by Helen Mcginn
‘You love doing this stuff really. Your mind would turn to mush without it.’ Tilda shrugged, her glass waving in the air.
‘I know, you’re right. Anyway, how’s your work going?’ Flora emptied a couple of packets of teddy bear-shaped crisps into a bowl. ‘Sorry, it’s all I can find.’
‘Well, being a doctor’s receptionist isn’t exactly the most taxing job in the world but at least I know exactly who’s on Viagra in this small town.’
Flora’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’
‘Oh, you’d be amazed. They might look old but, my goodness, there are plenty of them still having a lot of fun. Must be all that sea air. And I’m a pro at finding out who’s doing what with whom.’
Flora laughed out loud. ‘Really? What do you mean?’
‘Well, it started when someone came into the surgery claiming he’d no idea where he’d picked up a particular, er, ailment. But a few quick searches and I found pictures of him on Facebook with someone who definitely wasn’t his wife. Let’s just leave it at that.’ Tilda winked at her friend and took another sip of her wine. ‘How’s the shop?’
Flora sighed. ‘Not so good, actually. Mack’s got to sell.’
‘Seriously? Oh, that’s so sad.’ Tilda’s face fell. ‘Why?’
‘It’s been on the cards for a while but I just thought, you know, he’s managed to keep it going all these years, I’m sure he’ll think of something. But it turns out trade is just too slow. He’s done.’
‘What will you do? I mean, do you think it might stay as a wine shop?’
‘I’ve no idea. If he can’t make it work – and he’s been there forever – then I’m not sure anyone can.’
‘Rubbish! It’s not enough to just sit there with a shop and expect people to come to you these days. You’ve got to go out and find them!’ Tilda was adamant.
‘I know, I’ve been through all this with Mack, but he doesn’t want to try. It’s his shop and, well, he says he’s done with it.’
‘What about Johnny – can’t he help with setting up an online shop or whatever? I mean, he does that kind of thing at work, doesn’t he?’
Flora shrugged. Johnny did work in IT but she had never been entirely sure what he did exactly. Selling software packages, she knew that much.
‘Actually, Johnny doesn’t know yet. I only found out this morning and he hasn’t picked up my calls all day. I know he’s been really busy at work. I even tried his direct number today. He was in meetings for most of the day, apparently.’ Flora topped up their glasses. She gave hers another swill, sticking her nose in to savour the aroma, all limes and nectarines.
‘Just this, then I must go.’ Tilda turned to the open window. ‘Kids, five minutes, OK?’ They all stopped and turned for a split second before resuming their bouncing. ‘Well, whatever happens, here’s to Pinot Gris. I think it’s my new favourite.’
Flora clinked Tilda’s glass. ‘You always say that.’
4
Mack sat back in his chair, a well-thumbed copy of Great Expectations in his hand. He’d picked it up from a stack of books on the side in an attempt to take his mind off the situation, even for just a few moments. But it hadn’t worked. He sighed and reached for his glass, taking a long sniff. The smell of old leather and spice filled his nose.
The wine inside was brick red in colour, an Australian Shiraz at least twenty years old. Instantly, the aromas in the glass took him back to the time when he’d arrived in London from Australia looking for work. He’d walked into a pub to ask for a job. The pub was practically empty save for the landlord and a couple of regulars propping up the bar, but before long Mack was running it, turning the place from a beer-soaked boozer into a heaving wine bar serving wines from all over the world. His bestselling wine was an Australian Shiraz, which was something of a novelty back then. Soon one bar became three, then five across the city before he sold the business and ‘retired’ to the south coast with his wife, Elizabeth, and their young son, Jamie, who’d just turned twelve.
He hadn’t intended to open a wine shop but there wasn’t one nearby, so for mainly selfish reasons Ten Green Bottles was opened on the site of an old antiques shop in a listed building at the top of the town. Mack’s neighbours included a bakery on one side and a hardware shop on the other.
