The Road Trip Beth O'Leary (ereader ebook .txt) 📖

‘You go mingle,’ she says, waving a hand at Krish. ‘We’ll just . . . sort . . . things.’

Krish’s expression turns suspicious. ‘Is this very bad?’ he says. ‘I’m getting very bad vibes.’ His eyes settle on Kevin and his frown deepens.

I straighten up and pat him on the arm. ‘Absolutely not,’ I say. ‘You go and enjoy your special day.’

He is still looking unconvinced. I glance over his shoulder.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Is that your grandparents? Talking to Mad Bob?’

Krish’s eyes widen. Mad Bob makes Marcus look like the picture of restraint: he is known for compulsively undressing every time he has more than three drinks, and has been arrested so many times he couldn’t get a job even if he needed to, which he doesn’t, because he’s just inherited half of Islington.

That gets rid of Krish. But it also draws my attention to something that, in all the excitement and stress and joy, I had genuinely forgotten I’d have to confront today.

My father is making his way towards us across the grass. Dressed in white tie, he looks as severe and sharp-cut as his top hat; there are new harsh lines on his face, scores on either side of his nose, blueish bags beneath his eyes. My mum’s nowhere to be seen, which is unusual – she’s generally by my father’s side – and her absence makes my stomach turn. It’s always safer if my mum’s here too.

‘Oh my God, is that . . .’ Addie begins. ‘Shall we go? Let you talk?’

I reach for her as she moves to walk away. ‘No,’ I say firmly, but my heart is racing. ‘Stay with me – please. Deb, get Cherry back inside, and take Kevin, would you?’

‘On it,’ Deb says. ‘Come on, Cherry, mind the bird shit.’

Marcus moves to stand beside me; he’s on my right, Addie’s on my left. I can feel Addie looking at me uncertainly; her sore wrist is cradled at her chest, and I slide my hand into her free one, locking our fingers together.

‘Dylan,’ my father says.

I’m holding Addie’s hand too tightly, but I can’t seem to loosen my grip. I’ve thought of this moment often; I’ve imagined telling my father, Look how well I’ve done without you; I’ve imagined saying, You know, you could have been kind, just once. I’ve imagined telling him that I’ll never forgive him for the way he’s always treated Luke.

But now that I’m here, I’m afraid. The truth is, I haven’t done well without him – not in his terms, at least. I’m still a part-time Masters student with a small but significant debt on my account; I’m single but in love with a woman who I hope has it in her heart to give me another chance. To him, I look like I’m still on pause – the lost boy wandering the world, weak-willed and daydreaming and achieving nothing.

‘Who’s this?’ Dad says, eyes settling on Addie.

‘This is Addie,’ I say. My voice comes out in a squeak, and I clear my throat.

Addie lets go of my hand for a moment to shake my father’s; he looks her up and down, and his expression is so blatantly critical that I start to tremble with a familiar quiet rage.

‘I remember hearing about you,’ Dad says as he shakes Addie’s hand. ‘Taken him back, have you?’ He shoots a grin at Marcus. ‘Joel told me you two had fallen out – you’ve done the same, then? Taken my son back?’

‘It wasn’t quite like that, Miles,’ Marcus says, voice pleasant.

My father’s eyebrows rise. ‘No?’

‘No. It wasn’t so much a falling-out as a—’

‘Fisticuffs, eh?’ my father interrupts, nodding to the bruises on Marcus’s face. ‘But no. Can’t have been my Dylan who punched you, he doesn’t have it in him.’

Addie slips her hand into mine again.

‘Would you just shut up, actually,’ Marcus says, ‘and let me speak?’

There is a vast, shocked silence. I look at Marcus, expecting to see that his mood has shifted with its usual irrational speed, but it’s not that, he’s not angry: he’s clearly trying hard not to cry.

‘Your dad needs to know what sort of man you are, Dylan.’

Marcus is hardly ever serious, not really serious; there’s always the suggestion he might just be taking the piss, or winding you up, or playing a part that’ll slide away in less than a minute. On the rare occasions when he really cares about what he’s saying, his voice is completely different – smoother and less drawling. It’s like that now.

‘I did things that Dylan hated – I ruined the best thing in his life – but he didn’t give me up for good.’ He’s looking at my father, unblinking. ‘He’s always shown me that all I need to do to be worthy of his friendship is to try. And to say sorry.’

‘Marcus . . .’

He looks at me and Addie.

‘And I am. Sorry. I’m not good at saying it, but I’m trying with that too.’

‘This is all rather dramatic,’ my dad says with distaste, as I turn towards Marcus and meet his eyes. They’re wet and frightened, and somehow very bare.

I reach with my free arm to hug him but he steps away, shaking his head, not done.

‘Do you know what an achievement it is, to turn out that way growing up in your house?’ Marcus says to my father, straightening up. He meets my dad’s gaze like it’s no effort at all, like he isn’t even frightened. ‘Do you know what it takes to be a good man when someone’s always told you you’re not good enough?’

My father stiffens. ‘Marcus,’ he says warningly.

I know that tone; it turns me cold.

‘No, I know what you’re about to say, and fuck your job,’ Marcus says, swiping an arm across his face. ‘I’ll find something else. I’m not working for you when you’re still looking at Dylan like that. When you still treat Luke like he’s less. Christ. What a spineless, bigoted bully you are.’

My father’s eyes flash and