The Grass is Greener

by Loretta Hill

  He was absolutely dumbfounded.

  Like she’d just showed him an alien in his Year One class photo.

  Her mother shouldn’t have wasted so much money on getting Jack off to France. A few more weeks in Yallingup and he would have rejected her himself. It was perfectly clear that he’d never thought of her in a romantic way at all. And to top it all off, he’d had her earmarked for his brother.

  The confusion she was feeling now, these feelings his return was stirring up, had to be ignored. Otherwise she was just setting herself up for the rejection she didn’t receive five years ago. Hadn’t he just returned from a smorgasbord of beautiful, sophisticated French women? In the wake of that party, why would he even look twice at her?

  She had to concentrate on what was important.

  Winning Oak Hills.

  Not Jack Franklin’s heart.

  With this is mind, she decided to focus on building her strengths. Jack’s was obviously winemaking so she’d steer clear of that. Her strength lay more in organisation, people and staying on top of things. So far she’d been in the background, helping Horace sort out the chaos in the office. Now, however, she thought it was time to move into the foreground. She wanted to try her hand at serving in the cellar door, get to know a little more about the product she was promoting. So that morning she reported there as soon as it opened at ten o’clock.

  Ant was very pleased to see her. His eyes lit up. ‘You have not forsaken me! My life is complete.’

  ‘It is?’ Chris appeared from the storeroom and Bronwyn quickly covered her embarrassment by explaining the situation.

  ‘Would I be able to help out here for a while? I want to know more about how you guys do the tastings. Would you be able to show me?’

  Ant blocked her view of Chris.

  ‘I would be more zan delighted.’ He flicked the counter several times with the white cloth that had previously lay folded over his shoulder, thus removing any imaginary specks of dust. ‘Ze art of serving wine is a talent zat has been bred into my family for generations. A skill zat, fortunately, can be learned if the pupil is apt and eager.’

  Chris rolled his eyes, grabbed a glass from under the counter, put it on the glossy top, and tipped in one inch of white wine from a bottle he had near at hand. ‘In other words, grab a glass and pour.’

  Bronwyn laughed.

  ‘Ugh!’ Ant shut his eyes in revulsion. ‘Ze oaf’s manners are as simple as his T-shirt.’

  ‘I happen to like this T-shirt.’ Chris glared at him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Ant’s eye’s widened, ‘do you wear that colour for fashion?’ Behind his hand, he said to Bronwyn, ‘’Tis worse than we thought!’

  The demonstration continued much like this for the rest of the morning. At first, she just hung back and watched Ant and Chris do it. She wasn’t afraid of pouring wine. That was the easy bit. It was the questions that stressed her out.

  Luckily, there were cheat cards on the counter. These were meant for the wine tasters, but Bronwyn found herself reading them and trying to memorise bits and pieces. Most customers, however, didn’t want to talk so much as taste, and the ‘wine wankers’, as Chris called them, preferred to talk to each other rather than the bar staff.

  ‘Spotted any yet?’ Chris asked her with a grin.

  ‘Not yet,’ she returned his smile, knowing from her uni days that you could definitely pick them out of a crowd.

  A few days and a couple more shifts later, she spotted two. They approached the bar in a leisurely fashion, pausing over the merchandise in the store, muttering to each other softly, as they surveyed all before them with a critical eye. Having completed a preliminary inspection they finally approached the bar.

  Bronwyn clutched the bottle she was holding to her chest as the taller of the two looked down his long nose as her.

  ‘Surprise me,’ he murmured and then threw a smug smile at his appreciative friend as though it were private joke shared between them.

  She put two glasses on the counter and served them each an inch of cabernet merlot.

  The tall man swirled the contents of his glass, taking in the colour, a rich ruby-red. ‘Oh, this is elegant,’ he noted.

  ‘Very fine.’ His companion agreed before they both sank their noses into their glasses to take an extended sniff.

  The taller man closed his eyes.

  ‘Interesting character …’ he nodded. ‘Deep … but approachable. Very approachable. Tell me,’ he said to Bronwyn, ‘did Horace Franklin have a hand in this or was it another winemaker?’

