His eyes flick to mine again. I go hot. There’s something about Dylan’s eyes – they kind of catch you up, like cobweb. I force myself to look away.
‘So . . . you’re on your way to Cherry’s wedding, I’m guessing?’ I say to Marcus. My voice shakes. I can’t look at him. I’m suddenly thankful for the dented rear bumper to examine on the Mini.
‘Well, we were,’ Marcus drawls, eyeing the Mercedes. Maybe he can’t bring himself to look at me either. ‘But there’s no way we’re driving this baby four hundred miles now. It needs to get to a garage. Yours should, too.’
Deb makes a dismissive noise, already out of the car again and rubbing a scratch with the sleeve of her ratty old hoody. ‘Ah, she’s fine,’ she says, opening and closing the boot experimentally. ‘Dented, that’s all.’
‘Marcus, it’s going ballistic,’ Dylan calls.
I can see the Mercedes’ screen flashing warning lights even from here. The hazards are too bright. I turn my face away. Isn’t it typical that when Marcus’s car breaks, Dylan’s the one sorting it?
‘The tow will be here in thirty minutes to take it to the garage,’ Dylan says.
‘Thirty minutes?’ Deb says, disbelieving.
‘All part of the service,’ Marcus tells her, pointing to the car. ‘Mercedes, darling.’
‘It’s Deb. Not darling. We’ve met several times before.’
‘Sure. I remember,’ Marcus says lightly. Not very convincing.
I can feel Dylan’s eyes pulling at me as we all try to get the insurance stuff sorted. I’m fumbling around with my phone, Deb’s digging in the glove box for paperwork, and all the while I’m so aware of Dylan, like he’s taking up ten times more space than everyone else.
‘And how are we getting to the wedding?’ Marcus asks once we’re done.
‘We’ll just get public transport,’ Dylan says.
‘Public transport?’ Marcus says, as though someone’s just suggested he get to Cherry’s wedding by toboggan. Still a bit of a wanker, then, Marcus. No surprises there.
Rodney clears his throat. He’s leaning against the side of the Mini, eyes fixed on his phone. I feel bad – I keep forgetting him. Right now my brain doesn’t have room for Rodney.
‘If you set off now,’ he says, ‘then according to Google you would arrive . . . at thirteen minutes past two.’
Marcus checks his watch.
‘All right,’ says Dylan. ‘That’s fine.’
‘On Tuesday,’ Rodney finishes.
‘What?’ chorus Dylan and Marcus.
Rodney pulls an apologetic face. ‘It’s half four in the morning on a Sunday on a bank holiday weekend and you’re trying to get from Chichester to rural Scotland.’
Marcus throws his hands in the air. ‘This country is a shambles.’
Deb and I look at each other. No, no no no— ‘Let’s go,’ I say, moving for the Mini. ‘Will you drive?’
‘Addie . . .’ Deb begins as I climb into the passenger seat.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ calls Marcus.
I slam the car door.
‘Hey!’ Marcus says as Deb gets into the driver’s seat. ‘You have to take us to the wedding!’
‘No,’ I say to Deb. ‘Ignore him. Rodney! Get in!’
Rodney obliges. Which is kind. I really don’t know the man well enough to yell at him.
‘What the fuck? Addie. Come on. If you don’t drive us, we won’t get there in time,’ Marcus says.
He’s by my window now. He knocks on the glass with the back of his knuckles. I don’t roll it down.
‘Addie, come on! Christ, surely you owe Dylan a favour.’
Dylan says something to Marcus. I don’t catch it.
‘God, he’s an arse,’ Deb says with a frown.
I close my eyes.
‘Do you think you can do it?’ Deb asks me. ‘Give them a lift?’
‘No. Not – not both of them.’
‘Then ignore him. Let’s just go.’
Marcus taps on the window again. I clench my teeth, neck still aching, and keep my eyes straight ahead.
‘Our road trip was meant to be fun,’ I say.
This is Deb’s first weekend away from her baby boy, Riley. It’s all we’ve talked about for months. She’s planned every stop-off, every snack.
‘It would still be fun,’ Deb says.
‘We don’t have room,’ I try.