Rose's Vintage (6 page)

Driving through the pitch darkness to Eumeralla was eerie, even with Astrid in the passenger seat, and as they cruised down the main street, Rose was relieved to see fairy lights strung up along the eaves of the pub. Astrid had mentioned that quite a few of the local winemakers and winery workers made the place a regular Friday pitstop and, sure enough, despite the cold night, the place was jumping. They had to thread their way through the crowd towards the bar, which was two deep with people waiting to order a beer.

‘Hey, Astrid!' called a loud voice.

Rose turned and saw a guy with a freckled face and a mop of curly blond hair, wearing a flannel shirt, waving madly at them.

‘Thommo!' Astrid yelled back.

‘Hey, how ya goin'?' he said as he reached them. ‘Is this the new girl I've heard about?' he asked, looking Rose up and down as if she were a prize heifer.

Before she could stop herself, Rose sucked in her stomach. She might be heartsick, but she wasn't immune to cute boys, especially ones as friendly as this one seemed to be.

‘Ha! Nothing happens in this valley without someone noticing,' Astrid laughed. ‘Thommo, this is Rose. Rose, this is Thommo. Thommo is from Windsong Estate. Born and bred in the valley. A “man of the land”, so he tells me.' Astrid fluttered her eyelashes at him.

‘Pleased to meet you, Thommo,' Rose said formally.

‘Likewise. Now, let's give you a proper Shingle Valley welcome. What are you both drinking? My shout.'

Rose stuck to a light beer, as she'd offered to drive, but Astrid hoed into a double vodka and tonic enthusiastically, before disappearing amid the crowd in the pub.

Thommo took Rose over to where a knot of people were standing, propping up a narrow shelf that ran around the back of the room. She did a double-take: one of them was pretty much a carbon copy of Thommo.

He thrust his hand out. ‘G'day. Charlie. Thommo's older brother.'

‘Yeah, by five minutes,' said Thommo.

Charlie then introduced her to Deano, Mick and Angie, a trio who also all looked to be in their mid-twenties, and who worked at Lilybells, one of the valley's largest wineries. With them was Bob, a white-haired old man with a face like a dry riverbed, lines hewn into it from years of blistering sun and wind. Bob was the proprietor of Bob's Run, which, Charlie informed her, was a small winery just further along Shingle Road from Kalkari. Standing over by the far side of the bar was the dreadlocked barista from Sacred Grounds. Recognising him, Rose went to say hello.

As they talked, she surveyed the crowded pub, spotting two steel-haired old crones sitting at a small table by a crackling fire, one skinny as a rake, with long bony arms, and the other solid and sturdy, with thighs the size of hams straining at her flowered skirt. She asked Bevan, the barista, who they were.

‘The Trevelyn sisters,' he said. ‘Violet and Vera. Rumour has it they grow their grapes with a fair whack of witchcraft.' Rose blinked at him, not sure if she believed him. ‘Well, whether they do or not, they produce some of the best grapes in the valley. Everyone clamours to get hold of their fruit. They farm biodynamically, bury cowshit in horns by the light of the moon, brew up compost tea, all that sort of thing.'

‘You're kidding, right?'

Bevan was serious. ‘No, really, plenty of people swear by the practice.'

‘But they don't make their own wine?' she asked.

‘No, they're growers. Lotta vineyards around here like that. Sell their grapes to other producers, who blend them in with their own. Guess they don't want the hassle of making the actual stuff, or the headache of selling it.'

Rose was fascinated, and soaked up the conversations she heard swirling around her, even if she didn't understand half of what was being said. As they joined the others, talk turned to something called the Burning of the Canes, which was apparently taking place in a few weeks' time.

‘It's a bonfire of the prunings from the vineyard – a kind of death and rebirth thing, a little bit pagan really,' explained Thommo. ‘We get to celebrate the end of winter pruning, there's a big feast and, needless to say, plenty of good grog, and we have a bit of a dance. Everyone comes, all the locals, even some bigwigs from Melbourne and Sydney. This year it's at our place.'

‘Actually, Astrid's just been telling us that you're a pretty decent cook,' chimed in Charlie, sidling up to her. ‘Don't suppose we could borrow you? We could really do with the extra help. Two of the old girls who usually help out have let us down.'

His smile was so charming and everyone had been so friendly that Rose found it impossible to refuse. ‘Sure, I guess,' she said, not really knowing what she was letting herself in for but, in her warm, beer-induced haze, happy to agree. ‘I'll have to check with my boss first though.'

‘Oh, don't worry about Mark. He'll be okay with it,' Charlie assured her.

‘Are you sure?' Rose was surprised. She'd gotten the impression from Astrid that he was tricky at the best of times.

‘Absolutely – he's all bark and no bite. You'll see,' he said confidently. ‘He's a decent bloke.'

Some time later, Rose glanced at her watch. She hadn't realised it had gotten so late. She'd been having a surprisingly good time chatting to Bevan and Deano. She looked around for Astrid, only to find the blonde girl cuddled up against Thommo. Or was it Charlie? Either way, she looked pretty cosy with him, but Rose was tired and ready to call it a night. She caught Astrid's eye.

