‘This. Is bloody ridiculous.’
Deb and I exchange a glance over the double bed and then look away quickly. It’s too hard not to laugh.
‘Where am I sleeping? In the fucking cot?’ Marcus says. He looks genuinely mystified.
I’ll admit, the Budget Travel family room isn’t designed for five adults. But it was good of Maggie to let us have the room at all – the hotel is full tonight, with a wedding going on somewhere nearby.
There’s one double bed, two singles separated by a short corridor, and a cot.
Deb presses a hand to her stomach. ‘Oh,’ she says in a small voice, looking at the cot. God, it was so not worth her leaving her son at home for this disaster of a road trip.
‘If anyone’s got to go in the cot,’ Marcus says, ‘it should be Addie. She’s basically child-sized.’
I examine the cot. It’s a largish cot. But it’s still a cot.
‘I’m having the double bed,’ I say. ‘With Deb,’ I clarify quickly as everybody immediately looks at Dylan. ‘You three can sort the rest amongst yourselves.’
Deb’s on her phone now, flicking through the latest pictures Mum has sent of Riley on the family WhatsApp. I can’t see the phone screen, but I don’t need to. Deb’s eyes have gone soft and wistful.
‘Come on,’ Dylan says, tugging at Marcus’s arm. ‘Let’s give Deb and Addie some space. Rodney, you too – let’s get the rest of the bags from the car and decide who’s sleeping on the floor.’
I catch his eye as he ushers them out of the room, grabbing the car keys as he goes. Thank you, I mouth, and he smiles.
‘Oh, dear,’ Deb says, putting down her phone as the door clicks shut.
‘What?’
‘That,’ Deb says, pointing at my face. ‘That thank you.’
‘Was polite?’
‘Was something you would not have said twelve hours ago. Which tells me . . . something has changed?’
I sit down on the bed and cradle my injured wrist in my lap. The swelling has got a little better, but it’s still tender and the skin feels too tight.
‘Nothing’s changed. Well, I guess we’ve spent more time together, so . . . I’ve figured out how to be civil. Out of necessity. That’s it, though.’
‘No feelings?’
‘Many, many feelings,’ I say, lying back so my feet are dangling over the edge of the bed. ‘Too many to figure out.’
Deb lies down beside me.
‘You should really wash before you get anywhere near this bed,’ I tell her.
She ignores that. ‘Tell me.’
‘You sure you don’t want to talk about missing Riley?’
‘Absolutely certain. That will not help. Tell me all the Dylan feelings.’
‘All right, well . . . he seems different.’
‘Does he?’
‘More grounded. Less tolerant of Marcus. More mature. More self-aware.’
‘Those are all excellent things.’
‘I know. I know.’ I rub my eyes with my good hand. ‘But maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see.’
‘You still love him?’
Trust Deb not to beat around the bush. I swallow and stare up at the ceiling.
‘I hate when people say shit like I think I’ll always love you when they’re breaking up with someone, because, like . . . in that case, why aren’t you still together? But with Dylan . . .’
‘You think you might always love him?’
‘Well, let’s put it this way: I don’t think I’ve stopped yet.’
‘Not even when you wanted to burn his effigy at Bonfire Night that time?’
I smile. ‘Especially not then. That was a blatant attempt to kickstart hating him. Fake it ’til you make it.’
‘What about when you were seeing that guy from the school?’
My smile fades. ‘I . . . He made Dylan disappear for a while. But he didn’t make him go away.’
And then, more quietly, Deb asks, ‘What about when he left you?’
The window’s cracked open to let some cool air in, and you can hear the roar of the motorway.
‘I’ve never let myself . . . I . . .’ My throat seems to be closing up.
Deb waits patiently.
‘I’ve never said it out loud, before, Deb,’ I manage.
‘That’s OK,’ she says. ‘You can say it now, though.’
‘I understand why he left.’ I breathe out.
The cars roar on.
‘He was wrong to leave you,’ Deb says.