Page 46 of Vine

“’Fraid so.”

I didn’t know Emma’s sister, so how could it be anything too terrible? And world emergencies we could do nothing about were delivered to our pocket phones every morning. Even a stress kitty like me pushed most of them aside. Nonetheless, as Emma shook her head at my repeated offer of tea and her mouth stayed in a resolute thin line, ice-cold drips of fear filled my belly.

“You have a secret life as a lesbian dominatrix,” I deadpanned, still hoping for the best, knowing it wouldn’t materialise. “With a well-known Hollywood actor. No, two well-known actors. We can work around it. I’m liberal in my outlook.”

“Unfortunately, not.” She sucked in her bottom lip. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her so uncomfortable. “You remember when you and Leigh flew back to England, and I stayed behind to do a couple of pieces to camera?”

I nodded. “Yeah, about a career in viticulture. I haven’t seen them yet, but Jonas thought they were great.”

“Yes. I did too,” she agreed. “I enjoyed it much more than I imagined I would. He’s surprisingly good at that sort of thing. Anyhow, when we wrapped up at the end, Jonas asked me about you. Just polite chit-chat. He commented you seemed like youwere still having a tough time with things and asked if, as your friend, I thought there was anything he could do to help.”

I dry swallowed, the ice drips coalescing into a solid block. Jonas didn’t do polite chit-chat without an ulterior motive. “And?”

“And I fell for it.” On a deep exhale, Emma buried her face in her hands. “Shit, Casp, I’m so sorry. So, so sorry. He was being really nice, and I was so bloody relieved the piece to camera had gone well. I was still shaking like a leaf, to be honest. I told him that, since the split, you were still struggling with your mental health, with anxiety. You had been seeing someone about it, you know, back in England before we came out here, and your relationship with Leigh was increasingly strained. And he was sosincere, Casp. He said he would do whatever he could to make filming easier for you, give Leigh a heavier burden, put you in the background more, you know. And it was only after, when… when I walked away…”

A crushing pain started deep in my chest, like I couldn’t breathe. I was 90 percent sure I was having an actual heart attack. Emma didn’t need to say the rest. “He was still filming, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, he was. And it’s out there. He’s put a clip of it on the show’s Twitter feed, of me saying you and Leigh are under strain, that you’re not coping. He spliced some stuff together—he put words into my mouth. He’s hinting you’re having some sort of breakdown, Casp. And I’m so, so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

Good news oozed across the internet like warm syrup. Bad news exploded like an atomic bomb. I didn’t need to see the tweet; I could imagine it in my head. Multiplied and extrapolated by an informal alliance of the press, bloggers, bigots, homophobes, and all the other heartless fucking keyboard warriors getting sick kicks out of spreading someone’s private misery across every corner of the globe. United infurnishing the details for lurid headlines, libellous retweets, and more angry, hateful followers.

“He said you cut yourself, Casp. He said that you always wear long sleeves because your arms are covered in scars. He has photos of them, apparently.”

I needed to run, but my feet were locked in place. Opposite me, Emma started crying. Somewhere in my head a voice told me I should comfort her, reassure her it wasn’t her fault. And I would, if my windpipe hadn’t closed over. My vision clouded, blackness seeped in from the edges. I felt myself swaying. Was this it? Was this the end for me? I clutched at my throat, trying to pull a breath in. It couldn’t be. I had a date. I was going on a date with a man in red sequinned waders. A man who knew the average weight of Russian salmon and the exact circumference of his penis. And he was good and kind and… and cared.

“It’s okay, Emma,” I gasped. Every bit of me shook, I barely got the words out. “I do cut myself. I’m a pissing bloody mess. But Jonas can get to fuck.”

When my legs, lungs, and brain finally remembered their primary roles, I found Leigh and Jonas wolfing down a pile of croissants in the shade of an awning. Lounging in matching stripey deck chairs as though life couldn’t possibly get any better.

“You are an absolute fucking piece of shit, Jonas,” I began. I turned to Leigh. “For Christ's sake, tell me you didn’t know about this.”

“Um…” Under his tan, Leigh’s skin darkened. “You can’t deny it's good publicity for the show, Casp. To stir up some interest. The post’s been retweeted thousands of times already.”

“What, you think it’s okay to use Emma to spread my personal life across the internet? And you let him talk you into agreeing to this?”

Himbeing the smug turd on Leigh’s right with a flake of pastry stuck to his chin. My fists clenched with the urge to punch it off.

“Well, no, not exactly. But Jonas has a point. We need something to spice up the vines and the bird stuff. It’s going to resemble an exceptionally dull season ofCountryfileif we’re not careful. And, babes, you are not as pretty as their front guy.”

“Emma says you’ve made me sound like a fucking headcase!”

“I think you’ll find she did most of the talking, not me," Jonas corrected. "And if the hat fits… You should choose your friends more carefully, mate. Never know when they’re going to suddenly turn on you.”

“I think we can include ex-husbands in that little piece of advice, too, don’t you, Leigh? And Emma hasn’tturnedon me. You tricked her!”

Stretching his legs out, Jonas rubbed his nose and sniffed. His eyes shone bright—too bright. How the fuck had he got his mitts on a baggie of coke in this backwater? “Come on, Caspy, you’ve been at this game long enough by now to know news is a never-ending cycle. Just chill. All I’ve done is ensure our programme stays on people’s radar with a bit of juicy gossip. There will be another story along soon, and some other poor person will be hounded.”

Caught in the barrel of the wave, that was no comfort whatsoever. I had a dreadful feeling I was about to vomit and clapped a hand over my mouth.

“It was only a matter of time, anyhow,” said Leigh in a fucking annoying, patronising tone. If he told me to calm down, I might hit him. “The papers will find out about our split sooner or later.” He tilted his head towards his boyfriend. “Jonas just, you know, hurried things up. We’re going to drip-feed it.”

“I don’t want you to! It was my fucking marriage too, you know! And this ismyfucking career!”

Jonas tutted, shaking his head. “Getting yourself overwrought isn’t good for you, Caspy. We all know how that ends.” Leaning across, he faux-whispered in Leigh’s ear. “No razor blades lying around, are there, hon?”

My stomach roiled. In the dim recesses of my mind, disconnected threads from the very beginning of this bloody project knit together. The bastard had been planting the seeds from day one. How many other members of the crew hadaccidentallynot received NDAs? Was Emma just the beginning? And then there was my tiff with Leigh when I had a stinking cold and a black eye. He’d filmed that too. When was that going to appear?

“You’ve done this because of the breakfast telly thing, haven’t you?”

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