’
‘What’s it saying time-wise?’ I say. It’s nearly nine now, and the light is fading through the windows of the Harvester.
‘Six hours.’
I lay my head down on the table. ‘Gnnh.’
‘There’s no point getting there at three in the morning, Ads,’ Deb says. ‘Let’s just see if there’s rooms at the Budget Travel and set off early tomorrow. The roads will have cleared up and we’ll actually have some sleep before the wedding.’
‘No! We have to keep going!’ I say, without lifting my head.
‘Hey? Couldn’t hear you there over the sound of your unrealistic expectations,’ Deb says, sliding the menu out from under my face, forcing me to move.
‘I hate giving up,’ I groan. ‘And I don’t want to have to pay for a night in a bloody Budget Travel! We paid for that Airbnb in Ettrick, and . . .’
It dawns on me that I’m talking about money in front of Dylan. My face flushes.
‘Don’t offer to pay, either of you,’ I say quickly, in Marcus and Dylan’s direction.
‘Nothing was further from my mind,’ says Marcus. ‘And Dylan’s a truly penniless poet these days, anyway, so don’t look to him for a handout.’
‘Oh, right, I . . .’ I’m all distracted now. I guess I should have figured Dylan would have stopped taking his parents’ money if he wasn’t speaking to his dad any more. ‘Can’t we just drive through the night?’
‘You’ve got a sprained wrist and I have what I believe may be actual dog shit on my leg, Addie. I just tried to teach myself to hand-express breast milk in a copse on the edge of a field. I need to shower, and I need to chill the breast milk bottles and cool bag. And we all need to rest, or one of us will kill someone.’
‘It’s true,’ Marcus says. ‘I’m this close to murdering Rodney. If he cracks his knuckles again . . .’
Rodney pauses mid-knuckle-crack. ‘Sorry sorry sorry . . .’
‘Or apologises.’
‘Sor . . .’ Rodney cringes. ‘Whoops.’
I sigh. ‘All right. Fine. Let’s see if the Budget Travel have rooms.’ I raise a finger as Marcus opens his mouth to speak. ‘No, we cannot see if there is somewhere five-star where we could stay instead. If you want more glamorous accommodation, you have to find it yourself, and I am not driving you there, and neither is Deb.’
‘It’s true,’ Deb says. ‘I’m not.’
Marcus meets my eyes for a moment. I’m actually pretty proud of myself for that little raised-finger rant. Standing up to Marcus isn’t easy, even if it’s just about hotel rooms.
‘I wasn’t going to say that. Whatever you choose to believe about me, I can cope without room service for a night. I was going to say, let me ask Maggie about rooms.’ His trademark grin looks a bit more exhausted than usual. ‘She’ll probably upgrade us all to VIP.’
‘This. Is bloody ridiculous.’
Deb and I exchange a glance over the double bed and then look away quickly. It’s too hard not to laugh.
‘Where am I sleeping? In the fucking cot?’ Marcus says. He looks genuinely mystified.
I’ll admit, the Budget Travel family room isn’t designed for five adults. But it was good of Maggie to let us have the room at all – the hotel is full tonight, with a wedding going on somewhere nearby.
There’s one double bed, two singles separated by a short corridor, and a cot.
Deb presses a hand to her stomach. ‘Oh,’ she says in a small voice, looking at the cot. God, it was so not worth her leaving her son at home for this disaster of a road trip.
‘If anyone’s got to go in the cot,’ Marcus says, ‘it should be Addie. She’s basically child-sized.’
I examine the cot. It’s a largish cot. But it’s still a cot.
‘I’m having the double bed,’ I say. ‘With Deb,’ I clarify quickly as everybody immediately looks at Dylan. ‘You three can sort the rest amongst yourselves.’
Deb’s on her phone now, flicking through the latest pictures Mum has sent of Riley on the family WhatsApp. I can’t see the phone screen, but I don’t need to. Deb’s eyes have gone soft and wistful.
‘Come on,’ Dylan says, tugging at Marcus’s arm. ‘Let’s give Deb and Addie some space. Rodney, you too – let’s get the rest of the bags from the car and decide who’s sleeping on the floor.’
I catch his eye as he ushers them out of the room, grabbing the car keys as he goes. Thank you, I mouth, and he smiles.
‘Oh, dear,’ Deb says, putting down her phone as the door clicks shut.
‘What?’
‘That,’ Deb says, pointing at my face. ‘That thank you.’
‘Was polite?’
‘Was something you would not have said twelve hours ago. Which tells me . . . something has changed?’
I sit down on the bed and cradle my injured wrist in my lap. The swelling has got a little better, but it’s still tender and the skin feels too tight.
‘Nothing’s changed. Well, I guess we’ve spent more time together, so . . . I’ve figured out how to be civil. Out of necessity. That’s it, though.’
