And then there’s the hair, of course, and the glasses, both of which I’m finding impossibly sexy.
‘So, Rodney,’ Deb says over her shoulder, as she moves the car out into the fast lane. ‘What’s your story?’
‘Oh, I don’t have a story,’ Rodney says.
Marcus huffs a laugh. He’s been gazing out the window from the front seat, suspiciously quiet. It’s too hot in the car; there’s a nasty sort of stickiness to the air, like the stale fug of a room that’s not been aired since somebody slept there.
‘Everyone has a story,’ Addie says.
She glances at me, but it brings our faces so close – a kiss away from one another – that she turns to the front again within half a second, a blush colouring her cheeks.
‘Rodney?’ she prompts.
Rodney squirms. ‘Oh, really, nothing to tell!’
I look at him with a pang of pity, then realise – as Addie just did – how close our faces are now we’re turned towards one another. I can see every pore on his nose.
‘Come on, Rodney – what is it you do, for instance?’ I say, quickly returning my gaze to the road ahead. The middle seat is unequivocally the worst. There’s nowhere to put my feet, for starters, and my arms feel very inconvenient, like a couple of extra limbs I really should have had the decency to leave in the boot.
‘I work with Cherry,’ Rodney says. ‘I’m in the sales team.’
I can tell without looking that Addie is as surprised as I am. I don’t know why none of us had thought to ask how exactly Rodney knew Cherry, but this wasn’t the answer I’d been expecting. Since moving to live with Krishna in Chichester, Cherry works for a luxury travel company, selling ten-thousand-pound holidays to people who are far too busy to organise them for themselves. Not one of those hideous package sites that’s always shouting at you to book things before somebody else does, but a boutique travel agency with a cosy office and staff who are astonishingly nice to you. The niceness only applies to the right sort of person, of course. It’s very exclusive.
Rodney doesn’t exactly scream exclusivity.
I should say something – I’ve left it too long. ‘That’s great!’ I say, much too enthusiastically. Addie shoots me an amused glance and I make a quick face, like, What would you have done? I feel rather than see her smile.
‘What’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done, Rodney?’ Marcus asks, without turning around.
‘Marcus,’ Addie begins.
‘What? Five questions! I did it earlier, didn’t I?’ He turns then, and smiles. ‘Come on, Rodney, it’ll be fun. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?’
This is a wildly inaccurate statement.
Rodney clears his throat. ‘Umm. Most embarrassing . . . Oh, let’s see . . . I once wet myself in bed.’
There is a long silence.
‘With a girl there,’ he says.
‘What?’ everyone choruses.
‘What, like, as an adult?’
‘Well, yeah,’ Rodney says. ‘Haha!’
I cringe as Marcus laughs to himself. I suspect Rodney has not heard the end of this story and will sincerely regret sharing it.
‘Next question?’ Rodney says hopefully.
‘Like, full-bladder-wet-yourself?’ Deb asks, with curiosity. ‘Or just a dribble?’
‘Oh, gosh,’ Rodney says. ‘Haha! Let’s not go into the details?’
‘I think you’re misunderstanding, Rodney,’ Marcus says. ‘The details are the only interesting part.’
Addie leans into me for a moment as she adjusts her seat belt. I wonder if she feels that heat between us too, if the left side of her body is blazing like the right side of mine, hypersensitive to touch.
‘Let’s allow Rodney to retain some dignity,’ Addie says. ‘When did you and Cherry become friends, Rodney?’
‘What a waste of a question,’ Marcus says.
‘Christmas party, year before last,’ Rodney says, with pride.
I remember Cherry telling me about that Christmas party. She always has excellent anecdotes, largely because she’s so ridiculous – she’s always in one scrape or another. For a while I used to hope for them, because when she needed rescuing it would usually be Addie who turned up to save her. Cherry always caved eventually and gave me the details of exactly how Addie was, what she was doing, whether she was dating, and all the other questions I would insist on torturing myself by asking.