A Vintage Summer

by Cathy Bramley

  My cheeks flamed. ‘Please don’t tell anyone what I just said.’

  He chuckled and mimed zipping his lips. ‘Your secret’s safe with me. Although why do you say it’s hardly surprising? Any man would be proud to be stepping out with you.’

  ‘Thank you, Sidney, you are such a gentleman.’ I sighed. ‘But it’s hardly the ideal first date, is it? With a woman who’s carrying another man’s child.’

  Sidney took a breath as if about to reply but he was interrupted.

  ‘Lottie? Lottie? Where are you?’ It was Jensen calling to me from higher up the slope.

  ‘Talk of the devil.’ I fanned my face quickly before replying.

  ‘In the centre path sitting on the bench. What’s up?’

  I stood up as I heard Jensen running towards us. He appeared from the end of a row of Pinot Noir vines.

  ‘You’ve got a very contrite visitor,’ he said, out of breath. ‘I’ve left him with Matt and Roger in the winery.’

  Harvey? My mouth went dry. ‘Muscly physique, short black hair?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, don’t worry. It’s Darren, your brother-in-law. I almost didn’t recognize him without his two burly friends.’

  My shoulders sagged with relief. ‘Is he, um, sober?’ I asked, shooting an apologetic look at Sidney.

  ‘I hope so,’ Jensen replied, ‘because he drove here. Although his van does have “Get Plastered” across the side of it. So who knows?’

  ‘That’s his business.’ I was flustered, wondering what Darren wanted or if he had a message from Evie. ‘Not as in to get plastered, but to plaster other things. Sidney, please excuse me.’

  ‘And we need to be making tracks soon.’ Jensen pulled Sidney to his feet and together we all headed back to the winery. Marjorie’s car was parked in front of the house, which meant that she and Betsy were back in time to see Sidney off. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Darren emerge from the doors of the winery and raise a self-conscious hand.

  Sidney kissed both my cheeks and clasped my hands. ‘Goodbye, Lottie. Think about what I said. English wine is about to enter a whole new chapter, one which I’m sure you’re going to enjoy.’ He shot a mischievous look at Jensen. ‘And don’t write this young fellow off too quickly; he’s more attached to this place than he likes to let on.’

  Jensen raised his eyebrows questioningly and I hugged the old man to hide my blushes. He was wrong about that, I thought sadly, as I crossed the yard to the winery; Jensen didn’t love Butterworth Wines as much as I did, not enough to save it anyway.

  ‘Sorry for just turning up,’ said Darren, looking downcast. ‘I didn’t know who else to turn to.’

  ‘It’s really good to see you.’ I hugged my crumpled brother-in-law and pushed thoughts of Jensen to the back of my mind; right now I had someone else’s mess to unravel, which made a refreshing change from my own. ‘Come inside and let’s have a chat.’

  ‘I love Evie so much.’ Darren sat at my dining table, rubbing a thumb over the callused knuckles on his other hand, his nails split from their constant contact with plaster. ‘I’ve made a hash of everything.’

  ‘Why did you move out?’ I handed him a can of Diet Coke from the fridge, poured myself a glass of water and sat opposite him. He looked terrible; despite the weeks of sunshine we’d had, he looked almost grey; he seemed tired, defeated and desperately sad. ‘You told her you wanted a divorce.’

  ‘Because I love her,’ he muttered gloomily. ‘I’ll always love her, no matter what.’

  I frowned. ‘You’re not making any sense. You told her the marriage is over; that’s not the most obvious way of showing you love her.’

  ‘I didn’t mean any of it. I thought I was doing the right thing.’ He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. ‘I’m such an idiot.’

  I touched his arm, my heart filling with hope. ‘You two were always so good together. I know you’ve been through a lot, but it’s at times like these, when you’re both at a low ebb, that you need each other most. And if you still love her maybe it’s not too late?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. She’s hurting at the moment, but it will pass, she’ll move on, get what she deserves and then she’ll forget about me.’

  ‘And what does she deserve?’

  His eyes clouded with tears. ‘To be free to start over again.’

  ‘She doesn’t want to be free, she wants a husband, she wants you.’ I shook his arm. ‘And a family. With you.’

