Page 41 of Vine

Some things were private. The skin on my face tingled at the memory, as if I was sitting next to an open fire. “We kissed in my bed. And talked a lot. We’ve done that many times now. He’s told me lots about his job on that stupid television show. But, and this is the important bit, he forgot on purpose to tell me he’s married to the other presenter.”

“What?”

Éti’s surprised face was usually funny. Her mouth made a big ‘o’, and her eyes looked like they’d pop out of their sockets. She didn’t produce it very often, as she was generally one step ahead of everyone. Tonight, it wasn’t funny at all. It just made me even madder.

I raised my voice. “He’s. Married. To. The. Other. Presenter.” I’d begun rocking again and not noticed. “Are you deaf?”

“I am now. Putain.” She pinched the bridge of her nose, shutting her eyes briefly. “Are you… are you sure, Max? Is the other presenter with him here in France? Have you met him?”

“Yes, he’s here. I recognised him from when I googled the show.”

And he was tall and handsome and smartly dressed in designer jeans and designer baseball caps and stupid sunglasses. He couldn’t have been more different from me if he tried. “Caspian wouldn’t stay the night. Now I know why.”

Éti and I stared at each other; I held her gaze for longer than I managed with anyone. Her quick brain was whirring. Mine was a heap of tinder waiting to be struck by a match.

“Are you absolutely sure, Max? Because if it’s true, then… then…” Her lips thinned into the fierce expression she sometimes used when interviewers attempted to needle her with non-football related questions. “It had better not be.”

“I’m a good kisser, Éti. Good at everything! I’m not someone’s…side piece!”

“Absolutely you’re not.” Éti rose rapidly to her feet. “You’re far too good for that. Show me. Fetch your laptop. Maybe you’ve made a mistake.”

Éti spent quite a long while on my computer reading Caspian’s Wikipedia entry before moving on to the show’s entry and also Caspian’s husband’s entry. She spoke English fluently and obviously read it fluently too. The more she flicked through different websites, her usually smiley face turned to a frowny one.

“You were right,” she agreed flatly and slammed down the lid. “He’s married. Connard.” She spat the swear word out with as much vehemence as I’d ever seen. “Are you sure his husband is here with him?”

“Yes!”

“Good. I can give them both a piece of my mind instead of having to hunt them down separately.”

Éti on the warpath was not pleasant. Plenty of interviewers had discovered that. I was struck by a thought. “But... he can’t have been here all the time because Caspian said he… he hadn’t ejaculated in ages and that he hasn’t had sex for even longer. Which is confusing becausePerfect Peachsays sex is an integral part of marriage and can be a barometer for it. AndPerfect Peachalso says that if stories don’t add up, that if a love interest says they do X and they do Y, then it’s a red flag that your love interest may not be what he seems. Caspian said he hasn’t had sex in months, and yet he’s young and married. Red flags!”

“Mon dieu, those aren’t red flags, sweetie. They’re air raid sirens.” She let out a low whistle. “Back up a bit. First of all, who isPerfect Peach?”

“It’s not a who. It’s the relationship guide I’m following! A whole list of rules to Snag Your Man And Keep Him.”

Éti blew out her cheeks and pulled a face. “I hate to break it to you, Maxi, but people don’t follow rules when it comes to their sex lives.” To stop me interrupting, she held up a finger. Ilovedfollowing rules. “Mostpeople. Having said that, a couple of things here don’t add up. I’m not an expert on other people’s marriages, and I am trying not to be too judgmental of these people I haven’t met, but if he’s telling the truth, that does not sound like a terribly normal relationship between two healthy young men.”

Mon dieu. My head was screaming. Why did life insist on being so complicated? This was why I preferred dogs.

“The average number of times a week for sex in a fulfilling relationship between homosexual men under the age of forty is 5.2,” I offered because Éti appeared to be struggling.

“Is that so? Fascinating.”

She sat back down again. “Listen, Max. There may be a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this. Perhaps you should speak to Caspian before you… aah… go off at the deep end.”

We both looked around the room. That ship had long sailed. Éti shrugged.

“Or you could carry on smashing things until you feel better.”

CHAPTER 14

CASPIAN

I miss you. I wish I knew what I’d done wrong.Perhaps nothing. Perhaps you just realised you didn’t need me after all. I wouldn’t blame you. You’re a catch, Max La Forge, you know that? :(

Doomscrolling, I’d been awake until beyond three a.m., my mind stuck on vibrate mode. We’d flown back to France late in the evening; same seats, same shitty little plane, same shitty ex-husband wedged into the cramped window seat next to me. Libby’s airy promises of making us household names turned into a tangible contract awaiting our signatures. In the airport lounge, Leigh celebrated with a glass of fizz; I’d stuck to aspirin and water, relieved to be back in the safe haven of the vineyard, soothed by its steady, unchanging rhythms.

All at sea, I tossed my options back and forth in my head, none appealing. Three more years of gurning for the cameras at the shoulder of my ex-husband versus the sheer cliff face of the unknown. The lonely uncertainty of unemployment and fretting about bills versus the certain loneliness of living in Leigh’s shadow and worsening mental health. If this endless stretchof waiting for vines to grow demonstrated nothing else, being surrounded by the wrong people was as isolating as having no one.

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