‘Fucking shitting fuckity shit,’ I say, then blush, because I nicked that particular arrangement of expletives off Dylan, and I haven’t used it for years. Apparently him being here has reminded me of one of the few gifts he gave me that I did not give back: the talent of swearing like a true toff.
‘We can’t stay here. She can’t run into the traffic to get to us anyway, and someone’s going to go into the back of us. Shit.’ I start up, going as slowly as I can get away with. ‘Can you see her? Did she take her phone?’ I glance down at the car door – nope, there’s the phone. ‘Bloody bollocking fuckity fuck,’ I hiss between my teeth. ‘What do I do?!’
‘First things first, you probably need to drive faster than ten miles per hour,’ Dylan says apologetically. ‘Or we might all die.’
‘Right, right,’ I say, accelerating. ‘Oh, God, can you see her?’
Dylan strains to look out the window, but he’s on the wrong side. ‘Marcus?’ he says.
‘Can’t see her,’ Marcus says. ‘This is priceless.’
‘Oh dear, poor Deb!’ says Rodney.
‘Yes, thank you, everyone,’ I say, trying not to hyperventilate. ‘Shall I come off at the next junction? Where will she expect to meet us? What do we do?’
‘Breathe, Ads – it’s Deb. She could handle being dumped alone in the Sahara. She’ll just find this funny. Or mildly annoying,’ Dylan says, and I jump slightly as I feel his hand on my shoulder. He withdraws it quickly. I wish I hadn’t jumped.
‘Oh, God,’ I say, letting out a strangled laugh. We’re going at thirty now, which is about the same speed as everyone else as the motorway starts to get moving again. This would usually feel annoyingly slow but right now, while Deb’s spot on the verge slips away in my left mirror, it feels way too fast. ‘I need to get into the left lane. Marcus, would you please stop fucking cackling back there? It’s not helpful.’
Dylan snorts with laughter. I catch his eye for a moment in the internal mirror. He pulls a face.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘It’s just . . . It is . . . a bit . . .’
I swallow down a laugh, but it comes back, and before I know it my shoulders are shaking too. ‘Shit,’ I say, lifting a hand to my mouth. ‘Why am I laughing?’
‘Pissing behind a tree!’ Marcus snorts, voice shaking with laughter. ‘Imagine her face when she comes back and we’re gone!’
‘Oh, no, oh, gosh,’ Rodney says, and I can hear that he’s stifling his laughter too.
We’re coming up to the next junction. I indicate, still giggling, kind of also crying, generally just feeling totally unhinged. Why the hell did I let Deb get out the car for a wee?
‘The traffic just hadn’t moved in so long!’ I say.
‘It was always going to move as soon as Deb got out,’ Dylan says. ‘It’s sod’s law.’
‘I’m an idiot,’ I say, still laugh-crying. ‘This was a terrible idea.’
‘You’re not an idiot,’ Dylan says, sobering. ‘You gambled and lost, that’s all. Or, you know, Deb did. Hey, there’s a Budget Travel Hotel – pull into their car park, maybe?’
I make a last-minute indicate and follow his direction. As I pull into a space in the car park and turn the key in the ignition, I realise I’m shaking.
Things don’t seem so funny, suddenly.
‘How will she know to find us here? Should we go looking for her?’
‘Let’s just try to think like Deb,’ Dylan says, as I twist around in my seat to look at the three of them.
Marcus is grinning into his fist, shaking his head. Rodney has his arms around himself in a sort of protective hug, like a kid on their first day of school. And Dylan is chewing thoughtfully at his lip. The sun catches across his face like the beam of a spotlight, turning his eyes pale lemon-lime, and more than anything I want to kick Rodney and Marcus out of this car and crawl into his lap.
It’s weird. Dylan was never the person I would turn to when I was upset. So it’s not a habit thing. Back when we were together, he was the last person I’d choose to cry on – mostly because when I was crying, it was because of him, and he’d not have a clue I was even upset. That was how we worked. We were so close but we barely told each other anything.
‘Think like Deb,’ I repeat. ‘OK. Well, she’s always practical. She’ll swear a bit, then she’ll go, what now?’