He had renovated the space, stripping the plaster from the walls, taking them back to the original brickwork and crafting shelves from locally sourced oak. He and Elizabeth had also set about turning the dingy flat upstairs into a home for the three of them. She’d made curtains, cleaned carpets, cleared cupboards and painted furniture, transforming it into something quite charming.
Soon the shelves in the shop were stacked with wines. Now all Mack needed were some customers. But London was very different from this small seaside town; barely a dozen people came through the door in the first few weeks.
‘How about we throw a free wine tasting so people can see what you’re all about?’ Elizabeth suggested. The next day Mack placed an advert in the local paper, Elizabeth ran up some bunting to decorate the courtyard garden and Jamie posted flyers through the door of every shop and house the length of the high street and beyond.
The day of the tasting arrived and Mack had opened fifty different bottles, wines from all over the world, lined up on tables for people to try for themselves. Plates of bruschetta and crudités sat on side tables dotted around the courtyard, assembled by them both early that morning.
The sun shone brightly in a cloudless blue sky above. But still no one came.
‘Where is everyone? What’s wrong with these people? I’m offering them free wine!’ Mack was exasperated.
Elizabeth sprang up from her chair. ‘If they won’t come to us, let’s take it to them. Instead of sitting out here at the back where no one can see us, why don’t we set up the tables at the front of the shop instead? Jamie, run and get some paper cups from next door. Then we can give them a taste. That’ll get them in.’
By the middle of the afternoon the courtyard was rammed. Mack was in his element, pouring wines for people, telling them stories about the winemakers and places the wines had come from. He asked what sort of style they liked and found them new things to try. Elizabeth scribbled orders and took down customers’ details in a big black book. Jamie had positioned the old stereo upstairs by the window at the back and as the afternoon went on, the sounds from Mack’s jazz record collection floated down across the courtyard.
By the time the last customer left, it was almost dark. ‘Thank you, my darling,’ Mack called across to Elizabeth as they both cleared plates from tables strewn with empty bottles and dirty glasses. ‘If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be waiting for people to walk through the door.’
‘They just needed a bit of persuading, that’s all.’ Elizabeth smiled. ‘I spoke to quite a few who said they didn’t really drink wine. But then they tried something they hadn’t tried before and loved it.’
‘Exactly! That’s the thing… People seem to think it’s all crusty clarets and expensive Burgundy. But wine should be for anyone who wants to try it, not just for those with money. I think we’re on to something, Elizabeth.’
‘Mack, if you can pass on just a drop of your enthusiasm for the stuff then, yes, I think you’re on to something.’
‘I said we, Elizabeth; you and Jamie, too. That was a team effort today. Thank you.’
‘Come on, let’s get this place tidied up. You need this place shipshape and ready for business on Monday morning. Where’s Jamie? Jamie!’ She called up to the window, music still playing softly through it.
Jamie stuck his head out. ‘I’m here!’
‘Right, you, time for bed. It’s getting late and you look exhausted.’ Elizabeth playfully shooed him away with her hand.
‘But, Mum…’
‘Go on, off you go. I’ll be up in a minute.’ She turned to go inside, balancing plates in both hands. ‘Mack, grab the empty boxes and we can make a start on the bottles.’
; He watched her as she went inside, wondering what on earth he’d ever done to deserve her.
The sound of the book hitting the floor as it slipped out of his hand woke Mack with a start. He looked across at the clock on the wall, squinting to see it in the low light. It was almost two in the morning. Slowly, the events of the last couple of days came back to him: the meeting with his bank manager, where he’d broken the news to Mack that there was nothing more they could do to help.
The money side had never been his strong point – Elizabeth had done the books when the business had been running at full strength – but he’d always found a way to muddle through until now. This time, though, it really did look like it was time to concede defeat to the realities of running a small independent business on a once-busy, now often-deserted high street. Compounded in no small way by the seemingly endless string of cut-price deals on wine from the supermarket on the other side of the road.
