‘I am.’
When Matilda left and headed downstairs to her car, she still held doubts about how well she and Mitch were going to work together.
Tomorrow, though, she was determined to turn up at the vineyard with any emotions from the past switched off. And those that crept up unexpectedly, well hidden.
She had never worked with a man she had been attracted to, especially while single herself. Her solution was to start dating other men as quickly as possible, so she could divert some of this, she’ll admit it, sexual tension, towards a man she had a potential future with.
The message Mitch gave was loud and clear—no-one was going to move in on his wife’s territory. At least not in the near future anyway. And that was fine—it was his pain to work through as much as this was her new life to make here in Alpine Ridge.
Matilda clinging to the one familiar thing she had in this town was not conducive to her starting fresh.
Monday morning, nine am, Matilda met with the Mathews brothers in the boardroom. They sat, all three of them, big and broad, dressed in designer shirts and slacks, across from her.
‘Okay, so I’m just going to come out and say this,’ she said.
Their eyes widened a fraction in anticipation.
She gestured from one to the next. ‘You three are incredibly attractive. Let’s face the facts here.’
They all passed looks at each other uncomfortably.
‘We need to utilise that advantage for what it’s worth. You guys are as tied in with this rebranding as the new slogan and logo I’m creating.’
Sam’s nose wrinkled as he rubbed his jaw. ‘I don’t know. You think that’s … wise?’
‘All in good taste, I assure you. But you guys need to have your face …’ she cleared her throat, ‘and bodies, splashed around everywhere. I am going to organise professional, tasteful photo shoots for you all, and we’re going to add those to the website and on various mediums of content. You are to start a podcast, simulcast as a video we can upload to YouTube, talking about all things wine and viticulture and family life on a vineyard. We’re going to go into that precious cellar and show the magic of that place to the world. We’re going to talk about innovation. Best practices.’
Tom went to interrupt, but she didn’t allow him.
‘Don’t worry, we won’t give away trade secrets. But you need to start showing your customers that you, as a family unit since its origins, live and breathe for this vineyard.’
‘I’m not going to prance around like a show pony,’ Mitch said. ‘I’d get laughed out of this town.’
Matilda smiled to hear that the modesty their father drilled into them still existed. ‘I understand what you’re saying. I’m not suggesting you shoot videos with your shirts off …’ She lowered her eyes as heat burst into her cheeks when images of seeing Mitch yesterday, shirtless, filled her mind. ‘I’m going to style you all in a specific way—designer long sleeve shirts, crisp navy pants, a tailored vest here and there, meticulous grooming.’
Tom breathed out a long sigh and frowned.
‘You need to trust me on this—I have a vision in mind and I’ll make it work. You won’t be laughed out of town. Quite the opposite. I will create a professional image for you all and this vineyard. Think early twentieth century picnic—suave, masculine, family-oriented, out in nature.’
‘We like our privacy,’ Mitch said.
Sam nodded in agreement.
‘We all do,’ Matilda said. ‘And we can still maintain that privacy. Only very controlled, specific information will ever make it out to the public. Nothing about your personal lives needs to be on show. This is about the vineyard, the trials, the jubilations, and your roles within it. I think you need to realise that the reason you were struggling so much pinning down your brand is because your brand has been you three, all along.’
They stared at her, then looked at each other.
‘I will stage produce every aspect of this promotion so it shows you all in the best light. I will create a sense of modesty but absolute confidence.’
Mitch drew a deep breath and released it as a resigned sigh. ‘This is why we hired you, and we trust that you know how to do your job well. So you have our agreement to do what you need to do.’
Matilda smiled. ‘Excellent.’
See, no problem at all. She could do this.
Chapter 8
‘Come on, Soph,’ Mitch said holding his hand out for Sophie and leading her through the house to the back pergola of Tom and Amy’s.
Their monthly Sunday lunch—an initiative of Amy’s established soon after Rachel’s death—was being held today.
