‘He’s just Dad, really, I’ve never thought about what he’s like,’ I say, but I can feel myself starting to smile just at the thought of him. My heart aches for home, and I tighten my fingers around Dylan’s. ‘I’m as close to him as I am to my mum. He’s really good at advice, and he’s funny, but you know, Dad-funny.’
Dylan chuckles at that. I can feel him relaxing again.
‘Do you miss them?’ he asks. ‘Your parents?’
‘Yeah, I do.’ That feels like a bit of an embarrassing thing to say when you’re twenty-one, and I blush in the dark. ‘At uni I always went home loads midterm, so this is the longest I’ve ever not seen them, actually. But I’ve got Deb. And it’s been amazing, this summer.’
‘Amazing, hey?’ Dylan whispers.
I swallow. My heart rate picks up. ‘I don’t want it to end,’ I say.
My voice is so quiet Dylan shifts even closer to hear me. I can feel his breath on my lips like a feather.
‘Who said anything about ending?’ he whispers. He’s shadowy in the dark, but I can see his eyes flicking back and forth as he looks at me.
I sort of knew. I didn’t think he’d say he was leaving the villa and that was it, summer romance done. But even so, my heart is thundering now. I want this conversation so much it scares me. I shift away a little, turning my face into the pillow. Dylan runs his hand up my back, making me shiver.
‘Can I tell you something?’ he says quietly.
I wriggle, pushing the sheet down away from my face, suddenly breathless. I think he’s going to say it and once he has, that’s it, like he’s putting a timestamp on our lives. Creating a before and after. I feel it coming like I’m speeding towards something, and for one panicked moment I think I ought to slam on the brakes.
‘I love you,’ he says. ‘I love you, Addie.’
It sends a shock zinging through me. Like someone pressed refresh. My heart beats in my ears. I think of that poem, about how scary it is handing over your heart, like a soldier lowering his weapon.
But I do love Dylan. I love him when his friends are taking the piss out of his poetry, and I love him when he’s just woken up, sleepy-eyed and grumbling. I love him so much I sometimes genuinely find it hard to have a conversation with anyone else, because all I’m thinking about is him. Us.
‘I love you too,’ I whisper.
I’ve never said it before. When my ex tried to bring up the love thing I would usually find a reason to slip away: an empty drink, a friend across the room, a passing spider. And before him, there was nobody serious. I wonder whether Dylan’s ever said it before.
‘I sense some thoughts are occurring,’ Dylan says, nuzzling into my neck. ‘Are you about to head off to the Intermarché?’
I laugh at that, though I hadn’t realised he noticed me slipping off when things felt too intense.
‘No supermarket necessary,’ I say. ‘I guess it’s just . . . I mean, you’re going travelling now, so . . . What does this even mean?’
I kiss him then, because I can hear the need in my voice. I don’t like it. I don’t want to think about how much I’ll miss him.
‘It means we’ll talk all the time on the phone, and on Skype. I’ll send you poems on postcards. I’ll come find you the moment I’m back in England,’ Dylan says. He smooths back my hair. ‘But . . . I could stay here for the rest of the summer instead? Should I stay?’ He pulls back slightly.
I could say yes. Miss out on your summer plans, don’t go to Thailand and Vietnam, stay here with me. I could tell him what to do. He’d do it – if there’s one thing I’ve seen this week, it’s that Dylan is easily led.
For a moment the temptation tugs at me. It would be such a small thing to do it. Like a foot slipping, the brush of a hand.
‘No,’ I say, pressing my lips to his. ‘You go. Don’t let me mess up your plans. This summer’s about figuring out what you want, right? So go figure. And then come find me when you’re done.’
Dylan
For the rest of the summer, we travel, Marcus and I. My shoulders become accustomed to the stinging ache of the backpack’s weight; I lose count of the number of wonders I try to comprehend, beaches so white they look like snow, jungles so lush the path you took yesterday has to be recut with a machete the next day. Boat rides and cramped trains and the yells of marketplaces, bartering and sweating and drinking and wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life and always, always missing Addie.