Page 11 of Vine

Nice work if you could get it.

If I ignored the biting cold, the harsh wind, and the lashing rain, especially the icy waterfall cascading down the back of my neck—and that Leigh had talked over my line about the importance of pruning away from the mainstem, which Jonas would edit out altogether—then the vineyard project itself wasn’t too bad. The monotony of snipping, then collecting bundles of waste for composting had a soothing nothingness to it, dialling my agitated brain down a fraction. As I moved methodically along the rows, I reflected that Emma was right: I’d stood up to them. Despite being outnumbered, full of snot, and unarmed (unless blunt pruning shears counted). And only one of Leigh’s sneers away from an anxiety-related meltdown.

Nonetheless, the effort had exhausted me. My anxiety had a jittery, unpredictable frailty, under control one minute then running rings around my brain the next. I slept badly, always worrying about what lay ahead, behind, to the side, underneath. Already, my arms ached from holding them up at an awkward angle, my nose dribbled with my incipient cold, and chilblains had kept me awake last night. As hosts ofMy Big Gay Adventures,we threw ourselves body and soul into projects with pride, not simply pitching up for a spot of filming. Awesome when I got to drive a fast car around a racetrack five days a week. Less awesome up to my ankles in January mud and with stalactites for fingers.

“Who is she, then?” I asked Emma, determined to focus on something other than the urge for razor-induced release. We’d reached the end of a row. Leigh was at the other end, making a fist of gathering piles of cut twigs into kindling bundles and wrapping them with twine. I couldn’t decide if he was hamming up his knot-tying incompetence for the camera crew tagging behind him or genuinely sausage-fingered.

“Who?” Emma tested the stability of the wooden post holding the whole thing up. She gave a satisfied nod.

“The woman who’s got you staring into space every five minutes.”

“What makes you think it’s a woman?”

I sniffed again. “Now I’m truly offended! Just because I’m in the middle of my own doesn’t mean I can’t detect someone else having a full-on gay crisis. And I’ve googled lesbian angst, so I’m good to go.”

“I’m staggered Leigh put up with you as long as he did.”

“Something to do with my eight-inch cock,” I deadpanned. If only. “Girthy too. Come on. I’m all ears.”

“Except for your massive cock, obviously.”

With a sigh, she viciously attacked a knotty stem. “I met someone on holiday in Italy. Last October. We found ourselves sharing a gondola ride in Venice. There was a sudden downpour; she let me huddle under her umbrella and lent me half of her blanket.”

“Oh my God, that is super romantic!”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, if you ignore that I was on one of those hideously depressing singles holidays.”

“Oh goody. You’re selling my future to me really well.”

Her sharp knife slashed awfully close to my fingertips. “Don’t worry, Caspian. You’ll have men falling over themselves in no time. Your endless cheer is irresistible.”

“Wait until they see my gondola-sized cock.”

She giggled. Another slash. Any closer and I’d be getting a free manicure. “Anyhow, her name is Stella. She’s older than me—she’s forty—and Australian. She’s divorced, from a man, actually, and she runs a successful horticultural business in Sydney.”

I glanced across to see her blushing and determinedly focusing on her task. I gave her a nudge. “Even more romantic! Sexy Stella the Sydney Seed Seller. Wow! Saying that a few times will get your tongue well limbered up, you know, for...”

“You see, Caspian, this is exactly why I wasn’t going to tell you.” Another slash and I jerked my finger away. Anyone would think she was doing it on purpose. I enjoyed cutting myself; I wanted no one else to share the pleasure.

“What was Sexy Stella doing in Italy aside from fondling you under a blanket?”

“She had combined a business trip with a holiday touring Europe, and we, well, we found ourselves spending a lot of time together. I rarely feel a… a romantic attraction to anyone, but, you know, something just clicked.”

“Aaahh. Love at first sight.”

She scrunched up her nose, trying to be cross with me, which only made her cuter. I might have abandoned this vineyard project already if Emma hadn’t been around. This Stella woman was a lucky lady. “No. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Just amazing sex, then.”

“Christ, Caspian. No! And for your information, it wasn’t an instantly physical thing. More of a feeling that I’d…” That nose wrinkle again as she searched for the word. “I’d caught a glimpse of something that might turn out to be special, and she had too. And we didn’t want to let it go without exploring it further.”

I snorted. “And did you? Explore further?”

There was no mistaking the next slash as an accident. “You are so predictable.”

“You did, though, didn’t you?”

“Bloody hell, yes. Kind of. On our last night together, we went out for dinner, and she admitted she felt the same way, that she’d never had strong feelings for a woman before, and we…" Another magnificent blush. If nothing else, this sweet story was restoring my faith in human nature; I was vicariously falling in love with Stella myself. “And since then, we talk and send each other pics and stuff online all the time. And the feelings are still there.”

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