Late Summer in the Vineyard

by Jo Thomas

  ‘Ah, we had a delivery of juice, he’s back at the winery putting it into vats,’ Charlie tells me, and I could throttle Isaac.

  ‘He could’ve called me!’ I wail. ‘Now I’ll never get it all done.’ Suddenly I feel totally and utterly beaten. I bend over and hold my knees. I’m shattered, I ache, and even the smell of the woods and citrus aftershave doesn’t lift my spirits now.

  ‘In that case, this might help you out.’ He opens the car door and I lift my head a little. ‘Mind your feet on the seats . . .’

  ‘Are you our auntie Emmy? We came on a plane and Granddad bought us Cokes and . . . Wow! Who’s that?’ The two smartly dressed boys stop and stare wide eyed at Cecil.

  Am I imagining it? I give a weak, incredulous laugh and stand up straight. Still my eyes won’t focus properly, but those two fast-moving little people that have just tumbled out of the back of Charlie’s car are the same ages as my nephews, about four and six. I do a double-take. It is! Luke and Arthur!

  They run over to Cecil and rub his big head like it’s a giant basketball. Cecil loves having his ears rubbed and in no time at all the long string of drool has stretched and he suddenly shakes his head, the drool flying.

  ‘Whoa!’ the boys laugh in utter respect at such a fantastic trick.

  I turn back to the car, still not really understanding what’s going on.

  ‘Jody?’ I stammer as my sister slides out of the car, tentatively at first. She stands in front of me, but then breaks into a huge grin, runs at me and hugs me tightly. I hug her tightly back and Charlie looks on appreciatively, I notice. But, God, I need this hug. I shut my eyes. I can’t speak. There’s no need for words. Finally I open them and Charlie opens the passenger door, and slowly and stiffly, putting his brown shoe and grey sock on the dusty ground and pulling himself out of the car . . . I can hardly believe it, I catch my breath, the tears well up in my eyes again so I can barely see him as he pulls himself out of the car.

  ‘Dad!’ And I fling myself at him, hugging him hard whilst Luke and Arthur are running round and round the yard.

  ‘Hello, who’s this?’ Gloria and Candy have come out to see what’s happening.

  ‘This is my family,’ I turn and announce with a huge tennis ball in my throat.

  ‘Thought you could do with a hand, picking,’ Dad says, sounding choked, too.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re here.’ I wipe away tears spilling down my cheeks.

  ‘Neither can I, love, neither can I,’ he laughs.

  He hugs me again and, over his shoulder, standing by the driver’s door, Charlie has the look of a man who knows how to make a big gesture. This is the most wonderful thing anyone could have done for me. My heart fills to bursting and it’s all because of Charlie. He understands what it means to me. He understands how much I’ve needed to see my dad was OK. I suddenly feel that he and I might be back on track. He wouldn’t have done this if he didn’t care about me. He still wants us to try to get together. Maybe I am going to find love here after all. Only someone who really cares about me would do this.

  ‘How long are you here for?’ I ask, wanting to make the most of every minute.

  ‘Just a few days, what with the kids and changing schools. But we thought it would help you out.’

  ‘Oh, it does. Wait, changing schools?’

  ‘I’ll let Jody explain.’ Dad smiles a slightly teary smile and I hug him tightly again.

  ‘You smell nice,’ he says, hugging me back.

  ‘Thank you.’

  I turn to Charlie. ‘Thank you, Charlie, so much,’ I mouth.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he mouths back and smiles, and I feel like I’m walking on air.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Charlie, for organising all of this.’ Dad turns and smiles his approval and my heart does a happy little dance again.

  ‘Gloria, got room for some more for lunch?’ I ask her.

  ‘Of course!’ She waves a tea towel at me.

  ‘Come on, Dad, let’s find you some suitable picking gear,’ I say, my arm round him, leading him to the house, excitedly showing him around and feeling like all my Christmases have come at once.

  ‘OK, don’t stand on any bees, take a break if you’re aching. Dad, we’ll get you a stool. Cut from here. Don’t cut rotten ones, hang on to your secateurs and be gentle! We’re making wine with love here.’