Sophie was dressed in a pair of denim jean tights—a present from Aunt Grace last time she visited—and a pale pink Peppa the Pig jumper. Peppa the Pig was the flavour of the moment. Peppa the Pig was the one show that drove Mitch around the bend.
‘Let’s see Nanna.’
‘Nanna,’ Sophie repeated, quickening her pace. Poor little thing trying to keep up with Mitch’s long legs even when he was dawdling.
They found all the family sitting around the long table. Nibbles sat on timber platters along with ice buckets of beer and bottles of wine.
He went to Mum. Her hair was almost completely grey now, and she had lost some weight even in the short time since he drove to see her at the nursing home.
‘Hi, Mum,’ he said, bending to kiss her cheek.
‘Hi, darling,’ she said.
‘Say hi to Nanna, Soph.’
Sophie crawled up onto her lap and kissed Mum’s cheek. Mum looked at Aunt Grace with an expression he had come to know. An expression that said, ‘can you please explain who this is?’
‘Mitch’s daughter, Sophie,’ Aunt Grace said. ‘How are you, Mitch? You keeping well?’
He kissed his aunt’s cheek and nodded. ‘I’m doing okay.’
‘Good to hear.’
‘Sophie, you look so much like Mitch when he was a baby.’ Mum said that every single time.
‘She does,’ Aunt Grace agreed as though it wasn’t the hundredth time she’d heard it.
‘Soph right there with you?’ he asked.
Aunt Grace nodded. ‘We’ll keep an eye on her. The little darling. I can’t believe how much she is growing.’
‘She’ll be bigger than me soon enough,’ Mitch said with a laugh. He spun to face the others. ‘How are we all?’
Tom and Amy, Sam and Ellie, all said their hellos.
‘Hello, Miss Livvy. How are you today, darling?’ he asked, leaning to kiss her cheek. The spitting image of Sam; it blew his mind. Never was there any doubt that Livvy was his daughter.
She opened her mouth and showed the missing tooth at the front.
‘You’re losing teeth and Sophie’s getting them.’ Sophie had been miserable the last few nights, and this morning he’d realised a new tooth had come through.
As with every milestone in his daughter’s life, it was bittersweet. Not one moment was anything but—the bitterness that Rachel wasn’t here to experience life with them, and the happiness that came from watching Sophie grow and become her own unique character.
He took a seat next to Sam. Sophie crawled off Mum’s lap and ran to her uncle.
‘I was waiting for you to come say hello,’ Sam said leaning forward and sweeping Sophie up into his arms before tickling her belly. She laughed and everyone in the room laughed along with her.
That was the magic of children—their emotions were contagious.
‘Where’s Matilda?’ Mum asked.
Mitch snapped his head around to look at her. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She’s normally joined at your hip.’
Mitch certainly hadn’t told Mum or Aunt Grace that Matilda was back in town. He looked at Sam and Tom, they just shrugged. It must be an old memory from when Mitch was in high school. The more Mum’s mind succumbed to this horrible disease, dementia, the further back in time she went.
Just last fortnight when he went to visit her
, she thought Mitch was there to get her for Dad’s funeral. A funeral that had taken place seven years earlier. It tore his heart almost in half.
So far, Mum hadn’t forgotten him. She often confused Tom with Sam, but Mitch was still strong in her mind. He didn’t know how he would cope when she did forget him. It was going to happen. It was just a matter of when.
He simply said, not wanting to go into it, ‘She couldn’t make it.’
‘That’s a shame. Your father would have been happy to see her. He always says how she’ll be the making of you.’
Mitch’s stomach tensed. Of all the moments for this time period to come up. ‘She’s a great girl,’ he said. His throat was tight, not because Matilda was mentioned, but because watching and hearing his mum’s constant confusion hacked at his heart.
She was such a bright, intelligent, funny woman and most of that had been stripped away.
He stood from his seat and went to her again. He leant down in front of her, took her face in his hands and kissed her cheek. ‘I love you so much, Mum.’