‘Think I'm ready to head home now,' Rose said. She paused. ‘I mean back to Kalkari.'

What had made her call Kalkari home? What was she thinking? She'd been there less than a week.

But apparently Astrid had drunk far too many vodka tonics to notice the slip. ‘Hokay,' she slurred. ‘I think I might stay here for a bit. One of the boys will give me a lift back.'

‘Alright, I'll see you later then.'

Rose promised to get in touch with Charlie and Thommo and let them know about helping out at the Burning of the Canes and then went to get her jacket.

Mrs B was snoring gently on the sofa when Rose let herself into the house. She woke with a start as Rose gently touched her arm. ‘Oh hello, dear! There you are. Did you have a nice time?'

‘Yeah, thanks. I certainly met a lot of people – Charlie and Thommo from Windsong, and Deano, Mick and Angie from Lilybells, and someone called Bob, from Bob's Run.'

‘Ah yes, Charlie and Thommo. I remember when they were running around with scabby knees and snotty noses. Doing pretty well for themselves now, I hear. They've taken over the running of Windsong from their parents. Bob's a good bloke, too. Went to primary school with him. That's going back a few years,' Mrs B cackled. She got slowly to her feet and looked around for her handbag. ‘The little 'uns are fine, went straight to bed. I did hear Leo calling out for his mum in his sleep though. Poor little tacker.' Rustling in her bag for her car keys, she let herself out.

Rose decided to wait for Astrid to return. After all, she could hardly leave Leo and Luisa in the big house on their own. She stoked the log fire that was burning in the small living room and lay down on the sofa, pulling a blanket over herself.

CHAPTER 4

R
ose was roused from her sleep by the staccato chatter of birds, so loud she could swear they must be perched on the windowsill. No gentle chirrup of birdsong here – more a raucous wake-up call no-one could ignore. She looked at her watch and saw with alarm that it was just after eight in the morning. She was still on the sofa. There was no sign of Astrid, and she felt sure she would have heard her come in. The little sitting room was next to the front door, which was impossible to shut quietly. Not a peep from the kids either, despite the time. She listened. The house was quiet.

She reached for her mobile phone, but there was no message. She'd thought Astrid might be more responsible than this, but then again she'd known her less than a week – hardly long enough to confidently predict her behaviour.

As Rose tried to stretch the kinks out of her back caused by a night spent with her knees tucked up almost to her chin, she heard the
thump-thump
of Luisa coming down the stairs. ‘Assie, Assie …' she called out. Rose was glad she hadn't gone back to the barn last night. What if no-one had been there when Luisa or Leo woke up?

‘Hi, sweetie! Did you have a sleep-in? Astrid's out just now, but I'm here.' Rose lifted her up from the stairs into a hug. ‘How are you this morning, little one?' she asked, settling her on one hip.

‘Good,' said Luisa, nodding her head emphatically.

‘Shall we go and change you and get you some milk?'

‘Miiilk,' said Luisa, reminded of her favourite drink. ‘Warm up,' she demanded.

‘Yes, missy, I can do that,' replied Rose, giving her a kiss on her chubby cheek.

In the kitchen, Rose drank coffee and warmed her feet on the range while Luisa splattered milk-soaked Weet-Bix over the table. She had wiped away the crusted mascara from under her eyes, rolled up the sleeves of her thin blouse and pulled back her hair into a messy knot, but she was definitely in need of a shower and a teeth clean. Rose hadn't had a chance to check on Leo, and could only assume he too was having a sleep-in.

She heard the squeak of unoiled hinges and then a bang. The front door.

Oh good, Astrid's back.

There was a heavy tread on the flagstones. Something fell with a whomp on the ground and a set of keys clunked noisily onto the side table. None of this sounded much like Astrid. Rose was about to go and investigate when Luisa scrambled down from her booster chair and ran full pelt to the hallway, calling out exultantly, ‘Daddy, Daaaaddy!'

Oh bollocks. Mr Cameron – Mark. And here I am with crumpled clothes, bird's nest hair and last night's make-up halfway down my cheeks.

Sure enough, Mark appeared in the kitchen doorway. He also looked dog-tired, with dark stubble covering his jaw. The jacket he was wearing was frayed around the collar, missing several buttons and hung off him as if it were made for a much larger man. He could have quite easily passed for a vagrant.

‘Ah, hello, Rose,' he said, looking around the kitchen. ‘Where's Astrid?'

‘Hello,' Rose said brightly, ignoring the fact that she was as dishevelled as he was. ‘Um, it was Astrid's night off. She stayed in town, I think,' she said, thinking on her feet. ‘How was your trip? We weren't expecting you until later today.'

‘Got an earlier flight. I've really missed this little one' – he tweaked Luisa's nose – ‘and her brother. Where's Leo? I've got a surprise for him.' He turned abruptly and walked out of the kitchen.

He returned, moments later, carrying a wriggling ball of black and white fur in his arms. As he placed it gently on the kitchen floor, the puppy began to sniff out its new surroundings. Rose's heart contracted. She loved dogs, though she'd never been able to have one in London.