Not that the road to her property was ever busy, but it added an extra layer of privacy.
She was growing an affinity for the local hardware shop, particularly the gardening aisle, and had managed to buy a bunch of tools—some she’ll definitely use, others she may never, but it was fun shopping for them.
Late in the afternoon, when she was wrist deep in soil and onto planting the last of the fifteen lilly pillies she had on hand, Mitch’s ute pulled into her driveway.
Her heartrate raced—not out of excitement to see him. No, quite the opposite—fear for what he was about to say to her.
She pulled off her gloves and let them drop onto the grass, then dusted off her clothes while Mitch climbed out and unbuckled Sophie from her car seat.
Matilda remained a distance away, shocked to be physically feeling the reversion to the bad news she knew Mitch was holding in his mouth.
‘Hi, Matilda,’ he said, finally meeting her gaze.
‘Hi.’
‘Been busy,’ he said, eyeing the green, red and lime foliage of the small, shiny-leaved plants all in a perfect line.
‘A little.’
‘I hope I’m not interrupting. I probably should have rung first …’
‘It’s fine. Come inside. I’ll make us a tea. Or would you prefer a coffee?’
‘A coffee would be great. Thanks.’
She neared him as they met at the front door. She lightly squeezed Sophie’s foot and managed a smile. ‘Hello, Sophie. Good to see you.’
Sophie smiled bashfully and wiggled her toes.
Matilda let them inside and directed them to the living room while she strode off to wash her hands and face, then made them a coffee. ‘Would Sophie like anything?’ she called out from the kitchen.
‘She’s fine. She has her sippie cup with her,’ he called back.
She closed her eyes and leant her hands against the bench. This distance between them, not wanting to be in the same room, was a bad sign. But she had seen it coming from the moment he withdrew from her Friday night.
Coffees made, she handed Mitch his cup and took a seat opposite him on the couch. Sophie sat beside him, crawling over the couch and his lap.
He frowned at Matilda so forlornly, her belly flipped. ‘I’m so sorry about Friday night. I really don’t even know what happened.’
She shrugged, shook her head.
‘Matilda …’ She tried not to show the cringe when he used her full name again. ‘I’m obviously not ready for a relationship …’ He rubbed his palm over his chin, a frown finding permanent residence on his lips. ‘I’m going to see a grief counsellor. I probably should have done that a long time ago, but I wasn’t ready to face the pain head-on, and I knew a counsellor would make me confront things I wasn’t … I wasn’t ready to face.’
Matilda’s breaths were shallow. Her chest was tight with emotion. She didn’t say anything, just nodded her agreement.
‘And I think it’s best …’ He cleared his throat. ‘Ah … if we, perhaps, took a break.’
A break? Why not say what he was really thinking: they should end it here. They tried, it didn’t work, it’s now over.
Anger bubbled beneath her skin. That tightening in her chest was now much more violent. ‘Just say the truth, Mitch. Don’t mask it with semantics. Please, at least, spare me that bullshit.’
He blinked. ‘I’m not masking anything.’
She got to her feet and sighed. ‘Okay, well how about we agree that it’s not a break. That you and I and this brief interlude didn’t work. You’ll get on with it, and I’ll do the same. Don’t you think I’ve been strung along enough?’
His eyes widened. ‘Matilda, I never once felt like I was stringing you along. I was serious every step of the way.’
She rubbed her hands over her face. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, words soft. ‘I know that. I’m hurt, I guess.’
His frown deepened. ‘Me too. I wish I could give you more of me—I’ve tried—but I can’t.’
She sat back down, shoulders sagging. ‘That’s fine, Mitch.’
Silence fell between them except for little noises from Sophie as she climbed and swung from Mitch’s knees.
‘Would you mind leaving now please?’ she said, words choked by her emotion. Not tears, but something close.
He got to his feet, lifting Sophie with him. ‘I’m sorry, Matilda.’
She stood too, hands on her hips. ‘Me too.’
And out of the room, he strode. Sophie waved her little hands at Matilda. ‘Bye bye,’ she said.
Matilda mustered all her strength to smile at her and wave back.
Sophie kissed her palm, fingers splayed, then lifted her palm (not quite managing the blowing action), and sent an air-kiss. Matilda’s heart squeezed with how utterly gorgeous that was and how incredibly painful it was to see the two of them walking out of her life.
She blew Sophie a kiss back, resisting the tears that wanted to appear.
She didn’t follow Mitch to the front door, simply waited for the click as he closed it quietly before she fell back onto the couch.
She was holding a long rope. Mitch held one end, she held the other. Over the last few weeks, Mitch had pulled his end of the rope, dragging her slowly towards him. Each metre closer, she felt the healthful heat of him more and more.
