He plays with the sleeves ruched at his elbow. Those damnforearms again. ‘Actually, William and I came here together,’ he says.
Right, but do Ubers not exist? ‘Surely given what is almost certainly happening in there, he’s going to stay the night? Or does he turn back into a pumpkin at midnight?’
He gives me a look. ‘Doesn’t it go against chaperone protocol to leave without one’s chaperonee?’
‘So, what, are you going to sleep here?’ Wrinkled nose, obvious disgust. Take the hint, Artie.
‘I just feel a little weird leaving without him.’
‘He doesn’t seem to feel a little weird leaving you here so he can dick down.’
He has the audacity to look hurt now. ‘God, are you that desperate to get rid of me?’
Yes. I don’t say that. I half-lie. ‘It’s only like seventy per cent that. At least thirty per cent is just wanting you to not waste your time.’
‘Thoughtful.’
‘I know, right?’
He sighs, sinking further into the couch. ‘Okay, how about this. I give them an hour. If they’re still in there, I’ll leave the car for him.’
‘Why can’t he sort himself out?’
He lifts a shoulder. ‘Dunno. Seems like a nice thing to do. Also, if they are fucking in there while I’m waiting around out here, I’ll need enough alcohol to take me over the limit.’
I make my way over to the bluetooth speaker on the entertainment unit and turn it up—just in case.
Arthur lifts up his phone and waves it at me. ‘Don’t feel likeyou have to entertain me. I’ve got downloaded TV shows and a pair of headphones.’ He is giving me an easy out. I’ve made him feel like a burden. Or he’s really not interested in talking to me. Although if that actually is the case, he could have just left, which would solve the whole problem of ignoring me entirely.
‘Okay.’ I walk back towards the table and grab the empty glasses still resting there. Arthur didn’t use his coaster, and now there is a white ring forming on our table. Bee won’t be happy.
But then he’s right behind me, carrying the last serving platter. ‘Why are you doing all the clean-up now?’
‘I don’t want everything to crust on,’ I say.
‘Yeah, but why are you doing it at all? This is Bee’s night.’
‘She’s a little busy right now.’
‘You cooked the dinner, didn’t you?’ he asks, and I don’t know why.
‘It was a team effort.’
His face is unreadable. He whistles, low and pointed. ‘Must be good to be Bee. Getting laid and getting out of the washing up.’
I don’t reply to this, but at least he picks up a towel and starts drying. When the kitchen is once again clean, I throw myself on the couch opposite him and yawn, not bothering to cover my mouth. He is smart enough to bring his wine with him.
‘I told you that you don’t have to entertain me. Go to bed if you want,’ he says.
‘You’re a guest in my home for a dinner party. I’m not going to ditch you as well.’
He leans forward. ‘What, scared I’ll make off with the silver?’
‘Eh, it’s fine if you do. Anything of value in here belongs to Bee.’ He laughs. Then silence, the music instead filling the space between us. Arthur has his ankle resting across his other knee. His head and the ankle bop along in time with the music. He picks up his drink and turns to face me, gesturing with the glass to suggest I do the same. He’s right; more wine is likely the best solution to our predicament, but I’ve washed up my glass. I grab the neck of the bottle and take a swig.
After a long sip, he says, light as anything, like we’re buddies, ‘Have you ever noticed how “burn it down” and “burn it up” mean exactly the same thing in songs?’
That perks me up. ‘Yes! I have! It’s like being “up for something” and “down for something”. Like, they’re literally the same, especially in that they’re meaningless.’
