Chapter 22 #2
Not really, I thought. I shrugged, still feeling self-conscious. “Not everything has to be about the bees.”
Something flickered across her face – surprise, maybe, or something more … hopeful? But before I could analyse it further, Willow chose that moment to shake herself vigorously, spraying us both with remnants of stream water from her impromptu wade earlier.
“Jesus, Willow,” I laughed, stepping back, making sure no mud had gotten on Chloe’s white T-shirt. She seemed both unscathed and unbothered. “I should get her inside and washed off. She’s had a big morning.”
Chloe nodded and held the flowers back out to me. “Will you take these inside for me?” she asked, and I took them back sheepishly. “I’ll take them home,” she clarified, “I just don’t want to crush them or drop them. I’d never find them out here.”
“Sure,” I said. “See you in a bit.” Then I set off back toward the house with a wave.
I could feel her watching as I headed in, Willow trotting beside me. I did stop to hose her off, then wrapped her in the little doggie robe Jen had bought for her a couple of years ago. It was a bit silly, a farm dog in a robe, but I had to admit it was convenient.
Inside, I went straight to the kitchen to put the tulips in water.
There was a cute little milk jug Jen had thrifted a few years ago, and I decided to sacrifice it to Chloe, tying a bit of twine around its middle before arranging the tulips just so within it.
Then I headed for my laptop in the studio and opened the spreadsheet where I did my garden planning.
Apparently, I had some tulip bulbs to pre-order.
* * *
By the end of the week, the heat had become completely unbearable.
Every time I moved even an inch outside, a new sweat patch appeared on my back, soaking my T-shirt.
I tried my best to keep to my to-do list, but even the bees seemed to be hiding from the heat.
I’d locked Willow inside where it was cooler, much to her chagrin.
Chloe had basically taken up residence in the mead cellar, a tiny, temperature-controlled room at the back of the warehouse, sat on the floor with her laptop on her crossed legs. I joined her, not for the first time in the day, slumping against the door as it shut behind me.
“I can’t do this,” I said. “I keep trying, but it’s just too hot.”
“Tell me about it,” Chloe said. “The fluorescent lights in here are killing me, but even the warehouse is too warm. I can’t focus.”
“Maybe we should just admit defeat.” I lifted the hem of my T-shirt to wipe my brow. I didn’t miss how Chloe’s gaze flickered to my stomach where the cool air hit it before looking back at her laptop.
She clearly didn’t need much convincing, though, because a moment later, she slammed it shut.
“Okay, hear me out,” she said. “I’ll skive off the rest of the day if you do.”
“Deal,” I said, sighing with relief that I wouldn’t have to labour outside anymore. Not until tomorrow, anyway. “You know, the only thing I miss about the States most days is the air conditioning.”
Chloe’s jaw dropped open, her eyes going wide. My own mouth pulled back in a guilty wince.
“I know,” I said. “It’s bad to say. But with everything with my dad—”
“No, shut up,” Chloe said, and I snapped my mouth shut, frowning.
“Sorry,” I said as she straightened her legs and stood.
“No, no, you said ‘air conditioning’,” she said, reaching a hand down for me to grab. I took it, letting myself be pulled upright.
“I did … why?”
“Because,” she said, grinning from ear to ear. “Fatima has air con.”
* * *
It seemed we weren’t the only people seeking refuge at Fatima’s now that her school had let out for the summer.
When Chloe texted her to let her know we were coming, she told us Amy and Phil were already there, having brought Phil’s grandmother Ethel over so she didn’t get too warm.
By the time we arrived, Jack and Morgan were there, too, each having left work early.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” Ethel said as she shook my hand. She was small and quite frail, enough so that her standing to greet me seemed like a bad idea, so I was surprised when she gripped my hand with the strength of a champion weightlifter.
“You, too,” I said, smiling, then stepped back as Phil helped her settle back into the armchair she’d been occupying.