  He gave a hollow laugh. ‘Until we found out my sperm swim so slowly they’re almost comatose. It was a miracle Evie got pregnant once; it won’t happen again.’

  I blinked at him. ‘I’m so sorry; I didn’t know.’

  He stared at me disbelievingly. ‘Evie didn’t tell you?’

  I shook my head. ‘She always said “we”. She never said it was you. I don’t think she wanted you to set her free, Darren.’

  ‘Oh, Evie,’ he whispered hoarsely, pressing his palms over his eyes. ‘Once she started talking about fostering, I realized how important being a mother was to her. Until then I just thought having a family would be the icing on the cake for us as a couple. But it means everything to her. So I reckoned it wasn’t fair of me to hold her back. There’s no need for her to deny herself the chance to be a mum naturally. I thought if I walked away I’d be setting her free. There’s no need for her to adopt, or foster, she can have her own babies naturally. She’ll make a brilliant mum.’

  ‘She will.’ I hugged him tight. ‘But you’ll be a brilliant dad. Being a good parent can start from the moment you bring a child home, however that journey began. Evie wants you at her side every step of the way on that journey.’

  ‘That’s not what she said when she dropped me off at home after the police released me; she said I was a poor excuse for a man and it was just as well we hadn’t had children if I was going to get hammered every time I had a setback.’

  That sounded like my sister; I could imagine how furious she’d have been with him.

  ‘To be fair, Darren,’ I said, my lips twitching, ‘you were a bit of an idiot that day. But I still think she’d like the two of you to properly consider the options and become parents together.’

  His back straightened. ‘Do you think? Because I’ve realized – and I know I’m a bit slow on the uptake – but I want us to be parents together too.’

  My heart soared. ‘That’s the best news I’ve heard for ages, Darren. Evie is going to be thrilled!’

  He eyed me doubtfully. ‘Trouble is she hasn’t taken my calls since that night at the hospital.’

  ‘Mine neither.’ I sighed. ‘But she’s got a lot to deal with: you walking out on her and then finding out that I’m pregnant. She’s bound to be upset.’

  Darren massaged his brow and groaned.

  ‘Oh Lottie, of course, I’m sorry I’ve been so preoccupied … I should have asked.’ He glanced down but my stomach was hidden by the table. ‘You’re going through so much too. Evie told me how nasty it turned between you and Harvey. I wish I’d known, I’d have had some serious words with him.’

  ‘You weren’t to know,’ I assured him. ‘Besides, he wasn’t always like that, was he? The four of us used to have fun together, once upon a time.’

  ‘We did.’ He nodded ruefully and we fell silent for a moment, thinking of happier times.

  ‘And how do you feel?’ He scanned my face.

  ‘Physically I’m fine.’ I hesitated and Darren raised an eyebrow expectantly. ‘Mentally it has taken some getting used to; pregnancy was the last thing on my agenda. Particularly given my last encounter with the father.’

  He winced. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going ahead with the pregnancy. No question,’ I said. ‘I’ve got my first scan next week; I want to find out when it’s due before I make any more decisions.’ I sucked in a sharp breath, not wanting to get distracted by my own problems. ‘Anyway, back to you. What’s next?’

  He reached across the tab
le for my hand. ‘When that plonker Tommy Dawson started mouthing off about fancying Evie, I realized that I can’t let her go; I love her too much to see her with someone else. I want Evie back, Lottie.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m running out of ideas.’ He shrugged. ‘She won’t take my calls, when I went round she wouldn’t let me in. I’ve sent her flowers, written her a letter. I even tried my key in the door, but she’s changed the locks. Will you help me – help us? Please?’

  My heart ached for the two of them and I felt a flush of guilt for not trying harder to make up with Evie. I’d been so wrapped up in my own issues and coming to terms with being pregnant that I’d glossed over her trauma. Not only was she facing a future without Darren, she was possibly facing a future with a baby in the family, except not her own as she’d always wanted. We’d never gone this long not speaking to each other. I’d make it my mission to make amends as soon as I could, and maybe I’d be able to salvage her and Darren’s marriage too.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ I promised, squeezing his hand. ‘I want her back too and I’ll tell her as much, even if I have to camp out on her doorstep.’

