Chapter 17 Reubyn
Reubyn
Reubyn gets a rush of satisfaction from seeing the look of astonishment on Elis’s face.
He was hoping for this kind of enthusiasm, and seeing his expression go from surprise to elation – like a toddler being given a new toy – he can almost forgive him for that bloody cable car.
Elis is right to be impressed, though. What he’s looking at is something a bit special.
And it’s also the result of months of research and negotiations.
When he first got wind of the New Zealand trip, Reubyn put feelers out with all sorts of tourism businesses and travel PR firms to see what he could blag in return for a brand partnership.
As normal, there was a range of responses: some polite nos, a few ghostings, a couple of rude rebuttals – mostly bemoaning bloody influencers – and a handful of offers, either of such low value that they weren’t worth his time, or so boring he couldn’t make any decent content from them.
But a couple of months ago, he got an email from a public-relations firm owned by the parents of an acquaintance from school.
He called in a favour and, unexpectedly, it paid off.
In return for a video review, to be shared across all his social channels, they were offering a vehicle for a week.
And not just any vehicle. The company who own it, a global enterprise called Waverley Travel, specialise in satisfying the whims of elite, wealthy tourists.
Their clients demand the best, even when it comes to hiring a camper van.
And, in this case, that appetite for luxury resulted in the most blinged-out motorhome imaginable and the biggest and most expensive vehicle of its kind in New Zealand.
He accepted the offer immediately. It was a no-brainer.
Not only would Miles love it, but it would make brilliant content for his own channel.
Ideas for video titles immediately came to mind: Inside the million-dollar motorhome; Touring Middle Earth in a mansion; How to go camping like a billionaire.
Now they can go anywhere they want, do anything.
It opens the door to a whole new spectrum of possibilities – including one that could be brilliant if it goes to plan.
‘When will you get it?’ Elis asks, handing him back the phone.
‘I should have the keys on Sunday.’
They start walking again, and Elis has more zip to his movements. ‘This is amazing,’ he says. ‘A proper road trip.’
‘Don’t say anything to the others just yet. I want to be the one to tell Miles.’
‘Sure,’ Elis says. It’s maybe thirty seconds before he speaks again. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Okay.’
‘Why do you let George talk to you like that?’
‘You mean in the cable car?’ Reubyn waves a dismissive hand. ‘He’s just mucking around. It’s totally fine, I’m used to it.’
‘Fair enough.’
But there’s a look of bewilderment on Elis’s face, and Reubyn can understand why.
It’s easy to see how the exchange between him and George in the cable car could’ve been construed as mean behaviour.
Bullying, even. But it wasn’t. Reubyn is certain about that; you don’t spend a decade at a boys’ school as someone like him – small and physically uncoordinated, with an allergy list and Ventolin inhaler – without finding out what real bullying is.
And he would have dwelled a lot longer in that circle of hell if it hadn’t been for George sticking up for him.
George has a sense of justice. He’s fiercely loyal to his friends.
Yes, he will tease and provoke, and he’s wary of outsiders. But he’s not a bully.
They turn the corner to find Miles on his phone and George slumped impatiently against a post. George straightens up as he sees them. ‘What’s taken you so long?’
Reubyn shares a knowing glance with Elis and neither answers.
Miles hangs up. ‘She’s at The Globe’ – he points – ‘it’s that way.’
They carry on, into town. Reubyn’s stomach has settled now, and, with the sun beating down, a cool drink is suddenly urgent.
They walk in silence, and Reubyn considers whether to tell Miles about the motorhome.
Until he told Elis, the only person who knew about it was Miles’s dad.
But better to wait until it arrives – for maximum impact – and then Reubyn can film his reaction and send the video to Miles’s parents.
There’s an outside chance that he won’t like the idea, which would be a disaster, but that seems extremely unlikely.
You’d have to be mad to turn down a trip in that thing.
After a few minutes’ walk, The Globe comes into view.
It’s vaguely in the style of a Western saloon, with a wooden facade and veranda.
There are a dozen or so tables outside in the full glare of the sun, and they’re all packed out, rumbling with the sound of intoxication.
Reubyn spots Polly immediately, his eye drawn to her bright slash of lipstick.
She’s unaware of them, her chin propped up on her knuckles as she talks to two other women at her table.
Even from fifty yards away, Reubyn can tell instantly that these strangers, with their bare shoulders and shiny hair, are the gorgeous, fun-loving type.
Who are they? What are they doing with Polly?
Reubyn’s only just recovered from the stress of the cable car and now he has to deal with this – it’s a nightmare.
‘Oh, hello,’ George says, pulling up as he spots them. ‘What do we have here?’
Miles adjusts his Wayfarers and squints in their direction. ‘I have no idea who those girls are.’
‘Well, you’re about to find out. Who’d have thought – your sister is a better wingman than you’ll ever be.’
George waves them across the street towards the bar.
Reubyn looks at Elis, who shrugs and follows the other two.
A thin knot of dread ties in Reubyn’s stomach.
Although he’s been gaining confidence when it comes to talking to women, he’ll never be in the same league as the others.
This is going to pan out the way it always does: his handsome, dashing friends will charm the pants off them, and he’ll be left sat there like a lemon.
You’re going to look like an idiot. He tries to slow his breathing.
No. Not this time. Just remember everything you’ve learned. You’ve got this. You can do it.
They follow George, who sashays through the tables to greet the women.
Reubyn slowly brings up the rear, and Polly has already started the introductions by the time he reaches the table.
She points left, to a woman with her hair in long, neat braids.
‘Faith is from Australia.’ She then gestures to the opposite side of the table, where sits an intimidatingly beautiful blonde in a wide-brimmed hat and oversized sunglasses.
‘And Jessie is from West Virginia. She’s a cosmologist and—’
‘A cosmologist?’ George juts his lower lip as he shakes her hand. ‘Blimey, I’d never have guessed.’
‘Why is that such a surprise?’
Polly gives him a tight smile. ‘Yes, I’m interested to know that, too, George. Why so shocked?’
Jessie has her eyebrows raised with a smirk.
‘Well, she obviously forgot to bring her telescope.’
Jessie laughs. ‘Good save.’
‘You know, Jessie, we should talk’ – George raises one eyebrow – ‘I know a thing or two about the Big Bang Theory, myself.’
Everyone laughs – Jessie surprisingly loud – and Reubyn feels himself slipping to the fringe of this conversation already, ready to drift away into invisibility.
Why are they laughing? I know a thing or two about the Big Bang Theory – what does that even mean?
Reubyn once watched a podcast interview with the psychologist and relationship expert Dr Jane Sheridan, and one of the things she said was: if you know someone who’s good at talking to the opposite sex, watch them and see what they do.
But what the hell can he learn from this?
What can be gained from observing George?
This time, he has been called out for his unconscious bias and still managed to come up smelling of roses thanks to a couple of lame jokes.
I know a thing or two about the Big Bang Theory – imagine if Reubyn had said that.
They would have been disgusted. The difference is: George is tall and carries himself with a straight-spined authority that suggests what’s coming out of his mouth must have some merit.
Reubyn doesn’t have that natural charm. It’s not that he’s devoid of confidence; he’d back himself to succeed in most situations.
But the one thing they don’t teach you at school is how to behave around girls.
So how did his friends gain this effortless ability?
How are you supposed to learn, when you’ve spent your whole young life at a boys’ school, where girls are exotic, far-off creatures?
He’s trying to remember everything he’s picked up from Dr Sheridan: her ten rules for success with women.
Shoulders back; If you’re not confident, fake it; Shout your value.
What is the fourth rule? He can’t remember.