  Bronwyn decided to play the safe card. ‘Horace Franklin has a hand in all our wines. He is never far from the heart of the winery. It’s his lifeblood.’

  This was true enough, but the wine wanker studied her carefully as though looking for evidence of fault.

  His companion lay his glass on a slight angle against a white napkin he had removed from his pocket. ‘There is remarkable clarity here. I do like a wine which is distinctive immediately with unmistakable qualities.’

  Interesting character, deep, distinctive.

  Bronwyn’s lips tilted. ‘Our wine is exactly like the man who makes them.’

  ‘Intriguing,’ said one of the wine wankers. ‘I heard that Horace Franklin is retired.’

  ‘Yes, we have a new winemaker now, his son. He’s incredibly talented.’

  ‘Indeed?’ he responded, and both men finally lifted their glasses to taste. They pursed their lips, pushing their tongues against the rim as they sucked an infinitesimal amount of fluid into their mouths. Bronwyn had to wince at this rather uncomfortable looking start. They did not appear to be bothered by it, swirling the fluid across their tongues much like she did with mouthwash.

  ‘Sensuous,’ the first man exclaimed at last. ‘I like it. So intense upon the palate.’

  ‘Middle or after?’ his companion enquired.

  ‘After,’ the taller man announced. ‘A full-bodied, well-balanced wonder with definite structure.’

  With an air of superiority and a waggle of black bushy brows, the second man flicked his glass. ‘You don’t think it’s not a little austere … a bit short on the finish?’

  ‘Not at all, not at all,’ the first man responded, returning his friend’s look with his own haughty expression. ‘Can’t you taste the wild berries in it?’

  ‘Blackberries,’ Bronwyn murmured, tentatively, because in actual fact she had absolutely no idea.

  His companion snorted indignantly. ‘More like cherries.’

  ‘I also detect vanilla.’

  His friend glared at him. ‘Nougat, you mean.’

  ‘Nutmeg.’

  ‘Turkish delight!’

  ‘Licorice!’

  The nostrils of their pointy noses flared in challenge before they plunged them back into their glasses and moved away from the counter. She turned to Chris, who was stocktaking at the back of the bar. ‘I think I’ve had my first wine wanker encounter since I got here.’

  ‘Count yourself fortunate. I know I’m going to have a bad day when a whole tour bus of them arrives.’

  ‘Is there really that much to be said about wine?’ she mused. ‘I mean, people say they can taste all these different flavours but at the end of the day all the winemaker puts in the barrel is grapes, right?’

  ‘And an insane amount of skill.’

  Chris’s expression closed slightly and she knew exactly who was behind her. She had to wonder how long he’d been standing there.

  ‘Jack.’ She spun around. He was leaning against the counter, one arm up bent at the elbow, hip out, and that lopsided smile that made her heart drop out of her chest and rattle around her kneecaps.

  ‘I thought you handled them really well, particularly that part about the new winemaker being incredibly talented.’ He grinned. ‘Did you mean that, I wonder?’

  ‘No one doubts your skill, Jack,’ she shrugged. ‘It’s your attitude that pisses people off.’

  There was a chortle from Chris beh
ind her.

  ‘All right, all right.’ Jack glared at them both. ‘There’s no need to gang up on me. Especially since I’m here to give you a message you definitely don’t want to miss out on.’

  She put her hands on her hips. ‘And what would that be?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure your bullmastiff’s just gone into labour.’

  ‘What?’ Bronwyn threw down the white napkin she’d been holding. ‘Chris, I think I’ve got to go.’

  He laughed. ‘Sure. I’ll see you in a bit.’

  She walked straight out the double-doored entrance to the cellar and down the gravelled path with Jack hot on her heels.

  ‘Hey, slow down, you’ve got plenty of time. It’s not like the pups pop out that quickly. It’ll be a few hours before she starts pushing.’

  ‘Still, I want to be there every step of the way,’ Bronwyn insisted, not slowing her pace at all. ‘Is she distressed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How did you know she was going into labour then?’

  ‘She started shivering a couple of hours ago and she hasn’t moved from that nest of blankets you and Mum made up for her.’

