The Road Trip by Beth O'Leary (books for 6 year olds to read themselves .txt) 📗

Dylan rolls his eyes. ‘I think Marcus was acting out because the therapy was digging up things he couldn’t cope with, personally. But yes, Javier and Luke were having an argument about something and Marcus got involved.’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘I know. So I cut him off. My therapist said she thought it would help, and . . . it did, for both of us, I think. So for the last year, Marcus and I haven’t spoken. Not until I called him and asked if he wanted to travel to the wedding together.’

‘Because you heard . . .’

‘Everyone was saying it. He’s changing. He’s trying. He apologised to almost everyone – just me and Grace left. Well. And you.’

I smile slightly. ‘I’m not sure I have your knack for forgiveness. I think it’ll take me a while to . . .’

He presses his lips to the top of my head. ‘Of course. I’d understand if you never wanted him back in your life. Of course I would.’

I shift away from him for a moment. It feels so good to be in his arms, but—

‘We should . . .’

‘Yes. Right. Rodney.’

When we eventually find the bridal preparation chamber, it doesn’t look very torturous. One wall is covered in satin roses, floor to ceiling, and the others are decked out in the same expensive-looking pink wallpaper from the corridor. Everything is ornate. This is kind of how I imagine Marie Antoinette lived.

It’s so Cherry. She comes to greet us in a billow of white satin and perfume.

‘Come in! Come in! Help!’ she says.

‘Can I start now?’ the hairdresser asks Cherry. ‘The ceremony is in half an hour and I don’t want to panic you, but normally I like to do hair before the bride puts on her dress, and you still need to speak to the registrar, and . . .’

‘Don’t worry,’ Cherry says, ‘I’m already at peak panic.’ She sits down with a sigh and a flurry of fabric. Her dress is amazing: a pure white ballgown, corseted to her body at the waist, with enormous petals of satin blossoming around the bust, and her shoulders left bare. There’s a red sari carefully folded on the table behind her, covered in countless gems and woven through with ornate gold thread. I run a gentle finger along its hem. It’s beautiful.

‘For the party,’ Cherry says, watching me. ‘Isn’t it gorgeous? Krish’s mum had it made for me.’

It’s the calmest she’s sounded all day. I should have realised fashion was the way to chill Cherry out.

‘Have you got anything I could borrow to wear?’ I ask her.

Behind me, Marcus, Deb, Kevin and Dylan debate the best way to tie a man up when you only have wedding table runners to work with. Dylan shoots me a quick smile when he catches me looking at him. He claps Marcus on the shoulder, one of those manly hug-type gestures guys do when they can’t talk about their feelings.

Cherry’s eyes focus on me. ‘Oh, God, yeah, you can’t wear that!’ she says, horrified. ‘Go into the bathroom, my honeymoon suitcase is in there. I’ll help.’

‘No,’ the hairdresser says, then looks surprised at her own assertiveness. She fidgets nervously on the spot. ‘Sorry. I just mean, can you sit still and let me take your rollers out? Please?’

Cherry harrumphs but sits back down. ‘Try the bright blue dress, Ads,’ she says. ‘And give Deb the little red number, if she wants to pull tonight.’

‘I do,’ Deb calls, testing the tightness of a knot as she does so. ‘Krishna promised me single men.’

‘Bucketloads,’ Cherry says, as the hairdresser begins to undo her rollers. ‘The place is seething with them – that red dress will be like blood in the water. Ooh, that simile was surprisingly graphic. Who are you, by the way?’

‘Kevin,’ Kevin supplies. ‘Hi. Happy wedding day. Thanks for having me.’

‘God, you totally can’t be here, we’re already over the health and safety regulation numbers and we’ve definitely not got enough food. Addie? Does the blue work?’

I’ve barely got to the suitcase yet. This bathroom is about the size of my parents’ living room, with a claw-foot tub sitting beneath an enormous window. The floor is grey flagstones. Cherry’s suitcase is abandoned beside the shower, tilted on its side. It’s big enough that I could comfortably get in it and go to Thailand with them both on their honeymoon.

‘Am I meant to be leaving?’ I hear Kevin mutter to someone on the other side of the door.

‘Nah,’ Deb says. ‘I don’t think she really meant it. Just try to look less conspicuous. Put on a top hat or something.’

‘Well?’ Cherry calls. ‘Addie?’

‘One second!’ I shout, scrabbling through the suitcase.

I go still when I reach the blue dress. It’s not just a blue dress, it’s . . . art. Spaghetti straps, satin. There’s something a little nineties about the style – it reminds me of the dress Julia Stiles wears to prom in 10 Things I Hate About You.

I slip out of my white dress and slide into the blue gown. The sheath style would cling to Cherry’s curves, but it tumbles past mine without hardly noticing. I love that. It’s full length on me, too, where it’d be midi length on Cherry.

‘The barely-there silver heels!’ Cherry yells through the door, before I’ve even asked the question.

I pull them on with difficulty, trying not to tug with my injured hand. These shoes are too big for me and they’re going to hurt like hell, but right now I don’t care. I feel fierce and bright and beautiful. Obviously ideally I’d have had time for a shower, but still.

I open the bathroom door just as somebody knocks at the door to the bridal suite. We all freeze. Dylan’s eyes flick to mine, and the air goes hot between us. I remember how it felt that summer in France. I almost feel the Provence sun, hear the crickets. Dylan’s eyes are fiery. He’s not looking at me like he’s never seen me before – he’s looking at me like