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coughing attack, the attack that saw grown adults too
excited about their weekend wine adventure to even offer me the Heimlich
Manoeuvre. I mean, seriously, Dad, you’re a bloody doctor!
    “Um, maybe you
should ask Stan if—”
    “Oh, he’ll be all
right,” Glen said, cutting me off. “He has nothing better to do anyway.”
    “Wow, so this is
really happening?” my mum all but squealed like a teenager.
    “Yes. It. Is,”
Paula said, holding up her wine glass. “Here’s to a great weekend, with great
company,” she exclaimed.
    Each clink, each
unified toast was like a nail in Stan’s coffin, a coffin that housed all his
plans, all his dreams of a weekend escape.
    What had I done?
What could I do? Maybe I could quickly—
    “Ah, young Stan.”
    It was too late. I
turned to see Stan step sheepishly into the main room. His eyes flicked briefly
to me and then to my dad who had made a beeline for him, shaking his hand.
    “Good to see you
again, Stan.”
    “Yeah, good to
have you back, Doc.” Stan nodded.
    Mum placed her
wine on the coffee table and hooked her elbow over the lounge. “Stan, I think
it’s safe to say that you are our favourite person in the world right now.”
    I closed my eyes
briefly, dread twisting in the pit of my stomach.
    Stan stepped in
the room, intrigue lining his face. “I am?”
    “Well now, Lisa,
we can’t forget Bel’s part in this,” Stan’s dad said, saluting with his drink.
    Oh God.
    Stan’s confusion
deepened as his gaze flicked from me then around the room.
    Stan’s mum moved
to wrap her arm around my shoulder, squeezing me, or more like imprisoning me
as she delivered what would be the final low-bearing punch.
    “Bel suggested the
four of us should get away for the weekend up to the wine country, sample some
of God’s creations. Isn’t that a great idea?”
    Stan stilled; the
only thing that moved were his eyes that landed squarely on me. They burned
into me like laser beams, the intensity of his gaze made me want to shrink
away.
    “This weekend?” Stan
bit out.
    “Yeah, you’ll be
right to hold the fort for a few days.” Stan’s dad collected Mum’s empty wine
glass; his words were a non-negotiable throwaway sentence. I could feel my
heart sink, and saw the same resignation on Stan’s face, as he warred between
saying what he truly felt and forcing himself not to make a scene in front of
us.
    “Yeah, sure,” he
said lowly, a weak smile lining his face as he looked at my mum, who squealed
with tipsy delight.
    “Oh, I can’t wait!”
    “Wait for what?”
Alex lifted his sleepy head off the couch, his eyes squinting, his hair in
disarray.
    “Never you mind,
go back to sleep.” Mum rubbed his hair gently, which seemed to instantly settle
him. I wish something so simple would settle me. I felt sick.
    I had walked a
defiant line in from the hall, angry with Stan, wanting to somehow go back and
yell and scream at him. He’d said the last thing I’d expected from him—a snide
remark about my wealth; I thought he was better than that.
    And in a flash of
insanity, I came up with a plan that was far better than anything I could have
ever said to him. As I recalled his eagerness to get away for the weekend, how
he had come here to ‘beg’ for the weekend off, I thought of the best possible
plan - sabotage.
    In one seemingly
innocent moment, a light-hearted suggestion to four tipsy adults seemed like a
great idea, until I saw the cogs turning in their heads as soon as I had
mentioned it. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him now; instead, my eyes were
focused on my fingernails, studying the half-moon tips with great interest.
    Excitement was
paramount as plans were laid down for the weekend to come; the only two silent
people were Stan and I. It was like an invisible string linked between us, an
invisible line of misery. A string that drew taut when Stan stood. My eyes
snapped up, ever aware of every movement he made.
    “Well, I better
call it a night,”