you be invited to get me out of the way. She
didn’t voice that last bit, but being a master
sleuth I read between the lines.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they’re using you for your house.
…
Does that inspire enough pity in you to agree to come?
Like I ever had any other choice than to agree, which has nothing at all to do with Arthur. I pretend to be surprised when Bee comes home a few hours later to tell me about our upcoming trip. Apparently William issuperexcited for me to be there.
I start messaging around to see if anyone is willing to switch shifts so that I don’t have to just hand them off and not get paid. Everyone who isn’t working already has plans for the weekend, because of course they do. And anyone wanting to pick up a shift doesn’t want a swap; they just want more work. Nicole leaves me on read, which I think is the young person’s middle finger. In the end, I have to give the shifts away.
I need to take back some of the pity I gave you, because I’ll be asking Bee to pay the whole of the rent this month.
Oh, yeah. You need it more than I do. See you
next week!
The summery sounds of Sabrina Carpenter ill-befit the atmosphere in the car as we turn a corner and cross through the gates to the winery. No one is talking. It has been an hour and a half of near silence. A few muttered thanks when morning coffees were passed around. A general hum of agreement when Arthur asked if the music was okay. Then nothing. Oh, except for one moment where William pointed at the sky and suggested it might rain later.
We’ve still got roughly thirty-two hours of this.
Bee and William are sitting in the back, hands clasped over the middle seat, each looking out their window. Arthuris looking straight ahead, eyes occasionally flicking to the rearview. Hands at a perfect ten and two. I am tearing to shreds the empty takeaway coffee cup in my lap.
The vibes are off, but we’re pretending they aren’t. Which of course sends them even further off. Unspoken words are drowning out poor Sabrina and choking us. Arthur is a stressed host, a bit miffed that William forced the role on him. I stupidly asked Bee about the rentbeforethe trip. And every so often I feel like William is staring at the back of my seat, through the fabric and stuffing and into my brain. He probably in reality hasn’t thought about me at all, but the simple thought of it likely reveals a lot more about the state of my own mind than I’d care to admit.
I don’t think there are any issues between Arthur and Bee, though. So, that’s something.
We pull up to the winery and park on the grass designated for overflow. It takes Arthur a few goes to get into the last spot, which might not actually be a spot. I gasp a little bit each time he turns the wheel, thinking he’s going to scratch the next car or send us hurtling into the vines. I can tell that this irritates him but I don’t feel guilty enough to stop. Especially when I have to go all rubbery like Mrs Incredible to squeeze out of the car through the tiny gap.
A flash of light among the vines catches my eye and I blink, looking for the source. It turns out to be a cluster of sequins scattering light like a mirror ball. A girl dressed in a pink ball gown with full tulle train (flying in the wind), is crouched on the ground to get the shot; her model is wearing a bright red princess gown, fake-candidly walking back and forth along thepath, turning every so often to glance coquettishly at the phone.
‘Ah now, over here we have a very un-rare sighting of a greater-spotted influencer in the wild,’ Arthur whispers in my ear. I can feel the heat from his body as he curls over me to reach. ‘The influencer is often brightly coloured, the better to attract attention.’
‘The influencer is also known to collect and hoard shiny objects,’ I whisper back, ‘and subsists exclusively on cold food, as what they have gathered must be documented before consumption.’
He sniggers. ‘The influencer is an easy species to study due to the overabundance of documentary evidence.’
‘Its natural habitat is any place with a flower wall.’
‘Are you two coming?’ William calls, but then Bee glances in our direction.
‘Oh, look, babe,’ she says, clutching at William’s arm. ‘Let’s take a photo in the vines too!’ She starts walking down the hill, dragging William along.
He looks at his watch and tries to pull her back. ‘Our reservation was five minutes ago.’
‘But the light is good now! It’ll only take a minute.’ She tosses her phone to me. ‘Come on Gertrude, you can take it.’
I move to walk forwards. ‘Stay where you are, Gertrude,’ William says. And wow, I don’t like that. The influencers have noticed us; I think one is filming us now.
‘Mate, I don’t think you should speak to her like that,’ Arthur says, stepping up next to me.
‘Sorry,’ William replies, but he’s still looking at Bee.
‘Why won’t you take a picture with me?’ Bee asks.
