The Road Trip: The heart-warming new novel from the author of The Flatshare and The Switch by Beth O'Leary (books to read now TXT) 📕

hour. We are three hundred miles away from Ettrick and having him in this car is making it hard to breathe. He still wears the same aftershave. Light and woody, a hint of orange.

‘I’m actually a very modern man, thank you very much,’ Marcus is telling Deb. She just called him a caveman. He said something sexist that I didn’t catch, which is probably for the best.

‘Oh, yes?’

‘You know what I did the other day?’

‘What?’

‘I moisturised.’

I have to bite back a smile. I forgot this about Marcus. How charming he is, when he wants to be.

‘And do you know what Dylan’s talked me into?’

‘What has Dylan talked you into?’ Rodney says, when Deb doesn’t answer. She’s on her phone – that’ll be annoying Marcus. He likes undivided attention.

‘He’s got me going to his therapist,’ Marcus says, in a scandalised whisper.

I blink, processing. Marcus is in therapy? Dylan’s in therapy? That’s so weird. Like one of them taking up knitting or something. I bet their therapist is having a field day with these boys, though. Years of material.

‘How have you found therapy?’ I ask Dylan, trying to keep my voice light.

I look at him for just long enough to catch the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. ‘Good, thanks,’ he says.

Right. Well then. We drive on in silence for a while. I’m dying to ask why he went. When did he start? Was it because of me? But that’s so self-absorbed.

‘I realised I was a little, uh . . . That some of the relationships in my life weren’t entirely healthy.’ He swallows again.

Everyone in the back of the car is very, very quiet.

‘I thought I could do with some help sorting that. You know. From a professional.’

My cheeks are hot again. That’ll teach me for being self-absorbed.

‘Let’s play a game,’ says Marcus. ‘I’m bored.’

‘Only boring people get bored,’ Deb says.

‘Only boring people say that,’ Marcus corrects her. ‘Five questions. I’ll go first. Ask me anything. Go on.’

‘What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?’ Deb asks promptly.

Marcus snorts. ‘Which particular social construct would you like me to measure “worst” by? I don’t really subscribe to a standard system of morality.’

‘How very exciting of you,’ Deb says flatly.

Marcus looks put out. ‘I caught and cooked one of our neighbour’s pet ducks, once,’ he says after a moment. ‘Will that do?’

There is a collective gasp.

‘That’s – that’s awful!’ exclaims Rodney. ‘Why?’

Marcus shrugs. ‘No food in, shops were closed.’

‘You ate it?’ Rodney says, and I can hear him shrinking back into his seat.

‘With hoisin sauce. Next question?’

‘Have you ever been in love?’ Deb asks. ‘Or does that not fit into your non-standard system of morality?’

The silence stretches too tight. I don’t look at Dylan.

‘I fall in love a hundred times a month, darling,’ Marcus says lightly.

The next song is playing: Taylor Swift, ‘I Did Something Bad’.

‘Nobody falls in love a hundred times,’ I say, before I can stop myself. ‘You couldn’t. It would kill you.’

Marcus snorts so quietly I almost don’t catch it. I feel myself flush.

‘The only time I’ve ever fallen in love was when the midwife handed me my son,’ Deb says.

I shoot her a grateful look for the change of subject. I can feel Marcus’s gaze on the back of my neck. He’d look away if I met his eyes in the mirror, I know he would, but I don’t quite have the nerve.

‘He’s the only man I’ve ever met who’s struck me as worth the effort, frankly,’ Deb continues, with a quick smile for me. ‘Next question for Marcus?’

‘What’s the nicest thing you’ve ever done for someone else?’ Rodney asks.

We all look at him, surprised.

‘Is that OK?’ he asks, cringing.

‘Christ, man, you’re a walking apology, aren’t you?’ Marcus says.

‘What – I . . .’

‘He’s polite, Marcus,’ I say. ‘It’s a good thing. Most people appreciate it.’

Marcus waggles his eyebrows and I catch something in his expression in the mirror. A challenge, maybe.

‘Ooh. Dylan, watch out. You’ve got some competition,’ he says.

‘Shut up, Marcus,’ I snap. ‘You know it’s not like that.’

‘Come on, guys,’ Dylan says, reaching to turn the radio up. ‘Leave it, please.’

‘Not like that?’ Marcus says. ‘Well. Heard that before, haven’t we?’

The anger rises all at once and I feel my cheeks flare red. I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, and God, I’m still not brave enough to tell him to fuck right off like I want to.

‘Marcus.’ Dylan’s voice turns sharp. ‘Don’t say something you’re going to regret.’

The car feels like it’s shrinking, its grimy windows leaning in.

‘What I’ll regret is sitting here while you pine for her all over again and I say nothing. That woman broke you, Dylan. I thought you’d realised that now. You’d be better off jumping out of this car into the fast lane than you are letting her work her way under your skin again.’

What the hell? I’m hot, heart pounding, I’m raging. I open my mouth to yell at him but Deb’s already there.

‘Where do you get off talking about Addie like you know a thing about my sister, you—’

‘Oh, I know about your sister.’

‘Marcus, shut the fuck up,’ Dylan shouts, and I jump. I’m holding the steering wheel so tight it hurts.

‘I will not shut up! I’m sick of you treating me like some fucking basket case you need to fix when—’

‘Umm, Addie?’ Rodney interrupts in a small voice.

‘You’re lucky to have Dylan,’ Deb tells Marcus. ‘You’re lucky to have anyone, frankly.’

‘And what’s your problem?’ Marcus yells at her.

‘Addie,’ says Rodney, with rising urgency. ‘Addie . . .’

‘I know. I know,’ I gasp. ‘Oh my God . . .’

‘What’s my problem?’ Deb snaps, as Dylan says,

‘Marcus, you said you’d try, you said—’

And Rodney keeps saying my name, louder and louder, and—

‘Everyone, shut up,’ I scream.

The car is drifting. I thought it was me at first – my head’s all over the place – but it’s definitely the car. What does it mean if the car’s pulling left? My first thought is ice, and something about steering into the