He reached for the picture beside him, of Elizabeth and Jamie, taken years before on the beach not far from there. It had been their favourite spot, a small patch of sand on a pebble beach, tucked between two old wooden groynes. They’d often headed there after the shop had shut in the summer months, with a picnic for their supper. After the obligatory swim – Jamie would insist, no matter how cold the water was – they would wrap themselves in towels and sit on the sand, eating still-warm sausage sandwiches straight from their tightly wrapped tinfoil packet.
Mack looked at the picture, the sounds of the sea in his ears. He missed them both so much. It often physically hurt to think about them but, at the same time, it was the thought of them that had kept him going. Knowing they’d have wanted him to stay, to do what he loved, to try to be happy. Thinking about it, Mack realised the shop had been his crutch for all these years, his reason to get up and get on with the day. It had given him a purpose when, really, there were times when he’d rather have not woken up at all.
‘I’m so sorry, you two.’ Their faces smiled back at him from the photo. The wind had whipped Elizabeth’s hair across her face. Freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. Jamie was looking at his mother, laughing. His hair was thick and wild.
Mack carefully put the picture back, picked up his book from the floor and put it on the small table next to him. Lifting himself out of his chair, he slowly made his way to the kitchen to put his almost empty glass in the sink. Tomorrow he’d have to make a start on a stock count to see what could be sold off.
Flora had kindly offered to help Mack with whatever needed to be done to wrap up the business. She’d clearly been upset by the news but, at the same time, wanted to do whatever she could to help. He had to admit he saw something of himself in her, but it was more than just an interest in wine. It was a desire to make other people get as much joy from it as she did. To tell people about it, share the stories and spread the word on particular producers and wines she loved. He’d watched her at work in the shop. She asked questions, finding out what customers usually liked before making a few suggestions on other wines they might like to try. She remembered customers’ names, faces, occasions and what they’d bought the last time they’d been in. And best of all, Mack saw that she understood the real power of wine: to bring people together. To celebrate life.
But as he lifted the last sip of red wine in his glass to his lips, he found he didn’t want it. Instead, Mack poured it down the sink.
5
Flora lay in bed, eyes wide open and sleep seemingly far away. She could hear Johnny’s breath, slow and heavy. The evening had been one of highs and lows. She’d decided to break the news to Johnny that she was out of a job over supper. Baked potatoes were in the oven and a hastily thrown together stew sat warming in a casserole dish on the hob. As she called out from the garden when Johnny got home, Flora could tell from his response that something was up. He appeared at the back door, his tie already off.
‘What is it, Johnny?’ Flora crossed to stand in front of him.
‘Can we sit down? We need to talk.’
‘Yes, of course… What’s the matter?’ Flora’s stomach flipped. His eyes were dark, the familiar light behind them gone.
‘Daddy!’ Pip and Tom appeared in their pyjamas, each hugging a different side of their father.
‘Hey, you two.’ He ruffled their hair. ‘Listen, I’ve just got to talk to Mummy for a moment.’
‘But can you read me a story? Please, Daddy?’ Tom looked up at Johnny, his face hopeful.
‘Yes, I will. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll be in. Go on, go and clean your teeth and get into bed.’
‘I’ve already cleaned my teeth.’ Tom showed Johnny his gleaming white milk teeth.
‘So you have. Good job. OK, you too, Pip – go and choose a book and read for a bit and I’ll be in soon.’
‘But I’m nearly nine – can’t I watch telly for a bit longer?’ Pip looked at Flora. ‘Mum, you said I could.’
‘Yes, OK, go and watch some telly. We’ll be in soon. Just give us a moment.’ Flora ushered them towards the stairs.
‘Promise?’ Pip always required an extra level of reassurance.
‘We promise, now go.’ Johnny waited until they were out of sight. ‘I… I’m so sorry, Flora.’
‘What? Johnny, what is it?’ Flora grabbed his hands.
‘I’ve been made redundant. I found out yesterday, but I wanted to be sure of the details before I told you. I know you tried to call today but that’s why I couldn’t take your phone calls. I’m so sorry…’
‘Oh God, what happened?’
