We’re nearly nose to nose now, sweat pooling between our hands and my skin itches like my body is trying to burst out of it. For some reason I’m only able to take short breaths between each line. Perhaps it’s poor breathing technique, but I don’t think so.
We sing the final words.
Then oppressive silence. But our hands are still clasped, held to his damp T-shirt. I can feel his heart racing beneath his heaving chest, same rhythm as mine. And he still hasn’t looked away. He looks like he wants to say something, but it gets stuck in the back of his throat. I want to know what he’s thinking, crawl inside his mind and take a look around. No, I don’t want to know what he’s thinking. What is he thinking?
The room shatters with the opening to ‘Shake It Off’. Turning towards the door, giving me a reason to move my hand, I say, way too loud, ‘Oh! I wonder where the other two have got to!’ And then I race out without looking back.
Ah. The light in the hallway is blinding but the silence, the rush of cold air, is heaven as I go ostensibly in search of Bee and William but really just move further and further from that cursed room. The hall is empty aside from a waiter carrying a tray of half-empty pink drinks and the dregs of several espresso martinis. I duck around the corner to find the couple in question pushed up against the wall next to the bathroom. A bit too much tongue for my taste, but each to their own. They do not notice me.
Should I interrupt them?
No, let them go.
Oh, now it’s weird. I’ve been standing watching them for at least thirty seconds now, which is about twenty-five seconds too long.
I turn to leave. A retching sound stops me. When I turn back, William is alone with a swinging bathroom door. Then he notices me and points to the bathroom. ‘Did you want to take care of that?’ he asks. I nod and go in.
There is just enough time to overthink what had happened—not happened, nothing happened—with Arthur as I hold Bee’s hair back.
‘This is so gross,’ Bee cries into the toilet bowl, the last word being flooded by another wave of vomit. At least we’ve been drinking clear spirits…it could have been way worse.
Splash some water on her face. Pop a few mints to mask the stench on her tongue. I wipe the eyeliner from beneath her eyes and tie her ratty hair back into a bun. William isn’t in the hallway when we come out. Back in the room, the volume has been turned all the way down. William is on one end of thecouch on his phone. Arthur is at the other finishing a beer. He looks up when we enter. William does not.
‘It’s time to go,’ I say, gesturing towards a spaced-out Bee. Arthur nods and starts to gather our jackets. ‘Make sure she has her phone, please. I amnottrekking back here tomorrow to get it.’ Again.
We do not share a ride back with the guys. As our car pulls up next to us, the goodbyes between the four of us consist only of awkward waves. My hand misses his as they swipe through the air at each other.
The next day I can’t tell if Bee doesn’t actually remember how the evening ended (or began…or middled), but in the intervening hours and perhaps with the cleansing powers of the shower, she has rewritten it inside her head.
‘Last night was so much fun!’ she says over a late breakfast and coffee. (I have work later; Bee does not. I have lost my voice, and everything is coming out with a croak; Bee has not.) ‘You definitely got up and about.’ I did. ‘It must be so great not to care how you come off in public.’
I take a bite of my toast. She continues. ‘I’m a bit pissed off with Arthur, though. How did he not remember that William has stage fright? He had a very traumatic experience playing a lamb in his Year 6 musical.’
‘That sounds unpleasant.’ This is a lie. It sounds hilarious, and I make a note to ask Arthur for details…or maybe a video.
‘It was,’ she says like she was there. ‘Poor boy. Arthur is such a shit-stirrer. I think he’s jealous of William and likes to make little digs here and there to feel better about himself.’
That doesn’t sound right to me, but I don’t say anything.
‘But I was so proud of William for being the bigger man and stepping out of his comfort zone to perform. Wasn’t he good?’
‘He was! Who knew he could roll his hips like that?’
Bee smiles behind her coffee cup. ‘I did.’
‘So, maybe the experiment of Arthur organising your dates was a bit of a fail?’ I’m trying not to sound too hopeful because I’d like to go find an off-grid house in the woods just to never have to look Arthur in those overly expressive, incapable of playing it close to the chest eyes.
‘Hmm…maybe?’
‘Aren’t we, like, cramping your romantic style or something? It was cute for the first few goes, but…’ I trail off to let Bee fill in the gaps.
There’s a sly smile on her face. She puts down the coffee and folds her hands in front of her on the table to make way for proper business chat. ‘Actually, I’ve been thinking about that. You and Arthur seem to get along well, yeah?’ I’m not sure what Bee’s criteria for getting along well might be. Yes, we are friends who occasionally text and are working towards a common goal. But we also stared creepily into one another’s eyes while singing a heavily charged romantic duet before awkwardly saying goodbye and not speaking about it at all after.
Bee doesn’t know about that last part. And never will.
She leans in, a clear sign of conspiratorial girl chat. ‘Between you and me, he’s the one who insisted to William that we keep the doubles going.’ Then she leans back. ‘Williamand I discussed it, and we think it’s a totally natural fit. You get along, you’re both friends of ours. Makes everything very simple.’ I can really only marvel at how tepid Bee’s ire towards Arthur is. It has passed in the time it took for the idea of pairing off the chaperones to enter her head.
Oh, shit.