  ‘And you’re only just calling me now?’ She nearly slipped on the gravel as her feet sped up. She should have stuck to one of Chris’s asphalt paths.

  ‘Bron, calm down.’

  ‘Why is it that you’re always telling me that?’ she grumbled.

  ‘Because you take everything too seriously.’ His hand slipped into hers and the complete opposite of calm ricocheted through her chest like the pinball in a slot machine.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Holding your hand.’

  ‘Why?’

  He paused. ‘So you don’t fall down.’

  She removed her hand from his. ‘I’m fine,’ she swallowed. ‘It’s just … my first time, having puppies, that’s all.’

  They entered the house, walked straight through it and out the back door into an enclosed patio, where Lydia was hovering over Elsa. The room was light, bright and warm because the walls only rose to waist height, and then it was windows all round. Elsa was whining slightly as she lay on her nest of towels and blankets in one corner.

  ‘Ah! There you are.’ Lydia turned around to greet them. ‘She’s definitely going into labour. If we’d known this was her final week of pregnancy we should have been taking her temperature. Then we could have been more prepared.’

  ‘Really?’ Bronwyn bit her lip. ‘Should I call a vet?’

  ‘I already have,’ Lydia nodded. ‘She’s on standby if there are any problems.’

  ‘Standby?’ Bronwyn yelped. ‘We’re doing this ourselves?’

  ‘Honey, over ninety-eight per cent of dogs deliver their pups without complications or assistance. She’s going to be just fine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Now,’ Lydia dusted her hands, ‘I’d love to stay and watch, but as you know we’ve got that wedding on tomorrow and the staff in the restaurant are feeling the pressure.’

  Bronwyn’s face dropped even further. ‘You’re not going to stay and help me?’

  ‘I’ll just be down the end of the driveway if you need me. Besides,’ Lydia looked slyly at her son, ‘Jack will be here.’

  ‘Huh?’ The man himself, who had been kneeling on the blankets and gently rubbing the back of Elsa’s neck, looked up in surprise.

  ‘It’s not like you’re harvesting another block today, is it?’ Lydia threw at him. ‘You can make the time.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Have fun, you two!’

  ‘Great.’ Bronwyn threw up her hands as his mother walked out. She had noticed in the last day or so that the ice in the Franklin household was starting to melt. Chris and Jack were talking again. Not with complete freedom, but at least there was no longer silence at the breakfast table. She was glad she had confessed to both brothers exactly what had happened with her mum. However, seeing them bonding again had certainly raised Lydia’s hopes, and the Franklin matriarch seemed to be making it her mission to include Bronwyn in their reconciliation.

  Bronwyn turned to Jack with a sigh. ‘What are we going to do now?’

  ‘Watch Elsa give birth, I imagine.’ He stood up and folded his arms.

  Easy for him to say.

  This was just the sort of thing that was way out of her comfort zone. She knelt down beside her dog. Elsa whined again, shivered violently and then vomited on her bedding. ‘Oh shoot! You poor thing.’ She wrapped up the towel filled with vomit and pulled it away from the rest. Elsa’s belly tensed near her hands. ‘She’s having contractions.’ Her gaze flicked over her shoulder at Jack. ‘Have you ever done this before?’

  ‘Delivered puppies?’ he asked.

  ‘No, milked a cow. What do you think?’

  He shrugged. ‘I may have witnessed one dog of a different breed doing this under someone else’s supervision, but –’

  ‘Oh good.’ She breathed a sigh of relief. ‘So you’re an expert then.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

  ‘Well, pretend!’ she insisted. ‘Because I’m freaking out here.’

  ‘Bronwyn –’

  ‘I know,’ she sighed, ‘calm down.’

  He grinned and picked up the dirty towel. ‘I’ll get rid of this and get some more.’

  She threw him a grateful look as he walked out, and lay a soothing hand on Elsa’s head. Her dog didn’t push her snout into her palm like she usually did, but only passively accepted the caress.

  ‘It’s okay, girl,’ Bronwyn said firmly. ‘You’re going to be just fine. I’m right here. I’m going to get you through this. Me and Jack.’

  Jack re-entered the patio with a new towel just in time to hear the promise.

