‘We haven’t eaten in a really long time,’ Deb points out. ‘Shouldn’t we get some food, at least? There’s a Harvester right next door to this place.’
‘A what?’ Marcus and Dylan chorus.
I laugh. ‘A Harvester. Come on. You’ll love it.’
Marcus sits up. ‘If it’s food,’ he says, ‘I’m delighted with it.’
This mentality lasts until we’re settled in a booth at the Harvester’s and he’s looking at the menu.
‘What the fuck?’ he says.
I hide my grin behind my menu. ‘What?’
‘What is this place? Pizza and cooked breakfasts?’ He looks genuinely nonplussed. ‘Is it, like, fusion?’
Deb snorts with laughter. ‘It’s food,’ she says.
‘And what, you go and get meat from there?’ he says, pointing in the direction of the roast laid out in trays in the centre of the restaurant. ‘This is monstrous. This is wonderful. Can I have as many Yorkshire puddings as I like?’
Forty minutes later and Marcus sits back with a groan, rubbing his stomach.
‘That should keep him quiet for a while, at least,’ Dylan mutters to me. ‘How’s the traffic looking, Rodney?’
I’m not sure at what point Rodney became chief of travel news, but it’s stuck. He loves having a job to do. He’s already whipping his phone out to check Google Maps.
‘Ooh,’ he says, pulling a face. ‘Umm . . .’
‘Not good?’ I say.
‘The M6 north is closed.’
‘That sounds . . . bad . . .’
‘It’s not great,’ Rodney says apologetically. ‘Google’s redirecting us through the North Pennines.’
‘What’s it saying time-wise?’ I say. It’s nearly nine now, and the light is fading through the windows of the Harvester.
‘Six hours.’
I lay my head down on the table. ‘Gnnh.’
‘There’s no point getting there at three in the morning, Ads,’ Deb says. ‘Let’s just see if there’s rooms at the Budget Travel and set off early tomorrow. The roads will have cleared up and we’ll actually have some sleep before the wedding.’
‘No! We have to keep going!’ I say, without lifting my head.
‘Hey? Couldn’t hear you there over the sound of your unrealistic expectations,’ Deb says, sliding the menu out from under my face, forcing me to move.
‘I hate giving up,’ I groan. ‘And I don’t want to have to pay for a night in a bloody Budget Travel! We paid for that Airbnb in Ettrick, and . . .’
It dawns on me that I’m talking about money in front of Dylan. My face flushes.
‘Don’t offer to pay, either of you,’ I say quickly, in Marcus and Dylan’s direction.
‘Nothing was further from my mind,’ says Marcus. ‘And Dylan’s a truly penniless poet these days, anyway, so don’t look to him for a handout.’
‘Oh, right, I . . .’ I’m all distracted now. I guess I should have figured Dylan would have stopped taking his parents’ money if he wasn’t speaking to his dad any more. ‘Can’t we just drive through the night?’
‘You’ve got a sprained wrist and I have what I believe may be actual dog shit on my leg, Addie. I just tried to teach myself to hand-express breast milk in a copse on the edge of a field. I need to shower, and I need to chill the breast milk bottles and cool bag. And we all need to rest, or one of us will kill someone.’
‘It’s true,’ Marcus says. ‘I’m this close to murdering Rodney. If he cracks his knuckles again . . .’
Rodney pauses mid-knuckle-crack. ‘Sorry sorry sorry . . .’
‘Or apologises.’
‘Sor . . .’ Rodney cringes. ‘Whoops.’
I sigh. ‘All right. Fine. Let’s see if the Budget Travel have rooms.’ I raise a finger as Marcus opens his mouth to speak. ‘No, we cannot see if there is somewhere five-star where we could stay instead. If you want more glamorous accommodation, you have to find it yourself, and I am not driving you there, and neither is Deb.’
‘It’s true,’ Deb says. ‘I’m not.’
Marcus meets my eyes for a moment. I’m actually pretty proud of myself for that little raised-finger rant. Standing up to Marcus isn’t easy, even if it’s just about hotel rooms.
‘I wasn’t going to say that. Whatever you choose to believe about me, I can cope without room service for a night. I was going to say, let me ask Maggie about rooms.’ His trademark grin looks a bit more exhausted than usual. ‘She’ll probably upgrade us all to VIP.’