‘No feelings?’
‘Many, many feelings,’ I say, lying back so my feet are dangling over the edge of the bed. ‘Too many to figure out.’
Deb lies down beside me.
‘You should really wash before you get anywhere near this bed,’ I tell her.
She ignores that. ‘Tell me.’
‘You sure you don’t want to talk about missing Riley?’
‘Absolutely certain. That will not help. Tell me all the Dylan feelings.’
‘All right, well . . . he seems different.’
�
�Does he?’
‘More grounded. Less tolerant of Marcus. More mature. More self-aware.’
‘Those are all excellent things.’
‘I know. I know.’ I rub my eyes with my good hand. ‘But maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see.’
‘You still love him?’
Trust Deb not to beat around the bush. I swallow and stare up at the ceiling.
‘I hate when people say shit like I think I’ll always love you when they’re breaking up with someone, because, like . . . in that case, why aren’t you still together? But with Dylan . . .’
‘You think you might always love him?’
‘Well, let’s put it this way: I don’t think I’ve stopped yet.’
‘Not even when you wanted to burn his effigy at Bonfire Night that time?’
I smile. ‘Especially not then. That was a blatant attempt to kickstart hating him. Fake it ’til you make it.’
‘What about when you were seeing that guy from the school?’
My smile fades. ‘I . . . He made Dylan disappear for a while. But he didn’t make him go away.’
And then, more quietly, Deb asks, ‘What about when he left you?’
The window’s cracked open to let some cool air in, and you can hear the roar of the motorway.
‘I’ve never let myself . . . I . . .’ My throat seems to be closing up.
Deb waits patiently.
‘I’ve never said it out loud, before, Deb,’ I manage.
‘That’s OK,’ she says. ‘You can say it now, though.’
‘I understand why he left.’ I breathe out.
The cars roar on.
‘He was wrong to leave you,’ Deb says.
‘But I understand why he did. Even then, I understood. That’s why I was so angry. Because I knew – I felt – he was right to go.’
Deb turns her head to look at me. ‘You once said to me you’d never forgive him for walking away.’
‘I know. Forgiving him felt weak. And I wanted to feel strong.’
‘“Forgiveness is the attribute of the strong”,’ Deb says. ‘That was Gandhi, that was.’
A tear has worked its way from the corner of my eye towards my ear. I close my eyes, and another two go tumbling, wetting my hair.
‘Do you think I should have forgiven him back then? Like he forgave me?’
‘Addie . . .’
‘No, it’s OK, I can talk about it. I can say it.’
‘You’re crying.’
I laugh through the tears. ‘Sometimes crying’s good. Sometimes you need to cry.’
‘Addie, your phone,’ Deb says, rolling on to her side to reach my phone where I left it on the bedside table. ‘It’s Cherry.’
‘Shit.’ I sit up, then let out a gasp of pain as I accidentally move my hand. ‘Pass it, would you? We need to tell her we won’t be there until tomorrow. I should have called already.’
I wipe my face and answer the call.
‘Hey Cherry,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s bad news.’
‘No!’ comes Cherry’s tinny voice down the phone. ‘No! No! No! You are five minutes away! You are!’
‘We’re not,’ I say, grimacing. ‘We’re really not.’
‘Krish’s aunt and uncle are held up too, coming from London. This is so bad, Ads.’
‘It’s not, it’s fine! There’s just some bad traffic today, that’s all. It’ll have cleared up tomorrow and everyone will be there in plenty of time for the wedding.’
‘Everyone was meant to be here today! We had to have our family barbecue without you!’
I smile, wiping my wet cheeks. ‘I’m not technically your family, you know.’
‘Shut up! What! Oh, God, Krish is beckoning me over – probably some new crisis – they’re out of gypsophila at the florist, have you ever heard of such absolute rubbish? Out of it? It’s the bread and butter of the floral world, Addie. The kidney bean in the chilli. Do you understand?’
‘Not exactly, but I understand that things are seeming a little overwhelming right now,’ I say, in the most calming voice I can manage. ‘But you have Krish. That’s all that matters. And even if the florist runs out of every bean in the chilli, or whatever, Krish will still be your husband by the end of tomorrow.’
‘Yes. Yes.’ I hear Cherry take a deep breath. ‘That’s what matters. Except . . . the other stuff does also matter. Not as much, you know, but still quite a lot?’
I laugh. ‘Yeah, I hear you. Look, we’ll be there as early as we possibly can tomorrow, and I’ll give you the biggest hug, and then I’ll run around pilfering all the gypsophila from the other florists of Ettrick if you want me to. Or I’ll just stay with you saying calming things. Whatever you need.’
‘I love you, Addie,’ she says. ‘I really do. Is it OK, the journey? God, sorry, I haven’t even asked – you’ve spent the whole day with Dylan! Are you all right?’
