He apologises for monopolising my time as he tucks the phone away. ‘But I’ve been so absolutely bereft of adult human conversation,’ he says, drawing a theatrical scowl from Rani, who looks amused rather than insulted.
Then they ask about me, and I’m regaling them with enthralling paintball anecdotes when a low voice in my ear says, ‘Is that your friend over there?’
I smile as I turn my head.
He’s wearing the same suit as that first night, and has paired it with a plain black felt mask that can’t hide the glint in his eyes.
‘The one talking to the finance bro?’ I say. ‘Yep, that’s my friend, Bee.’ He grins.
‘You know Gertie too, Art?’ Rani asks, leaning in for cheek kisses.
‘Oh, we go way back,’ he says, and now he has a hand at my back. What are they talking about now? His hand is warm.His thumb is moving slowly back and forth, catching on the slinky polyester of my dress. His pinkie is about two inches from my ass. Can he feel my pulse racing from there? Can he hear my heart in my throat? Then a tray of rice paper rolls comes around, and the hand is gone.
The three friends are chatting away while I stand there musing over hands. I think I’ve overstayed my welcome now. No one has looked at me in a few minutes. I should make a polite exit and leave them to it. I finish my drink and gather the courage to speak up. I’m already moving away when I hold up my empty glass and say, ‘I’m going to get another drink.’
‘Good idea!’ Rani calls, looping an arm with mine and leading us off. Over her shoulder to the men, she says, ‘I’ve adopted Gertie because Bianca ditched her. She’s mine now!’ I can see a hint of pride in Arthur’s eyes as he follows us.
But I do actually really need to pee, so I hope Rani lets me go soon.
Talking is exhausting, and I seemingly haven’t stopped. After Rani gets called away by some old high-school friend, we chat to Ben, the birthday boy, and his wife, who seem to accept my interloping ass, presumably because they think I’m Arthur’s date. He doesn’t put them straight, good protective friend that he is.
I can’t really remember all the names of the people we talk to, but we stand rooted to the spot by the window and are approached from all directions for over an hour until the sun has fully disappeared below the horizon.
Arthur. He’s so good at this. I know these are his people,but he’s in his element. He remembers details about everyone’s lives. He makes the effort to include me in the conversations. He’s not one of those prats who lean on inside jokes and shared nostalgia that predates me. He seems to absorb people’s energy and emit it back—through his infectious smile and bright eyes.
It’s almost blinding when he directs them at me. But I still really need to pee, and I finally see an opportunity when a work colleague of Arthur’s sidles up to out himself as that guy who talks about work at a Saturday-night party, so I slip away, leaving Arthur with my half-full glass.
As I round the corner, I see a man and woman standing against the wall near the bathroom, his hand on her waist. He’s leaning down to whisper something in her ear. She’s smiling, giggling, running her hand up and down his arm.
Then I recognise the fetching green suit.
That’s William.
But that’s not Bee.
This woman has noticed me now. ‘Oh, sorry!’ I say, like I’m the weird voyeur one and not the one just trying to go to the toilet.
The man—William—doesn’t turn around, but his back has stiffened, tension radiating through his shoulder blades. I shuffle past, looking at neither of them, tripping on my heels slightly in my haste to get the hell out of there. When the door closes behind me in the ladies toilet, I lean back against the door. Inhale. Exhale.
How am I going to tell Bee?
They are gone when I emerge from the bathroom. I’m totally alone, and I can almost convince myself that I imaginedit. Life would be so much easier if I had just imagined it.
But I’m not a good enough liar to convince myself, and it turns out I can’t lie to Arthur either. One look at my face when I blindly take back my glass and throw the contents down my throat, and he asks, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ I say.
His expression says, ‘Bullshit.’
‘Really, nothing,’ I say again. I put on my best and perkiest fake smile honed from years of politeness in the face of abuse from customers. ‘Have you been to the bathrooms yet? They’re so cool. It’s all round, and the sink is just a lone pipe hanging over a flat concrete slab.’
‘Yes!’ Rani says, jumping a little in excitement. ‘It was designed by some famous architect who’s all about taking the mundane and making it art. I saw it onGrand Designsor something. He was all “no one looks to the bathrooms.”’
‘He’d probably turn a linen cupboard into a nightclub,’ I say, and we all laugh. Arthur is still looking at me a little funny, but he lets it go.
There’s a shiver on the back of my neck now, and the little hairs stand up on end. Looking around, I see William’s eyes trained on me, narrowed. My whole body flinches. ‘Sorry, did I step on your foot?’ Arthur asks.
Every second of the next hour drags out like when I am doing a side plank during an exercise class. I feel William watching me as Arthur and I slowly migrate around the room, like an overly starched Mona Lisa. Even with my back to him, his beady eyes burn a hole in the back of my head. I glance at him a few times, and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or thesituation, but he’s getting even handsier with Bee than he was before, a marking of territory. The back of his hand gently strokes up and down her bare arm. He grasps at her waist, crinkling the fabric that rests there. He squeezes the back of her neck before draping his arm over her shoulder and pulling her into his side.