  It had to be worth a try; I missed her so much and so, by the look of it, did Darren.

  Chapter 20

  The next morning was Sunday. I’d had a lie-in, a shower and a leisurely breakfast. Maybe later, I thought, selecting a sundress from my wardrobe, I’d pop into the nearest supermarket, choose the nicest bunch of flowers I could find and knock on Evie’s door again.

  I combed through my damp hair and twisted it up into a clip before I smoothed body lotion on to my legs and arms. Then standing in front of the bedroom mirror, I lowered my towel and examined myself in profile. I had the most ridiculous white torso and nut-brown arms and legs, thanks to working outside, but that wasn’t what held my attention. There, below my tummy button, was a tiny bump. I laid a hand on my white skin. Yes, it was definitely there, I was definitely beginning to show. I smiled and my pulse speeded up; I was desperate to show someone else, to have someone place their hand on the roundness and marvel at my changing shape.

  A pang of loneliness shot through me sharp as a needle and pricked at my eyes. Today was the day; I had to get through to Evie. Maybe all it would take was for me to make the first move.

  There was a knock at the door.

  ‘Who is it?’ I called from the bedroom, throwing on my bra and dress, glad that I hadn’t left the top half of the stable door open for once.

  ‘Me!’ shouted Jensen. ‘We’re being attacked and I don’t know what to do.’

  I darted to the door and flung it open. Starsky was there too, wagging his tail. ‘What? By whom?’

  He jabbed a finger towards the sky. ‘Birds, hundreds of them.’

  ‘Show me.’

  We ran together across the yard with the dog scampering between us through the gate across the terrace and then stopped at the top of the steps, watching as a flock of black birds swarmed over the uppermost rows of the Pinot Noir vines. Starsky began to bark and the birds nearest us took flight only to land again further away.

  ‘Incredible.’ I was mesmerized and horrified at the same time.

  I had read about this. When the grapes start to turn black and sweet they attract the birds and word clearly spread like wildfire in the bird world.

  ‘Are the starlings back? Bloody nuisances! Clear off!’ Betsy appeared at the kitchen door. She stepped on to the terrace, waving her stick. ‘Ted tried everything.’

  ‘And what worked, Gran?’ Jensen stared at the sky.

  ‘His shotgun. I’ll fetch it! You go down and run around making noises, I’ll fire some shots.’

  Jensen snorted with laughter. ‘Don’t even think about it!’

  ‘I used to be a crack shot, I’ll have you know,’ Betsy sniffed.

  Jensen and I exchanged worried looks; presumably, that was before the centre of her vision had faded.

  ‘Come on, they’ll have stripped half the grapes off at this rate,’ I said, jumping down the steps and letting a by-now-frantic Starsky through the gate and in amongst the vines. I’d never seen the little dog so animated but he seemed to know what to do, barking up at the sky and sending the birds soaring.

  ‘Gran, stay out of trouble, bang some saucepan lids together or something,’ yelled Jensen over his shoulder.

  ‘Spoilsport,’ I heard her grumble.

  I charged at the birds, clapping my hands above my head.

  ‘Shoo! Scram! Go on, off!’ I yelled.

  Jensen took the next row, letting out a war cry: ‘YAHHHHH.’

  ‘What do you think this is,’ I shouted, waving my arms in the air, ‘an all-you-can-eat buffet?’

  In the next row, I heard Jensen burst out laughing. ‘Flock off, birds, or I’ll set my gran on you.’

  ‘I heard that,’ came a haughty shout from the terrace. ‘Now, eat your heart out, Keith Moon.’

  A hideous racket started up as Betsy clashed two large saucepan lids together. Whoever Keith Moon was, he didn’t seem to be a particularly gentle influence.

  ‘I love your gran,’ I yelled to Jensen, getting a stitch from laughing and running.

  There was a tiny pause. ‘She’s a one-off all right.’

  And then we both set off again, yelling ridiculous insults at our feathered enemies. More and more birds took to the air, Starsky ran up and down the rows, beside himself with joy, barking and snapping fruitlessly at the air while Jensen and I ran to the end of our respective rows until we met, breathless, in the middle. We both collapsed, laughing and worn out, on the bench where I’d sat with Sidney the day before.

