But – ugh. What about all the other times I said it was fine? When we went for a weekend away in the Cotswolds and he left early for Marcus. When he didn’t even make it to my sister’s birthday party because Marcus passed out somewhere. When I asked for a cosy night in and he said, Sorry, Marcus really wants some quality time.
It’s crossed my mind that Marcus might love Dylan. But he’s only ever shown an interest in women, and there’s nothing sexual in how he looks at Dyl. They’re just . . . bonded in some way I can’t understand.
The door clicks open and I sit up fast.
‘Dylan?’
‘Hey,’ he says quietly. He drops his keys in the hall and takes his shoes off. The sounds are so familiar I can tell exactly what he’s doing from the sofa.
‘Where did you go?’
‘I went to stay with Marcus.’
I swallow. ‘Oh.’
‘You said I could.’
‘You don’t need my permission, Dylan.’
‘It doesn’t feel that way, sometimes.’
He comes into the room. He’s wearing one of Marcus’s jumpers, a vintage one, patterned in olive-green diamonds. His hair is mussed and there are bags under his eyes.
‘I’m sorry.’ I hug myself. ‘I hate that. I never want to make you feel like you can’t do anything. I just . . . I think he calls on you a lot.’ And at very interesting times, I want to say. Like whenever you’re doing something important with me.
‘That’s what friends do, Ads. Come on. What would you do if it was Cherry? Or Deb?’
It wouldn’t be Cherry or Deb. They would never expect this of me. And, frankly, if they sent a text like that to Dyl, I’d be pretty pissed off with them.
‘I just think Marcus clearly doesn’t like us being together,’ I say, standing up, moving towards him.
It takes effort doing even that. I want to walk away, that’s my instinct. I want to take the power back.
‘And I sometimes feel like he’s trying to sabotage things between us.’
Dylan shakes his head impatiently. ‘Marcus said you’d say that.’
He takes a step back.
‘He said it’s not healthy, that you won’t let me see my best friend.’
‘I don’t not let you see him,’ I say. I’m stood still on the rug, Dylan out of reach again. ‘In fact, I am always letting you see him. Name a time when I’ve said you can’t.’
Dylan looks so lost. ‘What do you want me to say, Addie? That I’ll stop being friends with him?’
‘No! No.’ Although, actually, I wouldn’t mind. ‘I just want you to notice that he seems really set against me in a way that – that often causes these sorts of conversations. When we argue, it always seems to be about Marcus.’
‘And that’s his fault?’
‘You think it’s mine?’
Dylan sighs, looking up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t know. I feel totally confused. I can’t seem to get my head straight. I love you both, and you’re both telling me opposite things.’
He looks so distressed my heart melts. Taking those steps between us doesn’t feel so hard, all of a sudden. I move towards him and pull him in for a hug, ignoring the fact that his hands stay in his pockets.
‘I’ll try harder,’ I say. ‘I’ll try harder with Marcus, if that’s what you want me to do.’
NOW
Dylan ‘A traitor in our midst,’ Marcus says. He’s prowling around the Budget Travel family room, checking the windows as if we’re in a le Carré novel.
‘So we have no reason to believe Rodney is dangerous?’ I ask. This feels like an important question which has yet to be taken seriously. Marcus loves intrigue; the Gilbert sisters take such news in their stride. I am the only person who would quite like to know if Cherry’s stalker is going to kill anyone.
‘Nah,’ Deb says. She’s freshly showered and looking significantly less bedraggled. ‘Come on. It’s Rodney.’
There’s a knock at the door of our dysfunctional family room.
We all look at each other.
‘Is that – what if that’s him?’ Addie whispers.
‘That’s a good thing,’ Deb points out. ‘We want him back. We need our car, for starters.’
‘Hello?’ calls a voice.
We all exchange glances again. The need for immediate action has rendered us all totally useless.
‘Well? Is it him?’ Marcus says, full volume.