  We work all morning and at lunch Gloria serves us the most glorious roasted wild boar made from meat Jeff brought to the house in the back of his car, a gift from a friend, he said, and Gloria happily cooked it and serves it with new potatoes glistening with butter and green beans. This is followed by big fat strawberries and crème fraîche from a local farmer Gloria met and got talking to when she was out walking over the other side of the river. And of course the big round of cheese comes out again. I’m amazed where Nick puts it all. He’s as thin as a rake and eats twice as much as any of us.

  ‘That was fabulous,’ Dad says, rubbing his tummy and titling back his hat. The boys get down from the table and run around with Cecil, who barks and does his slobber-flinging trick, much to their delight.

  After lunch the pick is suddenly back on track. Dad is wearing long shorts, green socks and leather sandals, the same ones I think he had when we holidayed in West Wales when I was a child. That’s where I first met my best friend, Layla. Years later we ended up both working at the call centre and realising we’d been childhood friends, camping by the beach on holiday. Dad must have kept his summer clothes in the attic. He looks just like he did back then, with his legs so white they’re almost green poking out from the bottom of his shorts. He’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt and I’ve insisted on the hat, despite it being more overcast today. Nick’s lent him his panama and he looks very smart.

  With lunch cleared away and the heat of the day passing, Gloria, with her arms and legs covered in long sleeves and trousers, decides to come back out to pick with Dad. Candy and Nick are helping each other, slowly making their way down a row of vines like two wounded soldiers. And Jody and the boys are picking too. I watch her with them, encouraging them, explaining what to do and laughing. She’s wonderful with them, I think proudly.

  The trailer is filling up way faster than it was this morning and my spirits begin to lift. I can’t thank Charlie enough for organising this. I don’t know why I was starting to doubt how I felt about him or how he felt about me. Clearly, getting Dad, Jody and the boys here, well, it must mean he cares about me. He understands me and my commitments. And Dad seemed very taken with him. He’s just . . . well, just perfect. Finally, my life might be starting to take shape. Maybe I’m at last getting something right. I may even have a ‘plus one’ to take to the Cadwallader’s Christmas party, instead of spending the evening dodging Lecherous Louis from car insurance, or avoiding skinhead Melody, who is always showing off her new tattoos and piercings, is first to photocopy her bum, and trying to get as many people under the mistletoe as possible. Her record is thirty-three. Suddenly I’m thinking about my desk back at the call centre. It’s right by the window so I can look out at the tiny bit of green park between the two big buildings – like my vortex to the outside world. And at least by the window I get to see a bit of sky. I look up at the big sky above me now. I’ll never have sky like this again. I look over the valley to the château and then to Saint Enrique and notice the clouds beginning to gather on the horizon.

  ‘OK, everyone, we need to get moving,’ I shout, and put my head down and pick furiously, as does everyone else.

  We finish the parcelle. Only a couple left to do now: the big section down the lane and then the parcelle beneath the château.

  We follow Henri and the trailer back to the chai where we start unloading the grapes, destalking them, and Luke and Arthur come into their own, treading the grapes. They can’t believe they’re allowed to get so mucky and not get
told off! Even Dad has a go, smiling like I’ve never seen him. For someone who hasn’t moved from his armchair for over ten years and never misses an episode of Pointless, he’s a changed man. Mr and Mrs Featherstone come up to join in, although Mr Featherstone hasn’t quite recovered from his exertions earlier in the week and so sits in his wheelchair and watches us as we work with a huge grin on his face.

  That night my family return to the gîte with Gloria and the others. Gloria moves in with Candy, Jody and the boys take her room, and Dad has Nick’s, who sleeps on the floor downstairs, saying he’d prefer it because of his back.

  The next day I’m up and at it early. The sky is darkening even more and the breeze has really picked up. Everyone’s here.

  ‘Let’s crack on. We have to get the parcelle in before the rain comes.’

  Jody and I are picking together as Isaac is up to his neck in it at the winery. And once again I thank God that Charlie contacted my family and I think what a lucky person I am that he’s come into my life. Because of him, we may actually get this vintage in, and my spirits have really lifted.

