Page 48 of Vine

“Um… trout. Fish… er… goldfish, your oysters.”

Not fish. Bivalve molluscs of the genusostreidae. I didn’t correct him, though I would later. “Now I need three types of dog. Pomeranian, poodle, wire-haired fox terrier.”

“Christ, Max, I don’t fucking know.”

“Do it! German shepherd, ridgeback, Spinoza.”

“Collie, spaniel. Pug.”

“Good. They have mean weights of 16, 15.2 and 8.5 kilos respectively, by the way. And mean gestation periods of 63 days.”

He shot me a peculiar look. He was coming out of it, I could tell. “Now name three alcoholic drinks. Lager, brandy, pastis.”

“Fuck… I don’t know! Wine, beer, and whiskey. I think I need some. All together in the same glass.”

“No you don’t. It will make you sick again.”

“I think I’m going to be sick again anyway.”

I’d not brought him to my house. Fresh air would be better, and I wasn’t ready to have him inside, more so if he was nauseous. Instead, I smashed through the row of beech trees behind and dumped him on a broad upturned log, maturing for a season before I sawed it into firewood. Emma had hurried after me, filling me in on the quarrel that had brought me running in the first place. I’d thanked her, badly, then shooed her away. Oneupset person was enough; I couldn’t be expected to cope with another.

As if an invisible force bore down on him, Caspian slumped over, his head buried in his arms.

“Concentrate on breathing normally. Actually no, don’t, because it’s really hard when someone tells you to do that. Don’t think about breathing at all. Think of ten more fish species instead. I’m phoning Éti. And then I’m phoning Colette.” Waiting for Éti to pick up, I jiggled from foot to foot like I needed a wee, never taking my eyes off him.

Caspian’s whole body shook; he made a noise like a sob. “Max,” he mumbled into his sleeve. “I know you put a lot of store in these women and their opinions. But I have a feeling this is even beyond your Éti’s realm.”

“Shh, she’s answered. I need to talk to her.”

For once, Éti let me speak without interrupting. Whatever was spreading over the British news made no sense to me, but Éti was reading from her phone and translating as she spoke.

“Éti says you must delete all your social media. Now. Straight away. And don’t download it again for a week at least.”

Nodding, I listened carefully as Éti issued more instructions, then clapped my hand over the speaker. “It will be really hard, she says, but resist the impulse to physically hide away. Carry on with your normal daytime routines.”

Caspian huffed out a miserable laugh. “What, like cutting myself?”

“All except that one. I haven’t told her. I think she means eating and drinking and going for walks. Normal stuff like that. Shush, she’s speaking again.”

For now, Éti was winding up. This was her bullet-point emergency first aid kit. I’d caught her while driving back from Paris; no doubt she’d expand on it later.

I turned a few feet away from Caspian and spoke as quietly as my booming voice ever allowed. “I’m scared, Éti,” I almost whispered into the phone. “I don’t know what to do. He’s taking medicine for his anxiety, and it’s not working properly. I’m scared he might…” I scrambled for something to say that wasn’t a lie. The truth was private. “I’m scared he might hurt himself.”

“Then stay with him,” she answered promptly. “Look after him. Don’t let him out of your sight until we’ve asked Colette’s advice. You can do this, Max. I know you can.”

We ended the call, and I turned back to him. “She says you can have her phone number.”

“Lucky me.”

“Yes. You are. She hardly gives it to anybody. Literally, about six people in the entire world have it.”

“Cool.” Caspian rubbed his wrecked face. “Fuck, Max. I’m… Christ, I don’t know what I am. Maybe smacking my head on the ground might have been better.” With his elbows resting on his knees, he stared at his feet.

I was at a loss for what to do. If I had eight limbs like an octopus, I’d hug him with all of them. I still wouldn’t know what to say, though. What was the point of talk when you had nothing meaningful to add?

Unable to communicate with words, Noir didn’t have that problem. He snuffled around Caspian until he relented and ruffled the thick, soft fur at the back of his neck. Another thing I admired about dogs: they recognised when you were down but couldn’t ask annoying questions.

“So, now you’ve met my ex-husband.” Caspian was talking to me, not Noir, though his eyes stayed on the dog. “And Jonas,” he added. “That’s Leigh’s new partner. And one of my oldest friends.”

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