  ‘Okay.’ She stood up, dusting her hands by her sides. ‘So what else do we need for this? Maybe some plastic bags, rubber gloves? Scissors to cut the cord?’

  ‘Er … I don’t think we do that. It’s not a human birth.’

  She wasn’t listening. ‘Oh shit,’ her eyes widened. ‘Should I be boiling some water?’

  ‘Why on earth would you need to boil water?’

  ‘That’s what they always do in the movies, isn’t it?’ Bronwyn explained. ‘Whenever someone is having a baby at home, someone always boils some water.’

  He came forward, grinning ruefully as he knelt down to lay the towel. He ran a hand down Elsa’s back. ‘Okay, so I don’t know what movies you’ve been watching, but I don’t think I’ve seen them.’

  ‘No,’ she stuck out her tongue, ‘they wouldn’t be your sort of movies.’

  ‘Not enough intelligent commentary?’ He smiled.

  ‘No, not enough guns.’

  He sighed. ‘Guns do make for good action sequences.’

  She knelt down beside him. ‘We’re completely moving off topic here.’ She swiped her hand down in a cutting motion. ‘Focus.’ She bit her lip. ‘Will there be a lot of blood?’

  ‘Not unless she needs a caesarean.’

  Her eyes widened to saucers. ‘You can do that?’

  ‘No,’ he laughed, ‘I can’t! We’ll definitely be calling the vet by that stage. But there’s honestly no need to start panicking, Numbat. We’ve got this.’

  ‘I’m not panicking.’ She tried to moderate her tone but then ruined it by jumping up. ‘I think I will get a bucket of water. The unboiled kind.’

  ‘Okay,’ he nodded. ‘That’s probably a good idea. I’ll get more towels. And that rubber glove idea might not be a bad plan. The pups are a little icky right after birth.’

  So after they rushed around for five minutes collecting the various items that they thought might be needed and returned to Elsa’s side, it was all a bit of an anticlimax because nothing happened for over an hour. The two of them were left just sitting there on the towels, stroking Elsa’s back as she whined uncomfortably from time to time.

  The last thing Bronwyn had expected was to spend the afterno
on sitting on the floor with Jack, especially after the chaos of the last few days. There was the harvest, the extraction and her ‘I used to be in love with you’ confession. Yet here she was, happily hanging out with Jack and a pregnant dog.

  Unable to handle the silence, she had to say something. ‘So how are you and your dad? Have you spoken to him about what I told you yet?’

  ‘So you think I owe him an apology too, do you?’ Jack returned dryly.

  Her gaze flicked to him in surprise. ‘He said that to you?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He ran a hand through his hair.

  The vulnerable expression on his face made her chest ache.

  ‘And I guess in light of everything you told me, I can see why he might.’

  ‘He thinks you abandoned the family. Nobody knew where you were, Jack. And you didn’t make contact for months.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he nodded. ‘It’s hard to wrap my head around it. I’ve been operating in this place where nobody gave a damn about me for so long, it’s hard to accept that I was wrong.’

  She licked dry lips. ‘Change is hard. So is starting again. Trust me, I know.’

  He hung his head. It was a humble Jack, one she was seeing more and more every day since his return. ‘I’ll have to talk to him again. Explain everything. Tell him what you told me.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll get it. You both thought you’d been abandoned. It’ll take forgiveness on both sides.’

  ‘It’ll be harder with Chris,’ said Jack.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’ll always feel guilt where he’s concerned.’

  ‘I think everybody will,’ Bronwyn shrugged. ‘Don’t forget, I was there too. Drinking, partying, yelling from the sidelines. It’s not like Claudia and I told you two to stop behaving like morons. And it was Chris’s fault too.’

  Elsa whined and Bronwyn quickly reached over and patted her belly. ‘Stay brave, girl. Stay brave.’

  ‘You always know exactly what to say, Numbat.’ He smiled ruefully at her.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Not always. We both know I’ve made some massive stuff-ups in my life …’ She swallowed. ‘Some poor judgement calls. I mean, that thing with my mum, with you, the plane ticket … I’m so embarrassed.’