  ‘Dad seems to be having a good time. Is he OK? I mean, he’s been out more in the last ten weeks than he has in the last ten years. What’s going on?’

  Jody and I cut and move together down the vine, quickly and in unison.

  ‘Honestly, Emmy, he’s a changed man. Ever since Ralph the plumber came to fix the water tank, he’s been to the pub, out to see the rugby with him, and he’s even planning to go on a coach trip to Bath before Christmas with a couple of ladies they met in Doug’s Diner whilst having the OAP’s all-day breakfast. He’s even talking about applying for a job at the local DIY superstore. They like older, more experienced people, apparently.’

  ‘You’re joking?’ I say, astounded. Snip, snip.

  ‘Whether he will or not, I don’t know, but he’s certainly got a spring in his step. He’s been great with the boys too, cooking for us, taking them out. Even built them a camp in the garden.’

  ‘What, our garden? But he hasn’t been out in it in years. It’s like a jungle out there.’

  ‘Yes, that’s what he told them, that it was just like I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here. They loved it! Back home it’s all computer games and play dates.’

  There’s a pause. We empty our buckets into the trailer with Henri, go back to our row and start cutting again. I take a deep breath.

  ‘And how are things . . . with you . . . back home?’ I ask tentatively.

  Jody breaks her rhythm for the first time and I stop with her as we finally both stare at the elephant in the vineyard through the big leaves between us.

  ‘I’m not going back, Emmy. I’ve left him for good.’

  ‘Oh, Jody.’ Frustratingly I can’t get round the vine to hug her.

  ‘Actually I think he left me a long time ago. He’s had two lives with different women for some time, it turns out. He just forgot he was married to one of them.’

  My heart squeezes and twists, and I hate the fact that I haven’t been there for Jody because I’ve been so cross about what happened with them taking the money.

  ‘It’s all gone, Emmy,’ she says quietly. ‘Mum’s insurance money. It’s gone.’ She swallows and I do too. ‘He asked me to ask you and Dad for the money. It was a fantastic investment opportunity, he said. A hotel complex that was being built and he could get in there at the start. He’d bought into a few properties in this country with two guys who were supposed to know what they were doing.’ She stops and takes a swig of water. ‘He was in debt up to his eyeballs and he thought the way out was to invest more.’

  ‘So where was this hotel complex?’ I finally ask.

  ‘Greece,’ she replies. And for a moment neither of us says anything. Then she says, ‘They lost the lot. I didn’t know for ages. He kept telling me everything was fine. We had the house, smart cars. It was only when the kids’ nursery and prep school fees bounced I realised something was wrong. He was robbing Peter to pay Paul all over the place. I have no idea how many credit cards he’s run up debts on, or how many people he owes money to. I only know that as time went on, I barely saw anyone. He stopped me seeing people, ringing them . . . I’m so sorry. You must hate me . . .’ Finally her voice cracks and she can’t say any more. For a moment I see red, thinking about what he’s done to Jody and my dad, taking his money and losing it. But then the mist disappears and I just see Jody, and it’s the only thing that matters.

  ‘The money doesn’t matter, it really doesn’t. We’ll find a way of getting through this, I promise. You can even stay with me until I leave. If this wine does well, we’ll be fine, Jody. We’ll keep the house.’

  She sniffs, runs her sleeve under her nose as if she’s twelve again, and shakes her head.

  ‘It’s fine, really. I can stay with Dad, just till you’re home. I’m going to get a job and find us somewhere to rent. Use those A levels you worked so hard for me to get!’

  I push my way through the vines and hug her.

  ‘I’m really proud of you. You’re a great mum,’ I tell her into her hair, unable to stop the tears.

  ‘I wish I was more like you,’ she says, sniffing.

  ‘Like me?’ I pull back and hold her at arm’s length.

  ‘You never run away from your problems. Not like me. I had my head so buried in the sand I couldn’t see or hear anyone or anything. You just stand and face them. I mean, look what you did at home. You could have gone back to college, but you didn’t, you scooped up the problems and got on with it. And here . . . you could’ve run home, but you stayed, you didn’t run away.’

