Page 16 of Vine

“Hah! If only.”

Succinctly, in between nose blowing and painful swallowing, I outlined my night-time and subsequent adventures, trying not to give in to the swell of panic. By now, the snake had reached mythical proportions, deadly enough to kill with a stare alone. My near-death encounter had been more of a repulsive sensory one than a clear visual threat, but that was irrelevant.

Emma scrunched up her nose, unimpressed, as I came to the end of my dastardly tale. “Really? As fat as a drainpipe? I doubt it was that big. Or as venomous. I mean, do they even have venomous snakes in France?”

Lesbians always refused to pander to men’s egos. “Your concern for my welfare is so touching. I’m telling you, Emma, this thing was a killer!”

“Mmm.” Another nose scrunch. “Even if it was venomous, they’re cold and sleepy at this time of year. They don’t tend to bother people, do they? Not unless you poke a stick at one.”

An involuntary shudder rippled through me. “Trust, sweetie, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“It’s true though. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“Says the woman who didn’t lovingly stroke her hand across its scales and tickle its belly.” My own belly performed a queasy tomato-flavoured somersault. “Honestly, Em, I’m never going to open a bloody kitchen cupboard again. Or look our hunkyneighbourin the face.”

She plonked a coffee in front of me and scrutinized my swollen eye. “Should you get that seen to? And your head checked out by a doctor?”

My head had been checked out by plenty of doctors over the years; they’d diagnosed me as beyond saving. “I don’t think so. It looks worse than it is. I don’t actually think I banged it very hard. I’m wondering if it was more of a faint, really. An elegant swallow dive to the ground. One second, I was screaming my head off and backing away from a massive snake. The next, I woke up naked in another man’s bed. Typical Friday night in Soho, to be honest.”

She didn’t laugh; it was a weak joke. Instead, she delved into the freezer to retrieve a bag of peas. After wrapping them inside a tea towel, she offered them out. “At least we know who rents the other gatehouse. Old rubber legs himself.”

I’d underplayed the man’s strangeness. His actions had been gruff, his words even gruffer. His eyes had been kind, though. The press of that heavy arm across my shoulders and my handenveloped inside both of his affected me in a way I wasn’t ready to explain, although that could have been shock. And if he hadn’t turned up, God knows what might have happened to me. Hypothermia, probably.

The frozen peas against my bruised, fevered skin felt heavenly. “I’ll hunt him down over the next day or so, when I’m feeling more together,” I declared, more to myself than to Emma. “And thank him. He kicked me out before I even got his name. He suddenly seemed in a desperate hurry to get to work.”

Footsteps sounded at the kitchen door, voices too. “More venomous snakes,” she murmured, throwing me a wink. “Evening, Jonas, evening, Leigh. The kettle’s just boiled.”

After the sexual marathon responsible for my current woes, neither of them had a right to look so rested. “Christ, Caspy!” Leigh crowded around me. “The techs told me you’d smashed your face up, but bloody hell! We’re filming a reality TV show, notThe Walking Dead.”

“Deary, deary me.” Jonas grinned with delight. “Not the cute pretty one now, are you?”

“Seems Mr Darcy’s entered the group chat.” I eyed him coldly, removing the peas in an attempt to look more dignified.

Leigh sniggered. “You obviously haven’t banged your head that hard.”

“Leigh?” Jonas continued. “Tomorrow’s first piece to camera was going to be you interviewing that guy from the library about the religious origins of wine-making on the island, but I think Caspian’s recap of his nightly wanderings will be much better telly. Bloody hilarious, in fact.”

Twat. Emma was right. Some snakes cowered in kitchen cupboards; others hid behind a façade of slick manners, designer spectacles, and green wellies that hadn’t seen mud until two days ago. I threw him a disdainful look, tricky when only one eye opened and my bottom lip didn’t quite move as it should.Before I had a chance to knock it from his hand, he whipped out his phone and took a snap.

“Hey! Stop that! I’ve got a stinking cold, Jonas, and I feel and look like shit. No way am I going to let you film me tomorrow.”

“What, and deprive the audience of a chance to see you soldiering on despite all that?”

“Hardly soldiering, is it? Weeding a bloody vineyard.”

“Hence a need to spice it up. Leigh could do a piece to camera, saying how worried he is about you.”

Oh, fuck off.My fragile state wasn’t up to more verbal sparring. Scraping back my chair, I stifled a wince as my stiff body complained at the sudden movement. “I need a shower. There had better be some hot water left. Grounds for divorce otherwise.”

Avoiding the sore bits, I slapped my hand to my face. “Oops. Silly me. Already had one of those.”

Two more paracetamol, peas, and a tepid shower did nothing for my chronic grumbling dysphoria but wonders for my aches and pains. Ripping off the new dressing, I savoured the stinging bite of water over my latest cut. I almost felt like a new man as I wandered back into my room, dressed in a towel. My ex-husband perching on my bed diminished that somewhat.

“Wrong room, mate. Yours is next door, the one with the rattly headboard and squeaky mattress. Smells of spunk.”

At least he could have the decency to pretend to be mildly embarrassed. Turning my back, I opened a drawer, pulling out underwear.

He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I was rude earlier. About your face. What I should have done is ask if you’re okay.”

---