Johnny lowered his eyes. ‘The market just isn’t there, I’m afraid. They’ve had to cut an entire department. Unfortunately, the one that’s going is mine.’
‘But I thought…’
He looked at her again, tears threatening to fall. ‘To be honest, work hasn’t been good for a while. I just didn’t think the axe would fall quite so soon.’
‘But you’ve been so busy. I thought the company was doing well.’
‘We were. And now,’ he shrugged, ‘obviously, we’re not.’
‘So… what’s the deal? How long have you got?’ Flora tried to stop the thoughts flooding her head, urging them to form an orderly queue.
‘Well, they’ve cut me a fair deal, I think. I’ve been there for quite a long time so the redundancy package isn’t bad. I’ll get six months’ full pay.’
‘And what about working your notice?’
‘Today was my last day in the office.’
‘Wow, that was quick. Can you try and get another job in the meantime?’
‘Yes, but I can’t work for a direct competitor. Which, right at this very moment, is something of a relief. I have to admit, the thought of going back into the same sort of job is just too depressing.’
‘So, what are you saying? You don’t want to go back into IT?’
‘Yes… no…’ Johnny looked at her. ‘Flora, I don’t know. To tell you the truth, being made redundant has made me realise that I really don’t love what I do. At all, in fact.’
Flora felt sick. How could she tell him now that she, too, was about to lose her job?
‘Daddy…’ Tom appeared at the door, book in hand. ‘Please can you read me a story now?’
Johnny looked at Flora, briefly wiping at the corner of his eye. ‘Let me go and do this and I’ll be back.’
‘Are you sure? I’ll just check the food. Wine?’
‘Definitely.’
An hour later they sat at the kitchen table, empty plates and glasses in front of them. Flora had listened as Johnny told her the truth about the last year in his job. About endless meetings, increasingly long hours, the pressure not to be the one in the firing line. And now the whole department had gone anyway. His shoulders were heavy; he looked tired and drawn.
‘Why didn’t you tell me things were so bad?’
‘Because I didn’t want to worry you… and because I thought it would be OK in the end. Anyway, you had your hands full with everything going on
, the kids. And I know how much you love working in the shop.’
‘Actually,’ Flora cleared her throat, ‘I can’t quite believe the timing of this but I’ve got some bad news on that front, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, no, what? Is Mack OK?’
‘Yes, but he’s got to close the shop. Trade has been really slow and we just can’t compete. The bank said no to a loan, apparently. So he’s got to close and he might even have to sell the building.’
Johnny looked even more bereft. ‘But that’s terrible. Is that why you’ve been calling me today?’
‘Yes, but when you came home it didn’t seem quite such a big deal. I mean, my job barely brings in enough to pay for our food, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Flora, it’s not just about the money, it’s about a job that you loved.’ He got up and moved around the table, wrapping his arms around her shoulders.
‘Shit, Johnny, what are we going to do? Will we lose the house?’
‘Listen, we’ve got a roof over our heads. We’ve got two brilliant kids. And I’ve got six months’ salary to tide us over. Things could be worse. A lot worse.’
‘And we’ve got each other.’ Flora squeezed his arms tight.
‘Yes, my love.’ He kissed the side of her cheek. ‘We’ve got each other.’
‘So there is one other thing I’ve got to tell you, and this might just push you over the edge…’
‘Go on.’
‘My parents are coming for lunch on Sunday.’
‘Oh God, really?’
‘I can put them off.’
‘No, don’t. I’ll have to tell them sooner or later. I might as well get it over and done with.’
‘Billy’s coming, too – at least he said he was. I must ring and check. I’ll call him tomorrow.’
‘Brilliant, it’ll be good to see him.’ Johnny loved seeing Flora’s younger brother. Billy could always be relied upon to liven up proceedings, particularly a Sunday lunch with the in-laws.
‘You know they’ll ask what we plan to do next.’