‘Excuse me just one moment,’ she said, and made her way towards the kitchen, figuring the first-aid kit would have Advil. Zzz-bkkk. Karolina. She thought for a second then changed course, which took her within sight of the dance floor.

‘Porter! Hey, Porter!’

Alice beckoned. People were watching. Bette went over, smiling. Tina kept dancing (somewhat) as she joined them.

‘Hi,’ said Bette. ‘I was actu—’

Alice let out a squeal. Shane had cued up ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’ by Frankie Valli. 

‘This is your song!’ she yelled at Tina and Bette, then tapped a stranger on the shoulder. ‘They danced to this at their wedding. They do a whole routine, it’s incredible!’

Bette laughed. ‘That was a long time ago!’

‘I’ve completely forgotten it!’ said Tina.

But Alice wasn’t listening. She pushed them together and skipped off to spread even more joy. Bette was aware several people were still looking.

‘Shall we?’ 

She held out her left hand and Tina gave her right into it. Bette’s other hand went round her wife’s waist. She was warm to the touch. Bette moved her fingers slightly, a purely instinctive caress; Tina felt it and looked up, then away again.

‘We’re not doing the routine!’ Bette said to the people watching. 

‘Can’t remember it!’ added Tina. ‘You know how it is!’

The song continued, it’s familiar rhythm and sentiment like tiny daggers . . .

Pardon the way that I stare

There’s nothing else to compare

The thought of you leaves me weak . . .

Tina’s eyes stayed averted, but Bette’s . . . Bette’s did not. Her gaze roamed over the woman in her arms. Over her arched brows, the familiar curve of her cheek, the downward sweep of her lashes. The dress was close-fitting, Tina’s breasts slightly bulging against the low neckline. Bette inclined her head, almost close enough to whisper to her, if she could have but thought of what to say. Their dancing feet stilled. Tina looked up.

‘Can we go somewhere?’ 

‘I don’t want to fight.’

They searched each other’s face as the song flared into its triumphant declaration.

I love you, baby . . .

‘I think we might need to,’ Tina said softly.

***

As the ancient landscape of the vineyard was swallowed into night, the hydroponicum stood tall as a glowing temple to pristine technology. The microgreens were bathed in a white daylight spectrum, but down the sides overhead sensors register the fading sun and fire a blue-purple glare for the nightshades. It looked, to the untrained eye, robotic and clinical. But the air inside was bursting with life, the peppery scent of earthy arugula and the sharp citrus of ripening chilli pods.