While nearing the sun, her life brightened.
But now as he let the rope go, there was too much slack. Her palms burned from the friction of trying to hold on. Further and further away from him she plummeted. Beneath her was the entire town, all watching on as Mitch tugged and let go, tugged and let go.
Past relationships were in the past for a reason. It was best to leave them where they lie. Sleeping dogs and all that.
Chapter 20
Mitch had organised a grief counsellor immediately. For two months now, he had met with him once a fortnight.
Sure, talking about his pain had been difficult, but he also knew that if he wanted some semblance of a quality of life, he had to face the worst of it.
So far, he was feeling not so much relief, but more so, that he was able to view his grief from a different perspective and from a place of greater understanding.
Distinguishing his trauma from his grief had been a breakthrough moment. Knowing that the shock caused by seeing Rachel cut from one hip to the other, white and limp in that hospital bed, and the painful emotions and constant thoughts that arose were a result of that trauma.
He had never known such relief when the doctor had told him there were techniques that could help him. Knowing that there was a chance that his mind could be relieved, even in the slightest way, was healing in and of itself.
Guilt was the biggest hurdle, though. So much Mitch regretted, like not believing Rachel when she had intuited she was going to die and not making better use of the last moments he had with her.
But he hadn’t been able to believe that something so horrible could ever have happened to them. But it had.
And the guilt twisted and turned like gnarled vine roots as time went by. It bit him like a winter frost when he thought he wasn’t grieving enough or if he believed he was doing something that made him happy when Rachel would never get that chance again.
After his latest session, the counsellor expertly led Mitch to the reason for why a relationship with Matilda hadn’t worked. His guilt for even contemplating another relationship was too great and too encompassing and by himself, he had no strategies to cope with it.
The doctor was helping him deal with that now, but it would take time.
Mitch had thought work would be strained. But Matilda was professional. She went about her duties as though nothing had happened. Their conversations were polite. She laughed with his brothers and the other staff, and he was grateful for this—it was one less part of his life he had to feel guilty about.
The days grew hotter as December approached. And before he had a chance to take a breath, the launch of their new line snuck up on them. D
ecember 1, every In the Spirit Liquor Store stocked the first five vintages. Restaurants received their ordered supplies. And investors had their bottles delivered.
The launch took place in Melbourne. Mitch and his brothers, along with Matilda and two sales staff, spent the day at the biggest In the Spirit Liquor Store talking with suppliers, off-the-street customers and reporters.
Driving out of the city towards home that evening, the Mathews family were everywhere—on billboards, on the side of buses, in magazines, the news, and television shows.
He was so proud he nearly burst with it.
Within days, from the enormous exposure, the sales orders exploded.
They had deals running, leading up to Christmas, where customers could have various varietals boxed and delivered straight to their front door.
Never was Mitch more relieved to have in place the new partnership with Rugged Terrain Vineyard. Now, these few months later, he could see Matilda was right to have advised him in that direction. To have cut short their future supply simply to save face would have undone all this promotion and resulting expansion.
After all the lead-up, preparation, painstaking detail and work, he and his brothers had a few quiet drinks in the vineyard’s restaurant on Friday night.
They were in the same frame of mind—giddy, relieved and able to finally take a deep breath.
So far, everything they had worked so hard to achieve was thriving. They had toasted their father and each other.
Never had Mitch felt more a part of something that was bigger than him, not since Sophie was born. He was full of pride and exhilaration, and he could own those emotions because he had always been able to separate Rachel from his work. This vineyard, his goals, were here before her, and they would remain long after.
He flinched when he thought that as though some vital puzzle piece had clicked into place.
Sam leant forward across the table, his brow furrowed. ‘What were you just thinking then? Your entire body twitched.’
He looked off into the distance, deep inside his own mind, and when he asked the question, even though he said it out loud, it was a question he was asking himself rather than Sam. ‘Matilda was here before all the pain too, so why am I not able to keep that relationship separate from this grief?’
Sam and Tom went silent and leant back in their chairs.
He finally met their gazes, one then the next.
‘You tell us,’ Tom said.
Mitch swallowed a mouthful of beer and shrugged. He didn’t have an exact answer. He could guess. But he’d much rather ask his counsellor about it before he overthought himself inside out.
It was a little before six pm and guests who had taken riding or walking tours of the vineyard during the day and participated in wine tasting this afternoon were trickling in for dinner. Six courses each paired with complementing wines.
The brothers sat up the back together, keeping to themselves. After so many months in the public eye, they craved some solitude.
‘Best thing we did was hire Matilda,’ Sam said. ‘Honestly, without her these last few months, I’m not sure we would have made it to here.’
