‘Ads, you’re not making any sense. He’s not playing anything. This is Marcus. I’ve known him since I was a kid. He’s like a brother to me. He’s . . . he’s Marcus,’ I finish weakly. We’re at the café now, standing outside, looking in.
‘Are you telling me you honestly thought he approved of me? I’m not buying it, Dyl. I bet he’s always on at you to break up with me.’ Her face is flushed again, this time with emotion.
‘I . . .’ I look away from her. ‘He’s had some concerns about us in the past, yes, but I thought – sometimes the two of you seem to get on really well. I thought you might be getting used to one another.’
She snorts. ‘Yeah, I think that from time to time too. Then he’s a dick again.’
‘I know he can be a lot, but . . .’
‘He’s your Marcus. I know. I get it now, believe me,’ she says. ‘He’s part of the package.’
I almost snap at her. If I didn’t like Deb, would I ever make that awkward for her, the way she’s making this difficult for me?
Her expression changes, just a flicker, and I have the strange sensation that she knew what I was so close to saying.
‘I’m going to head home,’ she says, ‘I need to shower.’
‘What about carrot cake?’ I say, looking towards the café.
‘Another time,’ she says. She’s already running.
I stand there and watch her go, that grey cap bobbing as she weaves between passers-by, and I feel as if something’s stretching, a bungee rope, some kind of cord that holds us together. Does she want to live with me? Or not?
I slouch down on the sofa, the furry white cushions tickling at the back of my neck. They’re somewhat less white than they used to be after five months of Marcus and me living in the log cabin.
‘And then she literally ran off. How are we meant to move forward when she always does that?’ I say, picking at the label on my beer bottle. ‘Lately every time I try to get closer she pulls away.’
There’s a loud bang from the kitchen; Marcus is cooking, which usually involves an extraordinarily complicated recipe, a trip out to a large number of supermarkets for ingredients such as lemon basil and tamarind paste, hours of intense focus in the kitchen and an eventual Deliveroo.
‘She said I have a problem with her?’ he says.
‘Hmm? Yeah. Something like that.’
I wait, but there’s no response, just more banging and clattering.
‘You’ve not said anything to her, have you? Like . . . the things you said to me, you know, that night before I moved in here?’
‘I avoid her wherever possible,’ Marcus says grimly.
‘Not all the time,’ I point out. ‘The other night you guys watched a film together while I was working on the Masters application.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Marcus says, and I hear him crack open a new bottle of wine. ‘There’s been the odd lapse. It’s not easy being consistent.’
I roll my eyes. ‘If you don’t like her, why would you watch a film on the sofa with her?’ I ask patiently.
‘Good question, my friend. And if you do like her, why do you spend so much time sitting on that very sofa complaining about her?’
‘I don’t,’ I say, frowning.
‘You do. Half the time you’re in agonies over what she’s thinking. She’s always keeping you on the edge, playing games.’
‘She’s not playing games.’
Marcus appears in the kitchen doorway, his eyebrows drawn together. ‘You’re too busy lusting after her to notice. But don’t you think everyone gets that vibe off her?’
‘What – what vibe?’
‘The dark, sexual energy thing she’s got going on. I hate to break it to you, Dyl, but that’s not just for you. She gives it out in spades.’
‘I have no idea what you’re saying.’ But my heart is suddenly beating sickly and hard, because in truth I do know what he means. There’s this total honesty to Addie, an openness, a rawness; she’s so sexy. I suddenly remember how she looked in that bar when I came home, how effortlessly that tight dress had clung to her, how she’d known it. I think of all the times we’ve walked into a pub and I’ve caught a man’s gaze drawn her way like she’s something magnetic.
‘She’s going to hurt you, Dyl.’
The frustration hits me quite suddenly; it’s unusual that Marcus manages to get a rise out of me, but that tips me over the edge.