Her eyes were filled with warmth when she said, ‘I love you too, darling.’
While she could still recognise him and understand him, he wanted to never miss a moment to let her know how much she meant to him. He would never take anyone for granted ever again. That was a lesson he only had to learn once.
He got to his feet and went back to his seat.
‘I hope everyone is hungry,’ Amy said.
Mitch, Sam and Tom glanced at each other and laughed.
‘I assume, Amy, that wasn’t a serious question,’ Aunt Grace said. ‘Do you know how much in food bills my sister forked out raising these boys?’
Amy giggled. ‘I have some idea.’
‘I wasn’t surprised, Mitch, when you married a chef. And now you, Tom,’ Aunt Grace said.
‘Meanwhile, I can’t cook. Don’t know what that means for you,’ Ellie said to Sam with a laugh.
Livvy piped up. ‘Dad said you make a good curry, though.’
Sam rolled his head back and laughed. ‘See, seven months later and that still has legs.’
Mitch rested back in his chair, fingers entwined as they rested on his stomach. He really did look forward to these lunches—it was a nice excuse to get out of the house and relax with all the people in his life he loved.
Since he had a glimpse of the old him, he had realised how much his life had been put on hold. Sure, he’d been going through the motions, but he could see now, he was never fully present. Always, a part of his mind was stuck in that hospital room where Rachel had died, always a part of him was buried with her.
He’d not been able to think of the past since Rachel passed away. Every memory came with a rush of melancholy and of pain as though he was grieving for not only Rachel but every moment he had lived until the day she died.
Listening to funny stories, stories that were filled with happiness, had sparked something inside him. It made him remember that not all of his past was difficult. There had been great times too.
He had an amazing family that was growing year by year. And with that realisation, he had glimpsed his future. A future that had been obscured for a long time. A future that filled him with terror to even contemplate. And yet it was there—dim, hazy, but there, available for him.
‘And while we’re at it, we may as well let everyone know that we’ve set a date for the wedding—February 10 next year,’ Tom said.
Ellie squealed. ‘How exciting.’
‘A summer wedding,’ Sam said.
‘And where will you be getting married?’ Mitch asked.
Tom and Amy glanced at each other with a smile, then Tom said, ‘Here. On the vineyard. Of course.’
Mitch’s heart warmed. Of course.
He and Rachel were married in Melbourne. That was always a small niggling regret of his until she passed away, and he realised how silly it was to worry about such petty matters.
But he was glad Tom was honouring their family heritage. ‘That’s a great plan.’
‘Just a small wedding,’ Amy added. ‘Mostly family and close friends.’
‘Please tell me you want me to do all the flowers?’ Ellie asked.
Amy grinned. ‘Of course.’
‘I’d be absolutely honoured.’
Mitch arrived home in the late afternoon. Sophie was exhausted because she had missed her daytime nap, but he wasn’t going to let her fall asleep now. She’d be up all night otherwise. So he dressed her in a swimming nappy.
With a big fluffy towel wrapped around her to defend against the afternoon cold, he carried her outside to the spa and placed her in a floaty so she could paddle around herself.
He lifted her in, her face lighting up with the most excited smile as she plunged into the warm water. She loved the spa. So did he. He had it installed specifically to help deal with stress. It gave him time to look out into the distance and clear his mind when he needed to.
He climbed in after her, tossing in some of her toys, and relaxed back. His plan was to completely tire her out, give her dinner, then put her to bed. Hopefully, she would sleep until five tomorrow morning.
When she woke, she’d have a dirty nappy waiting for him—her clockwork routine. He’d change her nappy, make her breakfast, where she would destroy the floor under her highchair with chewed up bits of pear or banana, soggy toast or her entire bowl of cereal and milk tipped over.
He’d carry her to the bathroom for a bath or if he was running late, she’d shower with him. Then he’d dress her, usually from among the clothes she had pulled out of her cupboard the night before as though they too were toys, then he’d clean the mess from breakfast.