‘I’m OK. I’ve got Deb.’
‘Thank God for Deb,’ Cherry says. ‘I wish I had Deb.’
‘Sorry. We’ll all be there tomorrow late morning, OK?’
‘OK,’ she says, in a little, very un-Cherry-ish voice.
‘Oh, I can’t remember if Dylan told you Rodney is with us as well, so he’s going to be late too. And Marcus, but I guess you figured that out. And also don’t care.’
‘Yeah, Marcus must know he was a pity invite,’ Cherry says. ‘Who did you say was with you?’
‘Rodney? He needed a lift from the Chichester area, so we picked him up. Poor man. He had no idea what he was letting himself in for.’
‘Rodney?’ Cherry says.
‘Yeah?’
‘Rodney who?’
‘What? Err.’ I glance at Deb. ‘I can’t remember. Rodney . . . Wilson, maybe? Or Rodney White?’
‘Rodney Wiley?’
‘Yeah, that sounds about right. Why? Is that a problem?’
‘Ads . . . Addie . . .’
‘What?’
Deb’s unpacking – she looks over at me, catching my tone.
‘Rodney Wiley is not invited to my wedding.’
‘What?’
‘Jesus, Addie, have you – is he actually with you? Is he with you now?’ Cherry’s voice rises.
‘No, he’s downstairs – what’s wrong? Who is he?’
‘He’s the guy. The guy from that Christmas party.’
‘Oh my God. The weird guy you slept with who wrote you love poems?!’
‘Yes!’
‘No!’ I say, hand over my mouth. ‘No! His name was not Rodney!’
‘Yes, it was!’
‘I would have remembered!’
‘Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Addie, because you didn’t! Oh my God. Why is he coming to my wedding?’ Cherry shrieks. ‘You have to get rid of him!’
‘What the hell is going on?’ Deb asks.
‘Is he like . . . dangerous?’ I ask, eyes widening.
‘Maybe!’ Cherry says. ‘I mean, well. Not really, no, but he’s really bloody annoying. And he seems to have invited himself to my wedding which is so weird. How did he even get hold of you to ask for a lift?!’
‘He was in the wedding Facebook group! Only people with the invite knew about it, so I just figured . . .’
‘What’s going on?’ Deb asks again.
I wave an impatient hand her way.
‘What do we do?’ I ask Cherry. ‘What do you want us to do? Is he still in love with you?’
‘It’s certainly looking that way, isn’t it!’ Cherry says, sounding almost hysterical. ‘I doubt he’s coming to the wedding to give us his best wishes.’
‘You think he wants to try and stop the wedding?’
‘Who are you talking about? Rodney?’ Deb asks, coming closer. I switch the phone to loud
speaker.
‘Cherry? What do you want us to do?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know,’ Cherry says, on the brink of tears. ‘I don’t know, just don’t let him get here. Just get rid of him.’
Deb and I look at each other.
‘You can do that, can’t you? You’ll get rid of him?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ I say. ‘There will be no Rodney Wiley at your wedding.’
‘OK. OK. Oh my God, I wonder what he was planning.’ Cherry sounds like she’s speaking through her hands. ‘I have to go, guys, Krish is beckoning with both hands now, and he’s really frowny – but you’ll sort it, won’t you? I can’t believe you gave my stalker a lift to my wedding, God! Krish, hang on, would you – I’ve got to go, ladies, but do what you’ve got to do, all right?’
‘We’re not going to kill him, if that’s what you mean,’ Deb says.
‘What! Deb! No! Just, you know . . . waylay him. Tie him up somewhere. Maybe give him a bit of a scare.’
‘Cherry!’ I say, starting to laugh.
‘These are desperate times, Addie! I’m counting on you!’
She hangs up. Deb and I stare at each other.
‘Huh,’ I say.
‘Well,’ says Deb.
‘I feel like . . . we maybe need to come up with some sort of . . . plan?’
‘Like a dastardly plan?’
‘No? Just like a normal, sensible plan.’
‘Cherry said tie him up.’
‘Cherry’s wedding has driven her insane. We’re not doing that.’
‘The man needs to be stopped, Addie.’
‘Yes, I know, but – we need to be clever about this. We don’t want him to know we know. Then he’ll realise Cherry’s on to him. He might try another way to get there.’
Deb looks thoughtful at that. ‘True. If we get rid of him now, he’s still got a whole day to find his way to Ettrick.’
‘Right.’ I chew my lip. ‘So as much as I do not want Cherry’s stalker in our car . . .’
‘Or sleeping in the same room as us . . .’
‘I think maybe our best bet is to keep him close until the last possible moment, then, umm. Do something. Not tie him up,’ I say, raising a finger.
‘OK. Well, that’s our dastardly plan then,’ Deb says, with satisfaction. ‘Keep our enemy close.’