Chloe bent down to kiss her on the cheek, and was I seeing things, or did Ethel look up at me as she whispered something in Chloe’s ear?
Whatever it was seemed to have scandalised Chloe, who gave Ethel a gentle swat on the arm.
Everyone was sat around the lounge, chairs pulled in from the dining room to fit everyone.
Jack and Morgan sat on these, Chloe wiggled in between Phil and Amy on the sofa, and Fatima sat at the other end.
The chair next to her was open for me, and I sank in gratefully.
Knowingly or not, every one of us oriented ourselves toward the air conditioning unit on the wall beside the patio door.
We were only a week out from the fantasy festival, and the conversation fully revolved around that.
Fatima leaned over to talk me through the accommodation arrangements; I’d been hesitant to stay with the others, especially given the tightness I felt in my chest every time Chloe stayed the night at the farm, but it was better knowing I’d be sharing a twin room with Fatima rather than being forced into some only-one-bed nonsense with Chloe.
Plus, the house was just a short walk from the festival entrance versus the half hour’s drive I would have had to make each morning and evening from the closest hotel I could afford.
I’d had to book Gwenynen’s spot at the festival nearly a year in advance, and the competition had been fierce, so by the time I knew for sure we’d been selected, all the nearby accommodation was spoken for.
Morgan asked a question about a group costume, but Chloe shushed her as if it were some big secret.
“What?” I asked. “Am I not allowed to know what you’re wearing?”
She shrugged. “Isn’t it more fun to be surprised?”
There was a pinch in my gut at the realisation that they were all dressing up together and I wasn’t included, but that wasn’t fair; I wouldn’t even be at the festival with them, really.
I’d be at the stall selling mead, as would Chloe.
Except for the Friday night, that was, when we’d be let in to set up, but our area wouldn’t be open to attendees yet.
“Okay, well, what about Pirate Night on the Friday?” Morgan asked, as if reading my mind. “Do we all have costumes for that?”
“I’m sure I can pull something wenchy together,” Chloe said, shimmying and pushing her boobs up suggestively. I very intentionally did not look too closely.
“I bet you can,” Fatima said, then turned to me. “What about you? Do you have a pirate outfit?”
I shook my head. “Just my normal faire outfit.” Though, in all honesty, I was already worried about wearing that all three days if this heat wave continued. “Can’t I just wear normal clothes?”
“I mean, you can,” Amy said, “but dressing up is half the fun. Trust me. As someone who was new to all of this last year, it really does feel more fun if you participate.”
“I can make you something, if you’d like,” Phil said, and every other person in the room, Ethel included, whipped their heads to look at him.
“Excuse me?!” Amy barked, indignant.
“Yeah, not fair!” Chloe said. “For them, anyway.”
Fatima saw the confusion on my face and leaned over to explain. “Phil used to make all our costumes, but he’s been making us fend for ourselves lately. Something about not taking advantage of him?”
“Exactly,” Phil said to her. “I’ve made so many outfits for each of you at this point that I could costume a full production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. But I’ve never made anything for Teddy before.”
“That’s okay,” I said, holding my hands up to fend off the others’ ire. I also wasn’t sure it was worth it; I wouldn’t exactly be around for any more events, would I? In two months, I’d be gone. “I don’t wanna get in the middle of anything.”
“Don’t listen to them,” Phil said. “I’m done with everything else, so I can help you pull something together this week. Nothing elaborate, but something more than just normal clothes.”
“You really should let him,” Jack said, leaning over to me. “He’s really good.”
I looked around at all the others, making sure they weren’t actually annoyed, but they seemed to be over it already. Chloe, as usual, was as quick to lose interest as she was to get riled up; she was already scrolling on her phone.
“Okay, sure,” I said with a shrug. “Thanks, Phil.”
Then he sprang up from the sofa and clapped his hands together. “Okay, I’ll need to get your measurements, then. Fatima, do you have a tape measure?”
Fatima shook her head, so Phil looked over at Jack.
