‘The Faerie Queene,’ Dylan says, grinning. ‘He’s listening to The Faerie Queene.’
I lean in and catch a line –
‘For there is nothing lost that may be found if sought.’
Dylan
Rodney is in quite good spirits, considering, though in rather urgent need of what Deb would call an extreme-desperation break. Once we’ve seen to our captive and met Cherry and Krishna in the wedding suite to give them the clothes they need, Addie and I head back to the main hall through a labyrinth of corridors, our fingers still interlinked.
We’ve barely let each other go all day. Never again will I take for granted the feeling of Addie Gilbert holding my hand in hers.
When we reach our table, Grace is sitting in my seat, leaning towards Marcus, who’s talking, eyes on the floor, visibly uncomfortable. Addie and I hang back for a moment, watching them before they clock us. It’s so good to see Grace looking healthy again – even a year ago, with her sitting like that, I’d have been able to see the harsh ridges of her spine.
‘Do you think she’s getting her apology?’ Addie says to me quietly.
‘I hope so.’
‘Do you think . . . Marcus and Grace . . . ?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know if he’s ready, yet, or, you know . . . worthy of her.’ I glance sideways at Addie, suddenly conscious that I’m talking about a woman I once slept with, here, but she nods her agreement, forehead puckered in a frown that makes me want to press a kiss to the space between her brows.
Grace spots us then; she rises and hugs Addie first – Darling, she says, you look divine – and they exclaim over one another’s dresses and new hair and slip into the easy conversation of friends who’ve spent too long apart.
‘Oh, my book?’ Grace says, tilting her chin back as she laughs. ‘Burned. Quite literally.’
‘Burned?’ Addie says, eyes widening. ‘But you’ve been writing that book for – for the whole time I’ve known you! And hey, you told me I was in chapter seven!’
Grace reaches to rest her hand against Addie’s cheek. ‘Adeline. You deserve to be chapter one.’
Addie starts to laugh. ‘How does everything you say sound so profound?’
‘Expensive education,’ Grace says, with a languid smile. ‘No, the book had to go. I shan’t say I’ll never write another, but that book was never really about the summer of our lives. It was all about a man. And once I’d realised that, I simply couldn’t stand to look at it.’
Addie tugs her further away from the table, where Terry is now singing what sounds like some sort of sea shanty with Kevin.
‘I tried reworking, restarting, everything,’ Grace continues. ‘But it was still his book.’
She lifts her chin ever so slightly towards Marcus.
‘Ah,’ Addie says.
‘Quite,’ says Grace, with a sigh. ‘And he certainly hasn’t earned a whole book to himself, has he? So I burned it. I thought it might help with the . . .’ She waves a hand at her chest.
‘The loving him?’ Addie supplies.
‘Yes,’ Grace says heavily. ‘That. Because I’m quite sick of loving a man who’s really just an absolutely massive tosser.’
Addie burst out laughing. ‘Did you tell him that?’
‘Well, I was all ready to,’ Grace says, ‘and then he apologised. Marcus. I have to confess to you, Addie, I’ve imagined this moment countless times, countless, and then, just when I give up hope . . .’
‘Wishing you could unburn the book now?’ Addie asks.
Grace laughs, head back. ‘No,’ she says firmly. ‘Certainly not. I’m a very different woman now, and if he wants to play the hero . . . he’s going to have to audition.’
Addie grins at her. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she says, and I smile, because that candour, that unguarded affection, it’s new to her – or rather, it’s new to me.
‘And I’ve missed you, my darling girl. And what about you two?’ Grace asks, glancing at me. ‘I thought that ship had sailed, but . . . ? Where are you now?’
Addie bites her lip. I lace our fingers tighter.
‘We’re at chapter one,’ I say.
The sound of someone getting too close to a microphone – that low, wincing shriek – cuts across Grace’s reply, but her smile says enough. There’s a twelve-piece band setting up, and the tables nearest the dance floor are being cleared by an army of industrious people wearing the wedding colours; Krish’s best man manages to stop the microphone shrieking for long enough to announce that it’s time for the first dance.