  ‘Maybe because this is the first time I’ve been anywhere in years . . . maybe ever!’ I try to laugh.

  ‘Since Mum died.’ Jody looks straight at me.

  ‘Yes,’ I answer despite the waver in my voice, ‘since Mum . . . since she died in the accident.’ And I suddenly feel like I can breathe a little easier for the first time in a very long time.

  At the end of the day, as the sun starts to set, we take in the last of the grapes and tread them. Jody and I hold hands and now I’ve got her back I don’t want to let her go. Then I pump the juice into a concrete tank and, with lots of helping hands, I seem to manage it without spilling a drop. Then we scrub the table and barrels and hose down the floor of the chai.

  Gloria comes outside with a tray of glasses and a bottle of Clos Beaumont, some homemade lemonade for the boys, and a bowl of salted nuts. The boys appear from the chai and Dad gets up from the deckchair he’s been sitting in, looking out over the valley. Jody has been helping Nick straighten through the rest of the house, and, if I’m not mistaken, Candy’s nose is ever so slightly out of joint by the looks she is throwing the two of them.

  Then Isaac turns up to see how things are going and Candy brightens up considerably.

  ‘This is my family,’ I introduce them to Isaac.

  But when I introduce him to Dad, and Isaac says, ‘Hi, how’s things? Great to meet you,’ Dad frowns and I feel slightly uncomfortable, like he’s taken an instant dislike to him.

  ‘Yes, fine. Just thought I recognised your accent,’ he says.

  Just as well it’s Charlie, not Isaac, I’m hoping Dad will be seeing a lot more of when I get home. I allow myself to feel a little squeeze of excitement.

  Candy raises her glass. ‘Here’s to team work!’ she says over everyone.

  ‘Team work!’ I smile, and realise right now I couldn’t feel happier. But I know it can’t last. Dad, the boys and Jody will be leaving tomorrow, and then what? Can I really do the rest of this on my own?

  And then I remember it . . . the yeast. In all the excitement, I’ve forgotten to add Isaac’s yeast. But there are still some wild yeasts on the grapes already. I just have to hope they work like Madame Beaumont told me. I cross my fingers, willing the fe
rmentation to start. What am I going to tell Isaac? Whatever happens, he mustn’t find out.

  The next morning I hug Dad, and then Jody. Last night, I sat with Jody outside, under the plum tree in the garden, while she explained to the boys how they were going to go back to Granddad’s house and then were going to look for a new house of their own, without Daddy. And how much they both still loved them.

  Now, the boys are hugging Cecil round the head, asking about their new schools excitedly and whether their camp will still be in Granddad’s garden. This trip seems to have done them the world of good, too, a chance to readjust to their new life. Cecil raises his head and lets out some impressive deep ‘woofs’ to the boys’ delight as they bid him goodbye.

  ‘You’re doing a great job, Emmy,’ Dad tells me. ‘I’m so proud of you. You know we all make mistakes in life, but it’s learning from them that counts,’ and I’m not sure if he’s talking about me feeling responsible for Madame Beaumont’s fall or Jody and the insurance money, or he having lost so many years to daytime TV.

  Jeff arrives in Charlie’s car, which Jeff seems hugely excited about. He’s come to take my family to the airport. Charlie’s busy, Jeff explains with lots of hand signals. I wave them all off as Jeff disappears down the dusty track at speed, with a toot on the horn.

  As the tail-lights disappear, I run over to see Henri, burying my head in his big neck and letting the tears flow. I still have grapes to get in and I really don’t think I’m going to do it without my family. I feel like an emotional wreck, a wet rag that’s been squeezed and wrung out. I miss Dad, Jody and the boys already, as if someone’s kicked away the crutches I’ve been leaning on. Slowly I walk back to the chai and start loading up the trailer with crates. They’re heavy and I’m working slowly, when I see two cars, very different from the Featherstone’s little van, pull into the yard. One is long, low and shiny, the other an expensive four by four. I step back into the shadows, not wanting to face anyone right now. Hopefully they’ll think no one’s here and leave again.