“I know you’ve got a builder’s one in that car of yours. Go and get it, please.”
As Jack obediently trod outside, despite the heat, Phil knelt in front of Ethel and started talking to her about something that sounded like “jacquard”. I figured he’d let me know what he needed from me, so I turned back to Fatima.
“How does it feel to officially be on summer holidays?”
She smiled in relief. “So good. I’ve done sweet fuck all this week, and it’s been marvellous.”
I laughed. “Good for you. But I guess no hot teacher for a while?”
As if that had been her sleeper agent trigger word, Chloe’s attention snapped up to us. “Hot teacher?”
Fatima narrowed her eyes at me. “Screw you.”
I tried to nod solemnly, but I had to bite back a smile. “Sure, sure.”
“Excuse me,” Chloe said, scooting over into Phil’s abandoned spot and turning to Fatima. Amy followed after her, the two of them looking like Willow when she heard someone open a packet of cheese in the kitchen. “Hot teacher details. Now.”
“Yes, please,” Morgan said, dragging her chair closer in.
Fatima rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said, “but you’re not allowed to bother me about it.”
“Of course,” Amy said, but she was laughing as she said it, and Morgan and Chloe both nodded with faux-serious looks on their faces.
Fatima groaned and pulled out her phone.
She pulled up a picture of a guy around my age in what looked like a soccer jersey – no, football polo, I corrected myself.
I’d never had any appreciation for men, but even I could tell he was good looking.
“Wait a minute,” Amy said, grabbing the phone from her hand. “This is the guy you tried to set me up with last year!”
Phil’s head poked up from his huddle with Ethel. “What’s that now?”
Amy waved him off without looking away from the phone, zooming in on the photo. “It’s fine,” she said. “Fatima’s shagging him now.”
“Am not,” Fatima said, snatching the phone back.
“Not yet,” I said, and the others nodded in understanding.
“There’s just a flirty vibe.”
“Uh, and he asked you out repeatedly,” I added, apparently unhelpfully, based on the daggers in Fatima’s glare.
“I hate you,” she muttered to me again, and I laughed this time.
“Sorry,” I said, just as the sound of the front door opening filtered in from the hallway. Phil stood and came over to me, nodding for me to follow him. Fatima came, too.
“I don’t want to deal with this right now,” she said. “I’m making iced coffee. Who wants one?”
The others all put their hands up, even Ethel, and Fatima led Phil and me into the front hall, where Jack stood talking to a man I’d not seen before, dark-haired with bushy eyebrows and light, sparkling eyes.
“Look who I found outside,” Jack said, pointing to the man.
“Hey, glad you found it,” Phil said. “Ethel’s just in the other room.”
“Great,” the man said. “But maybe we can give it a bit longer? It’s really warm out there, and the air con in the van isn’t really cutting it at the moment.”
“Sure,” Phil said. “That okay, Fatima?”
We all turned to look at Fatima, who looked … strangely rattled. As the man stuck out his hand to shake hers, she eyed him warily.
“I’m Anil,” he said. “I’ve heard loads about you. Good to finally meet you.”
“Oh, yeah, you, too,” Fatima said, but not in a friendly way. She sounded almost sarcastic.
Looking at the way Jack and Phil exchanged glances, they were picking up on a weird vibe, too.
“Well, here’s the tape measure,” Jack said, handing it over to Phil.
“Thanks. He pocketed it. “Fatima, do you have any twine or string?”
But Fatima didn’t answer – in fact, she was still shaking Anil’s hand, though now her eyes were narrowed in what looked like suspicion. He was returning the gesture.
“Fatima,” Phil repeated, a bit louder this time. “String?”
Fatima practically jumped out of her skin, retracting her hand as if she’d been stung. “Of course,” she said, then rushed past us, bumping into me, and disappeared into the kitchen. When I turned back around, Anil had dipped into the living room.
I made a mental note to press Fatima on that weird encounter later. But for now, I was being led upstairs by a man.
Gross.