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) 📕

‘That’ll be your mistake,’ he says. ‘You get what you pay for.’

He’s still not quite meeting my gaze, I notice. Dylan, Rodney and Deb have all set off in different directions for a wee, and right now, stuck setting up the picnic with Marcus, I wish I had a weaker bladder.

I just have to rise above. Be an adult.

‘Me and Dylan can put the past behind us for one day, Marcus. Maybe you should try and do the same?’

He snorts. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

‘I’ll just . . .’ the Good Samaritan says from behind me. ‘I’ll just be getting on, then, eh?’

‘Oh, God, sorry.’ I blush, swivelling to look at him. ‘Thanks so much for your help.’

I just don’t have the headspace to be polite to guests right now. Rodney’s bad enough. He gives off this vibe of total ineptitude. As if he needs constant looking after, like a toddler, or my dad at a party.

‘I didn’t catch your name, sorry?’ I say.

‘Kevin,’ the Good Samaritan says. The rush of traffic creates a constant wind. We’re all raising our voices a bit, like we’re in a noisy pub. ‘I drive lorries.’

‘Kevin who drives lorries,’ Marcus says, ‘you look like a man with stories to share – why don’t you sit yourself down with us and tell us some tales?’

I double take. Somehow while I’ve been facing the other way Marcus has found my bag of top-up snacks. He’s already snapped off half the fruit-and-nut bar, which he is now gnawing. I narrow my eyes and then look back at Kevin.

He isn’t smiling, not technically, but he’s kind of . . . smiling without smiling. Like how dogs do. Now that I’m calming and the sun’s not behind him, I take a moment to look at him properly. He’s short and stocky and weathered. I don’t reckon Kevin spends much time on self-care. His body is dotted with tattoos: a Union Jack on the front of his leg, just above the knee; a date, 05.09.16, at the side of his neck; a small and surprisingly cute dog on his forearm, labelled Cookie, RIP.

Kevin’s eyes drift to Deb as she walks back towards us. ‘Why not? This job’s only a favour for a friend. I’m not really on duty,’ he says.

And so Kevin who drives lorries comes and joins us on the picnic blanket.

It’s a fairly tight fit. We’re in a circle around a mound of snacks. The sun is high enough to burn me, and I slather on sun cream while Deb lifts the bottom of her T-shirt to tan her stomach.

‘We’re almost two hours behind schedule,’ Deb says, squinting as she checks her phone screen. ‘We’ll never make it in time to help set up for the barbecue now. We’re still in . . . where are we?’

‘Just past Banbury,’ Kevin supplies, swigging from the large bottle of lemonade he and Deb have been passing back and forth.

‘Bloody hell,’ Deb says, lying back on the blanket again. ‘We’ve barely got anywhere! Shouldn’t someone call Cherry to give her a heads-up?’

Dylan and I exchange glances. Cherry is not going to be happy if we’re late for the start of the wedding celebrations.

‘Let’s wait a bit,’ I say. ‘The breakdown recovery guys could be early. They said two hours at the worst. Plus we budgeted loads of time for stops, Deb.’

‘What’s your story then, all of you?’ Kevin asks, eyes on Deb. ‘Seems like a lot of people to fit in a Mini.’

Dylan coughs. A lorry shoots past in the left lane and Deb’s hair flies up in response.

‘Should I not ask?’ Kevin says.

Marcus points at me. ‘Addie broke Dylan’s heart’ – he turns to point to Dylan – ‘about a year and a half ago and then totalled his car this morning. She feels guilty for ruining his life so she’s giving us a lift because we’re all going to the wedding of Cherry, the only person in the world who has ever liked both Dylan and Addie.’

My heart beats faster, the rage bubbling again. Addie broke Dylan’s heart. Like he didn’t fucking eviscerate mine. I fight to hold my tongue, because I shouldn’t rise to it, I mustn’t.

Deb sits up on her elbows. ‘That’s bullshit,’ she says. ‘Better version: Dylan walked out on Addie in December 2017. Biggest mistake of his life, obviously, and he knows it.’

Dylan looks down at the grass.

‘Then Dylan drove into the back of our car and destroyed his. We said we’d give them a lift to Cherry’s wedding like the very good people we are. And I liked both Dylan and Addie,’ she adds. ‘For a while.’

Kevin looks between us all. You can see the gears working.

‘And him?’ he asks, pointing to Rodney.

‘Oh, Rodney’s just along for the ride,’ Deb says, lying back down again.

‘Sorry,’ says Rodney.

Marcus rolls his eyes. Dylan is still staring down at the grass. I wish I could see his face properly.

‘Aren’t you going to tell her?’ Marcus demands, nodding to Deb. ‘Dylan, Christ, have some balls. Tell her it wasn’t like that.’

The motorway roars through the silence.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Marcus says, getting up and brushing down his jeans. ‘Anyone getting flashbacks to 2017, or just me?’

‘Marcus,’ Dylan says quietly. ‘Just leave it, OK?’

‘Leave it? Leave it?’

‘Marcus.’ Sharper this time.

Rodney’s head swivels back and forth between Marcus and Dylan as if he’s watching table tennis. I clench my fists in my lap. I want to leave. My muscles are tensed, ready.

‘What about Etienne, Dylan?’

My nails cut into my palm. My heart rate soars. I really didn’t think Marcus would say it.

‘Don’t talk about what you don’t understand,’ Deb snaps.

Kevin looks between us all, forehead creased. ‘Bloody hell. It’s like an episode of Jeremy Kyle out here.’

‘What’s not to understand?’ Marcus asks. He sounds genuinely exasperated, and I can’t look at him. I can’t sit here any longer. My body aches with tension.

I get up so abruptly I spill Rodney’s little plastic cup of orange