At eight, Georgia came upstairs and took over while he shovelled down a protein shake then got dressed before leaving for work.
After work, he prepared dinner for himself and Sophie, bathed her, dressed her, gave her a night-time bottle, and she would fall asleep in his arms. He’d put her to bed, go do a quick workout in his home gym, then spend the rest of the evening watching television or reading in bed.
He loved his daughter very very much. He loved his daughter more than he had loved anyone ever. But the thought of doing the same thing over and over again sometimes made getting out of bed difficult.
Some mornings, amidst the pre-dawn darkness, when he couldn’t claw open his eyelids as Sophie cried from her cot wanting to get out, he would put his pillow over his head to chance more sleep.
But Sophie was insistent and his fatherly guilt would kick in, reprimanding him for being so selfish, and he’d drag himself out of bed.
He smiled as he watched the love of his life kick around in front of him, playing with a bright orange toy goanna and his heart heaved with the strength of his love.
But sitting beneath all that was another emotion. An emotion that left him feeling like a robot, performing pre-set tasks determined by someone other than himself.
How abhorrent that he dare feel boredom. Not when Rachel would give anything to have just one day, no matter how mundane, with her daughter, living this same life. She would embrace the drudgery, the weariness, the monotony and wrap herself in the blessed beauty of it all.
But she wasn’t here and he was. And he was alone and doing this all by himself every single day. And some days, he was bored.
A cold rush of air blew across his skin and he goose pimpled. It possessed a current of impending doom. He reached for his mobile phone and checked his weather app.
A frost warning sat centre of the screen.
‘Shit,’ he grumbled. Sophie glanced up at him as he quickly got to his feet. ‘Come on, darling, time to hop out. It’s getting too cold to have you out here in this.’
Her bottom lip dropped and tears flooded her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s the way it is,’ he said lifting her out of her floaty and wrapping her in a warm towel. ‘Come on, you can have a nice hot bath inside.’
He stepped out of the spa, Sophie in one arm bellowing her ov
er-tired discontent, and dialled Tom.
‘Tom. Frost warning, mate. Give Sam a call and meet me in the merlot yard. We might get these fans going as a precaution.’ A few years ago, they had invested in giant fans to be installed in the valleys of the merlot and riesling vineyards. This region was renowned for frost and the fans usually warded off damage allowing the cool air to rise rather than settle across the lower lying vines.
‘Frost? Fuck,’ Tom hissed. ‘And it happens the year they bud early.’
Mitch sighed. That’s what had his heart thumping. The fans worked fairly well, but usually, when the spring frosts came, the vines hadn’t budded yet, meaning they were less vulnerable. ‘I know. We could have put a bet on it.’ Sophie bellowed out a long cry and he tried to move his head away from the onslaught of sound.
‘What’s wrong with Sophie?’ Tom asked.
‘She doesn’t want to get out of the spa. And she’s ready for bed.’
Tom chuckled. ‘All right, you take care of Soph while I get on to Sam. I’ll see you soon.’
It had been too many years where the crops had been great quality. Never flawless, that was impossible, but as good as could be expected.
Life just felt like one big test after another these days.
Chapter 9
The sudden drop in temperature last night was substantial. Matilda woke in her bed shivering. She had to wear her boots and a thick coat to defend against the change in weather.
As she drove along the winding track towards the admin building on the vineyard, the expansive rows of grass between the vines were covered in a crust of white frost.
Already there was action in the yards with little carts winding through the rows of vines. Large metal barrels were standing intermittently, smoke wheezing from them.
A big whooshing sound could be heard even above the music quietly playing from her car radio. The giant fans she had noticed when Mitch had taken her on a tour of the yards were all in use. A swarm of nerves nestled in her stomach as she realised all this was in reaction to the frost.
When at the office, only the sales and admin staff were there. Not one of the brothers were present. Her stomach twisted again—that couldn’t be a good sign.
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