My whole body is convulsing. There are no tears now—I’ve reached the level of angry that desiccates the eyeballs. ‘It very muchwasa secret, Bee. You can’t just go telling people that.’
‘Oh come on, everyone at school knew. It was common knowledge!’
‘No, Bee. No one knew. Or no one was supposed to know. Because I only ever toldyou.’
I wonder what the me from before would think about all this. Four confrontations with three separate people. I’ve just condensed more confrontation into three days than I have so far experienced in my entire life.
Of course, once the adrenaline dissipates and I am left with the moon and my own thoughts in my bedroom, it becomes painfully clear that I have backed the wrong horse. Not Billy, because he’s not a horse, he’s a toad. But I turned away Arthur, exorcised him from my life, the one person who has done nothing but support me in a thankless and painfully one-sided manner for months, and who also happens to give really good head, in favour of Bee. Bee who left it to me to eject her man from the premises and be subjected to his bullshit insults. Bee who apparently told everyone and their multiple dogs about my mother’s gambling addiction and the destruction of my family that flowed from it. Bee who, despite the two arguments we have had in the last week, has never once uttered the word ‘sorry’ even in my general direction.
This is the horse I picked.
Arthur was right. About all of it. And I made him leave.
Now I have to find a way to live with that.
‘SO, HOW AREthe holiday plans going?’
‘Nearly done!’ Nicole says. She hands me the stack of place cards for table 5, and we circle the table putting them out above the napkins. ‘Only thing left to sort is travel insurance, but that’s easy.’
‘Do you have everything you need?’ I ask. ‘Adapters? Thongs to wear in the dorm showers? That neck pillow thing that I’m not entirely convinced is even remotely effective?’
‘Yes to each of those, Mum.’
‘I just worry about you, darling.’
‘Speaking of worry,’ Nic says, with the tone of someone trying to avoid setting off a jumpy cat, ‘how did things end up over the weekend?’
‘It was a royal clusterfuck. And that might be underselling it.’
She drops her clipboard on the table and walks over to foldme into a hug. It lasts precisely six seconds because Nic saw a video that told her six-second hugs lower your blood pressure and help with anxiety. ‘I’m so sorry this happened to you, Gertie. Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Ask me for details later after a few glasses of bubbles.’ I’m laughing, because this much concentrated sincerity makes me uncomfortable. ‘But the upshot is that I think we’re done.’
‘Who? You and Bee? Or you and the lovely man?’
‘Both,’ I say. I think it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud.
‘Geez, busy weekend.’
‘It was shoutier than most weekends I’ve had.’
‘So, where are you and Bee at now?’ Nic asks. We’ve finished the place cards, and now we’re placing personalised photo-frame bonbonniere. Because everyone wants to leave a wedding carrying a framed picture of the couple with their names and wedding date on it.
‘We haven’t spoken since Wednesday.’
‘Is that the longest you’ve ever gone without talking?’
‘I mean, intentionally yes. Bee did go to Greece and Italy a few years ago, and I wouldn’t have known if she was dead or alive for four weeks if not for the stories.’
‘I’m not very shocked by that.’
‘Yeah.’
‘What are you going to do?’ This is a harder question, and one that has been echoing in my mind for the last forty-eight hours. ‘Would you consider moving out?’ she presses.
‘I have been wondering if she is thinking about it, but I don’t know. I don’t think I’ll be able to find somewhere central and affordable and not with complete strangers.’
Although maybe far away with total strangers is the best option right now. But the kitchen island.