  ‘They’ve gone,’ I said, panting as hard as Starsky who flung himself down at our feet, a doggy smile on his little face.

  ‘You can stop now, Gran!’ Jensen shouted up to the house, shielding his eyes from the sun.

  Betsy didn’t hear him and carried on beating the anti-starling tattoo with her metal lids.

  ‘She’ll give up in a minute,’ I said with a giggle.

  ‘Let’s hope the birds have given up for the day too.’ Jensen scanned the skies. ‘Perhaps you can see if there are any less labour-intensive bird-scaring methods?’

  I grinned at him. ‘I’ll google it.’

  I pressed a hand to my side and winced.

  His smile dropped. ‘What is it? Is it the baby?’

  I shook my head, touched by his concern. ‘Just a stitch. It’s all this laughing; I haven’t had so much fun in ages.’

  ‘Me neither.’ His blue eyes held mine. He lay his arm on the back of the bench behind my shoulders and it took all my self-control not to scoot next to him and snuggle into that hollow between his chin and his collarbone.

  He jerked his head back towards the terrace. ‘I think Dave Grohl can rest easy, Betsy Butterworth won’t be stealing his thunder any time soon.’

  ‘Thunder being the operative word.’

  The clashing of saucepan-lid cymbals stopped and we heaved a joint sigh of relief.

  Jensen examined the edge of his thumbnail. ‘Sidney spoke to me on the way to the airport; he was asking me about the two of us.’

  ‘Oh?’ I willed my face not to give me away, although in all honesty I probably couldn’t get much pinker after all that exertion.

  ‘Yep.’ He didn’t look up. ‘He thinks we’d make a good team.’

  ‘He said something similar to me,’ I said quietly.

  Jensen sucked in air. ‘The thing is, Lottie, if things were different, I think he might be right.’

  We looked at each other and I was suddenly hyper aware of him, the smell of his skin, the rise and fall of his chest and the flicker of a pulse in his neck. If things were different, if I wasn’t pregnant with another man’s child …

  ‘I understand.’ I blinked at him. I hadn’t expected anything less, but hearing him actually say the words brought me up short.

  ‘The trouble is, Butterworth Wines is something my grandd
ad created, it’s his achievement. And it’s great but …’ He shrugged.

  So he hadn’t been thinking about ‘us’ at all; I didn’t know whether this was a good or a bad thing.

  ‘It was his dream, not yours,’ I said, focusing on keeping my tone neutral.

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘So what is your dream?’

  His jaw tightened. ‘Dreams are for dreamers, people like my father. I believe in setting goals and then doing everything in your power to reach them.’

  I looked at him sharply. ‘You’ve never mentioned your father before.’

  ‘Bill McKenna, everyone calls him Mac.’ Jensen ran a hand through his hair. ‘He was an artist; he might still be, for all I know. When I was a kid, he specialized in large-scale installation art for people with delusions of grandeur and too much cash. Whenever he got a commission for a piece, he’d be all fired up, convinced it was going to be the one that would finally make his name. And then he would uproot us from whichever temporary home we were in to go and “make a fresh start”.’

  The bitterness in his voice made my heart ache for him.

  ‘Was he a successful artist?’ I asked.

  ‘Like I said, he was a dreamer,’ Jensen scoffed. ‘He’d have a vision in his head about how his creation should look but the reality rarely lived up to his expectations. More often than not, the project would take longer than planned, the client would begin to lose patience and faith and Dad would fly into a rage, declare he couldn’t be expected to create under such oppressive conditions and abandon the project. We’d have to slink off under a cloud and wait for some other unsuspecting client with more money than sense to knock at our door. Dad never acknowledged it, but it was only because Mum did some part-time book-keeping that we were ever able to make ends meet. So no, in my eyes he wasn’t successful,’ he said wryly.

  ‘Sidney said they split when you were a teenager?’

  ‘They’d never actually married, which used to bother Mum, but made it easier for her to leave in the end. I think she finally got fed up of playing second fiddle. Dad wasn’t deliberately unkind, but I’ve never met anyone so disinterested in the people who loved him. The last I heard he met a Native-American woman called River and moved to her reservation in Wyoming. That was about ten years ago.’