The Road Trip by Beth O'Leary (grave mercy .txt) 📕

she reminds me of something wild, a tarsier, an owl. Her hair is ruffled and tangled from the night in bed, and for a strange second or two the adrenaline shifts to something more like desire, and I want her again, Marcus on the balcony forgotten.

‘Well, hello,’ Marcus says, pressing his face to the glass, his eyes on Addie. ‘Where did he find you? You’re like a little doll, aren’t you?’

‘Excuse me?’ Addie says, moving to stand beside me. ‘Who is this guy, Dylan?’

As I finally manage to unlock the doors and Marcus barges his way into the room, I feel absurdly proud of Addie. Try not to get too bored without me, Marcus had said when I flew to Avignon, and now here I am with Addie, with her fierce blue eyes and her liquid dark hair, and I found her all on my own.

Marcus stretches out a hand to her and gives her his most charming, leonine smile. He smells of booze, an acrid scent like rotting fruit. ‘Forgiven?’ he says.

Addie raises her eyebrow. ‘On what grounds?’

‘Hey?’

‘Forgiveness is earned, typically,’ she says, reaching for her underwear at the foot of the bed and balling it up in the pocket of her dress. ‘That balcony thing . . . it wasn’t funny.’ She heads for the door.

‘Hey, hey,’ I say, rushing to her side. ‘Hey, don’t go. I thought you were going to sleep here.’ The day has slipped away, ripples through my fingers, and I still haven’t said the words hanging heavy in the air. I want to say them now, Don’t go, I love you, but—

‘I need some time to calm down,’ she says.

Now I’m closer, I can see fine tremors running up and down her limbs; the flush on her cheek is too lurid.

‘Are you OK?’

She gives me a short smile. ‘Fine.’ She looks at Marcus. ‘Nice to meet you,’ she says, with some irony if I’m not mistaken, and then she walks out the door.

‘I want her.’

This is the first thing Marcus says to me.

‘You . . .’ I’m still looking at the door, a little lost. Addie left so fast, and . . .

‘That one. I want her. She looks interesting.’

Suddenly that protective instinct that was so lacking when we heard the noise on the balcony kicks in full-throttle: You can’t have her, I want to say. There comes a rush of what must be aggression, or maybe adrenaline – something deep and instinctual, some distant relation of the impulse that sets my heart racing when Addie touches her lips to mine.

Marcus looks at me appraisingly. He tucks a curl behind his ear and pouts.

‘Oh, you like her,’ he says. ‘I figured you were just fucking her.’

I recoil. Marcus laughs.

‘Oh, you really like her. You won’t even let me talk about fucking her.’

‘Just . . .’ Stop saying that, stop saying it, stop saying it.

‘So is that girl the reason you didn’t tell me your family hadn’t turned up? We could have spent a fortnight here already!’ Marcus says, spinning on the spot, arms outstretched. He’s dressed in a loose white shirt and shorts that would look absurdly short on me, but somehow work on him; his hair is long enough to be pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of his neck now, and even that looks good.

‘I’m here with my uncle Terry,’ I say. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to come.’

Marcus raises his eyebrows, clearly not buying the lie. ‘You knew I’d take her off you, that’s why,’ he says, leaning forward to punch me on the arm.

It hurts. I turn aside, half laughing so he can’t tell it’s made my eyes prick. My whole body aches to go after Addie – I should be downstairs with her, not here with Marcus.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little plastic bag with a round plug of weed inside. He waggles it at me.

‘Here, or outside?’ he says.

I haven’t smoked since getting here. It’s been a pleasant change to have a clear head, and I consider saying no, but even as I have the thought, I know I won’t do it.

‘Outside,’ I say, thinking of Addie having to clean the smell out of the curtains and bedsheets. ‘Come on. I’ll take you down to the pool.’

As we talk about Marcus’s week down on the terrace, our feet trailing in the water, I think of Addie and Deb. From what Addie’s told me, she and her sister are just the same as me and Marcus: joined at the hip, always a pair. I wonder if sometimes Addie resents it, always being Deb’s little sister, her partner in crime.

‘You sure I can’t have that pretty one with the blue eyes?’ Marcus says abruptly, kicking up a splash with one foot.

It takes me a moment to realise he’s talking about Addie. ‘You’re such a caveman.’

‘What! I’m asking. I’m being polite.’ He stretches his hands out, like, Look at me, aren’t I evolved?

‘You can’t have her.’ I’m surprised to hear how steady my voice sounds. It’s not often I say no to Marcus – not often anyone does.

‘Oh, she’s yours, is she? My, aren’t we getting territorial! Now who’s the caveman?’

‘She’s . . .’

Addie is bigger than that sort of talk. She is wild and clever, sharp and bright, always twisting out of my reach. She isn’t mine. I’m hers.

‘She’s different,’ I settle for. ‘Addie’s different.’

Addie

It takes me ages to calm down. What a wanker. Who does that? Who arrives at someone else’s house and climbs up on to the balcony and tries to break in instead of just knocking on the bloody door?

I throw laundry into the washing machine. Is this Dylan’s life away from here? People like his uncle Terry and that prick who called me a little doll? It’s midnight – not my usual laundry hour, but I can’t sleep and I want to do something.

I wish Deb was here to make me laugh about it all. It wouldn’t seem like