Page 58 of Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

‘Outside drowning in his own vomit,’ Gwen muttered. Oh. Not sleeping, then. ‘I’d give him a wide berth if I were you, Agnes.’

‘Right,’ said Agnes. She was holding a tray with a pot of tea on it, and put it down on the side table. ‘I’ll just – er – I’ll leave you to it.’ She closed the door again.

‘She thinks we’re passed out after an evening of rapturous lovemaking,’ Arthur said, letting his head fall gently back on to the rug.

‘I like to think that either she’s not that stupid or she knows thatI’mnot that stupid,’ said Gwen, sitting up and pushing the blanket off her legs. ‘How’s your arm?’

‘What’s wrong with my …’ Arthur trailed off as he saw the makeshift bandage. ‘Oh.’

‘Oh is right,’ Gwen said, rolling her eyes. ‘You must have caught it on something during your climb.’

‘Yes,’ said Arthur. ‘Or perhaps during my daring getaway.’

‘Your what?’

‘Try not to think about it,’ Arthur said, turning over on to his side with a groan. ‘You’ll sleep better that way.’ It had actually been more of a pathetic getaway than a daring one – the innkeeper had threatened to have him arrested forloitering, of all things, but he probably wasn’tactuallygoing to call the guards – so all that running and falling over things had likely been just for fun. ‘You don’t have anything to drink?’

‘Arthur, you are not in need of anymoreto drink.’

‘Oh, come on. It’s hair of the dog.’

‘It’s not hair of the bloody dog if you’re still drunk, it’s – I don’t know,dogof the dog,’ Gwen said crossly. ‘You can have some tea.’

Ignoring his protestations, she got up to fetch him some. Arthur used the time to sit up gingerly, assessing his critical faculties, and when it seemed safe to do so scooted slowly across the floor until his back was against the base of the large dresser. Gwen sat down next to him, handing him a cup.

‘Cheers,’ Arthur said despondently. ‘To a long and happy life together.’

‘Don’t say that,’ Gwen said, wincing and taking a sip of her own tea. ‘I’m already depressed enough as it is.’

Arthur tried the tea and found it surprisingly fortifying.

Gwen put her cup down on the floor between them. ‘It’s not healthy, you know. Drinking that much wine.’

‘Really? I had no idea.’

‘There’s no need to take that tone, Arthur, I’m just saying—’

‘Fine, yes, yes, I know. Forgive me for wanting to have a little fun before my life is over.’

Gwen shrugged. ‘It doesn’t really seem like you’re having fun.’

Thiswas far too astute; it was true that Arthur had been partaking in more drinking than usual since his return to Camelot, and equally true that it didn’t really seem to help matters. He had only agreed to split a bottle with Sidney tonight because he was feeling maudlin about the crush on Gabriel he was now carefully cultivating, and things had gone steeply downhill from there.

‘Areyouhaving fun?’ Arthur said. He was clutching his tea like a lifeline, even though it was scalding his fingers.

Gwen looked very tired all of a sudden. ‘Listen,’ she said, tilting her head back so that her hair tumbled over her shoulder, and fixing him with a very pointed look. ‘Our agreement still stands, yes? We keep each other’s secrets.’

‘I suppose so,’ Arthur said, feeling a very faint tug of guilt; hehadkept Gwen’s meagre secrets, but he’d also been adding to his own collection with no intention of telling her any of them.

‘Your certainty is comforting.’ Gwen picked up her cupof tea, and then, rather confusingly, put it down again without having taken a sip. ‘I told Gabriel. I told him how I feel about Bridget. And he – well, he all but told me I was a horrific abomination, and fled. He’s not spoken to me since.’

‘Ah,’ Arthur said. ‘Did he now.’

‘Thanks for the moral support,’ Gwen said bitterly. ‘I’d have thought that you of all people might understand.’

‘Well,’ Arthur said slowly. ‘People aren’t always ready to know things when, er … when we need them to be known.’

‘Very philosophical,’ Gwen said. ‘But he’s mybrother. He’s the best friend I’ve ever had – theonlyfriend I’ve ever had – and I thought that even if it’s not what he’d choose for himself, he’d want me to be happy.’