I could hardly believe it. After six years of abject desperation as I wrestled with the terrified desire to declare myself, six years of near-misses and innuendo, of falling asleep and waking up with her name on my lips, of dreaming and fantasising and longing; after *all* that, I was finally presented with the perfect opportunity to be honest with her ... and I turned it down.

Not only that. I told her an out and out lie.

I'm not a good liar. Sometimes a deviation from my personal code of ethics will cause my nose to bleed, so severely can I react to the principle of deception. Fortunately, I avoided such an occurence on this occasion, but I suspect that this was only because I knew, inside, that lying was exactly the *right* thing to do.

Still, I could hardly believe it when my mouth said the words.

My reasoning must be obvious, even to those not schooled and skilled in the intricacies and mysteries of the human psyche. See - first of all, I had the skinny from Maggie; Daphne did not share my feelings. It's hard, to go ahead and declare yourself to the woman to whom you'd offer the world on a silver platter, when you know for a fact that she will send the platter straight back to the kitchens without so much as an experimental nibble. I wasn't brave enough to put myself through the, 'Niles, I care about you as a friend, but ...' speech.

Neither brave enough, nor so gullible, any more.

And secondly; well, I'd been given irrefutable proof that the discovery of my love for her had sent Daphne into such a maelstrom of panic, that she had needed an hour to herself, before she could so much as face me again. Not the actions most conducive to winning my honesty.

All things considered, I think I did a pretty good job of persuading her that it was all a ludicrous mistake. By the time Maggie returned from her expedition to the front of the stage, face flushed with excitement and T-shirt splotchy with the damp over-exuberance of the masses, Daphne and I were chatting congenially again. Maggie threw herself down on the blanket, thankfully downwind from me, and observed us for a moment or two before breaking into a grin.

"Well, I'm glad we've sorted that out!" she said happily.

"What?" Daphne and I chorused, then we looked at each other and snorted with laughter. Have I mentioned that during my younger years, I entertained thoughts of becoming an actor?

"Whatever it was," dismissed Maggie, with a wave of her hand. "Did you see Michael, Daph?"

And so the afternoon progressed.

I figured that'd be an end to it. I was in love, and my love was neither reciprocated, nor welcome. The hard, cold, aching spot in my chest was shrouded carefully behind light-hearted banter. I'd have time enough to indulge the pain when we returned to Seattle - something I wanted to do so badly at that point, I could have marched straight back to the Winnebago, pointed it homewards and put my foot down. I would have done so, were it not for the pretence I had to maintain.

I wanted my brother.

Along with that thought, came the awareness that the day was a Saturday and Frasier would not be working, and that I had in my possession a cellular telephone. Suddenly, the need to share this plight of mine was all-consuming. I excused myself from the blanket and headed off to find a private spot from which I could make the call.

Alas, finding a private spot in a festival field is not an easy task. As soon as I spied a patch of emptier ground, I made my way over to it, only to find an extremely valid reason for its abandonment, that reason usually involving sanitation, or the absence of, if you follow my drift.

In the end, I passed through the ticket check again and wandered back to the Winnebago. Once inside its confines, I sat and dialled Frasier's home number.

Answer machine.

Trying again, I hit the speed dial for his cellphone. Waiting for a reply tremulously, the aching in my chest conjuring concerns of a heart attack, I perched on the bench seat and bit my lip.

"Hello?"

I'd never been more glad to hear my brother's radio-friendly smarm in my life.

"Frasier, thank god you're there, something -"

"Oh no!" my brother intervened, making me stop short and frown my puzzlement. It was as if he knew my pain without even hearing the details. The last time I checked, only Daphne had staked a claim to extra sensory perception.

"What?" I flustered.

"Well how bad is it?" Frasier asked.

"My life is over!" I explained, without any over-dramatisation.

"Oh, well that's something, I guess," Frasier bit back. I was becoming confused again. "Listen, I'm a little busy right -"

He stopped speaking, as though I had interrupted him, then there was a pause. I withdrew the phone from my ear and stared in bemusement at it. The number on the panel was Frasier's, the voice was Frasier's, so unless one of us had gone insane since Friday morning, I had no explanation.

I lifted the cellphone again and listened. Frasier was mid-sentence.

"... then, and I'll be there as soon as I can."

And the call was disconnected.

I flipped the phone closed and gazed at it, shoulders hunched. The pain was retreating now that I'd been distracted from Daphne, and I began to see what had happened.

I'd just served as an unsolicited escape call.

Three minutes later, my cellular rang.

"All right Frasier, who was she?" I sighed into it.

"An old schoolfriend of Roz's," my brother conceded, from the other end. "Dear god, I thought *Roz* liked cheese, but this was just -"

"Well never mind that now, did you hear what I said before or were you too preoccupied with fleeing the dairy?"

"Yes, yes, your life is over," replied Frasier irritably. "Let's have it."

I told him the condensed version of the story, or at least, I began to, before I was interrupted with an exasperated, "Stop!"

There was a pause. "What?" I finally demanded.

"Niles, you're not making any sense at all here. Can we do this more slowly?"

"I haven't got much time, we've already had one missing person's act today!"

"I take it all is not calm on the festive front?"

"It is not, and I don't know how much more of this I can take!"

Frasier sighed into the receiver. "Call it a shot in the dark, but does this have to do with Daphne?"

"Well of course it does!"

"Is she all right?" Concern had crept into Frasier's tone for the first time since we'd spoken.

"She's fine," I assured.

"And you?"

"I told you -"

"But apart from your life being over, are you okay?"

"That's not enough?"

"Calm down, Niles, and tell me slowly."

So I did.

"Niles," my brother finally offered. "Have you been offered any cigarettes which ... smell funny?"

"They're called spliffs, Frasier, and no. Well," I corrected, "none which I've accepted."

"What about a cake, or some ... tea?"

Where the hell did he think I was, a church picnic?! "Frasier!"

"All right, all right," he placated. "Let me get this straight. In rejecting the attentions of Daphne's boisterous young friend, you let your feelings for Daphne slip, which she overheard. She reacted badly to this. When she asked you about it, you wrote your feelings off as a smoke screen, denying their existence."

"Well, there's a little more to it than that!" I insisted.

"Niles, I'm sorry, truly, but what do you expect me to do?"

I drew breath but found I had no answer. The breath was exhaled slowly, and I knew Frasier had heard it on the other end of the line, when he sighed along with me.

"Nothing," I finally acknowledged. "I ... I just wanted to tell you."

"I see," said my brother. "Well Niles, you must have known that rejection, even second hand, as you described, was on the cards."

"Of course I did!" I agreed, in what sounded alarmingly like a whine. "I just didn't want to have to deal with it!"

Frasier huffed a laugh, and I was puzzled again. Prompted by my silence, he said, "Good one, Niles!" When I remained at a loss, he expanded, "On the cards ... deal with it ... oh never mind."

"Oh yes - that *was* rather effortless!" I agreed, considering my play on words.

"'Accidental' is more like it," he sneered. "Listen, will you make it through the weekend?"

"I'll have to, won't I?"

"We can talk about this properly when you get back tomorrow evening."

"Fine. I have to go, Frasier, or there'll be jazz musicians combing the field for me."

"Are you sure about the tea?" he added, dubiously.

"Oh shut up," I snapped, and terminated the call.

Then I managed a smile. I felt a bit better.