Chapter 17 Reubyn #2
George is still going on – no one else is getting a word in right now – and he’s hamming up his accent, even posher than normal, if that’s possible: the full James Bond act to impress the American.
He has one hand planted on the table and he’s leaning in, talking directly to Jessie.
‘There’s really nothing more awe-inspiring than looking into the universe, is there?
’ he says. ‘What was it Oscar Wilde said? We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars. How very true.’ Jessie opens her mouth to reply but George has started again before she has a chance.
‘The school we went to,’ he says, ‘is one of the only schools in the world to have its own observatory and planetarium. Those who studied physics in the sixth form, like I did, got to have lessons in there. It was an incredible way to visualise our place in the universe, to see the celestial movement, to—’
‘To fall asleep,’ Reubyn says.
George’s mouth falls open at the interruption. ‘What?’
Reubyn’s fingers spider furiously in his pockets. ‘He was so fascinated by astronomy, he used to fall asleep every time we went in the planetarium.’
The girls burst out laughing, and Reubyn feels a hot rush of adrenaline course through him. George looks stunned for a moment, then grins. ‘To be fair, it was really dark in there. And it had these lovely, comfy leather seats. It was quite romantic, actually.’
‘Not romantic enough for him to stay awake,’ Reubyn says. George’s mouth is agape again. Reubyn feels his tongue turning dry, but carries on: ‘You could tell when he’d slept through the whole thing because when the lights came up, he’d have a little bit of drool’ – tapping his chin – ‘just there.’
More laughter. Reubyn’s hand visibly trembles, and he whips it back into his pocket. He’s forced himself into the conversation, but it’s come at a cost – he’s gone so faint he might pass out.
George’s head is tilted at him in disbelief. ‘On the subject of education’ – George speaks slowly, coiling an arm roughly around Reubyn, squeezing his shoulder so that his fingernails dig into his flesh – ‘this noted scholar here dropped out to spend more time on his YouTube channel.’
The girls look at Reubyn, and blood flares in his cheeks. He knows he shouldn’t go into battle against George – he’ll always find a way to humiliate him.
‘What kind of channel is it?’ Faith asks.
Everyone stares at Reubyn now. He hates this bit, having to summarise what he does in one line. Shout your value. ‘It’s entertainment. Adventure-type stuff. I’m still kind of figuring it out.’
‘He’s got thirty thousand subscribers,’ Polly says.
‘Wow.’
Be confident. ‘Thirty-four thousand, to be precise.’
‘You’re famous.’
‘Not quite,’ Reubyn says.
George loosens his grip on Reubyn’s shoulders.
This isn’t playing out how either of them expected.
‘He’s what’s known as a micro influencer,’ George says.
‘It’s a bit of a stretch to say he’s famous.
’ George digs into the ice bucket for the bottle in the centre of the table and examines the label. ‘Another of these? My round.’
Now Reubyn remembers. Demonstrate generosity. That’s the fourth rule. How could he forget?
George beckons them inside. ‘Come on, boys, I’ve got a treat for you at the bar.’
Reubyn turns to follow them, then feels a hand on his forearm. It’s Faith, the Australian.
‘Hey, Reubyn.’ His name – she remembered it. ‘The channel sounds awesome.’
His stomach tenses. He’s winded by the compliment, by the dazzling glare of her smile as she stares up at him. They’ve all been so drawn in by the solar gravity of the blonde that they’ve barely noticed her – but she’s just as beautiful; more so, even. ‘Thanks,’ he says.
‘I’d love to know how you got it off the ground.’ She speaks in a low voice, and it has a slight coarseness – as fine as gravel gets before it melts into sand. ‘Can you tell me how you did it? I wish I could do something like that.’
Reubyn opens his mouth but for a moment he’s speechless.
Her gaze is intense, and it strips everything else away – all sight and sound; the house lights have gone down, and they’re silhouetted in a spotlight, all alone.
Did she . . . did she just flutter her eyelashes?
Women don’t actually do that in real life, do they?
Just in period dramas and rom-coms. ‘Of course,’ he says, eventually.
‘I’ll’ – he points to the bar – ‘I’ll be right back. ’
He walks away, weightless, towards the bar entrance, where George is waiting for him at the door.
Reubyn looks back over his shoulder to check she’s still there, to check she’s real.
His heart is trying to beat its way out of his chest. That was surreal, dreamlike.
Maybe he really can do this. Maybe he’s not a complete loser.
Dr Sheridan is right: it is possible; he just needs to project the right image, say the right things. This is life-changing.
George stops him at the door. His face has gone stiff, the way it does when he’s pissed off, or about to do some damage to something. ‘What are you grinning about?’
‘Nothing.’
‘What the hell are you playing at?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Drooling in the planetarium? What the hell was that about?’
Reubyn shrugs.
George leans in, so Reubyn can feel his breath. ‘I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve, mate,’ George says, ‘but if you try something like that again, you’ll be the one drooling – on a ventilator.’