Mitch nodded in agreement.
‘I like her. A lot,’ Tom said. ‘She’s what this vineyard needed.’
Mitch rubbed his face with his palm. ‘Can we please not talk about Matilda?’
Sam arched a brow. ‘You started it.’
True. He had. But it wasn’t an invitation for them to go on about how great she was. He knew that already. ‘It feels like you’re rubbing salt in my wounds.’
‘That wasn’t our intention,’ Tom said.
Mitch sighed. ‘I know. But it’s the result.’
‘You know she’s not coming to the Christmas party tomorrow night?’ Sam said.
Mitch sat up straighter, frowned. ‘Why? Because of me?’
Sam nodded. ‘Yeah, she didn’t outright say that was the reason, but I could tell.’
‘What did she say exactly?’
‘That it would feel a little awkward, and she was tired and had a lot to do.’
‘But she’s … she can’t.’
Sam shrugged. ‘Well, she is. We can’t force her. And if we go by your track record, you’ll probably end up drinking too much, kissing her, then telling her to stay away soon after that.’
Mitch scowled at his brother. ‘That was below the belt.’
‘A little. But it’s true. You’ve treated her like shit if I’m to be blunt. I can’t blame her that she doesn’t want to put herself through anymore.’
‘Are you fucking serious?’ His question was a barked whisper, so the guests didn’t hear him.
Sam shrugged.
Got to give it to his brothers to tell it how it was. Not that Mitch could talk; he’d certainly given them their fair share of home truths over the years.
Mitch looked at Tom. ‘Do you feel the same?’
Tom gave Sam a ‘why did you have to open your mouth?’ side-eye. ‘I think she has put up with more than her fair share of shit. I’m surprised she stuck with us to tell you the truth. I was thinking after your last fall-out, she’d have legged it. But her heart’s here—professionally, that is.’
Mitch blew out a long breath as he scratched the back of his neck. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt her.’
‘We know,’ Tom said. ‘It’s complicated. But it still doesn’t take away from the fact that you have hurt her.’
Mitch winced to have it thrown back in his face. ‘What do I do?’
‘Make up your bloody mind. And for god’s sake, don’t go near her until you have.’
A part of him was proud of his brothers for defending Matilda and a part of him hated himself letting his weakness be a source of upset for her.
He downed the last of his beer and placed the empty bottle on the table. ‘On that cheery note, I’m going home.’ He’d like to see Sophie before she went down to sleep for the night. With all the long hours and travel, he’d been overlooking her of late.
They said their goodbyes and Mitch walked home in the warm summer evening. The sun was still up and the afternoon’s sultry outbreath tangled through his hair. Birds were singing in the distant branches.
He trudged up the stairs to his home. All was quiet when he pushed through the front door.
‘Hello,’ he called.
‘I’m dressing Sophie into her pyjamas,’ Georgia yelled out from Sophie’s room.
He went to her room and leant against the doorway to let Georgia finish. When done, Georgia lifted Sophie from the change table and passed her to Mitch.
‘Good afternoon, gorgeous girl,’ he said cradling her on his hip and kissing her cheek. ‘Did you just have a bath?’
Sophie smiled and wrapped her little arms around his neck. She smelled so wonderful like soft baby powder and soap.
‘I’ll leave you two to it then, shall I?’ Georgia asked.
‘Sure. Thanks for today.’
‘As always, it’s my pleasure.’
Georgia left, and Mitch carried Sophie into the lounge room. He sat on the carpet and played toys with her. Sophie marched little animals across his leg and he would make the noises they made, and she would imitate him.
Eventually, Sophie grew restless and was ready for her night-time bottle. He fed it to her while she laid on his lap.
The suffocating oppression of the house’s silence settled over him.
Sophie’s eyelids drooped as she sucked at the teat. She was growing so much now, her hair thickening and becoming longer. Her vocabulary was increasing every day. A big personality was bursting from her little body.
Soon this nightly bottle wouldn’t be a part of their routine.
No matter how much he attempted to slow everything down or even reverse it, the train scooted at a pace away from the station.
When the bottle was empty, he carefully slipped it from between Sophie’s lips and placed it to the side. He let her lie there on him for a long while afterwards, and he wa
tched her beautiful face as she slept.
Her lips were slightly open and her breaths were deep and steady. A lovely pink coloured her cheeks. She had Rachel’s nose and lips, but her eyes, skin and hair colouring were all from him.
When his own eyes stung with the need for sleep, and she was sweaty with her body against his in this summer heat, he lifted Sophie to her room, careful not to wake her, and rested her down in her cot.
He made dinner for himself—a couple of toasted sandwiches—and ate them in front of the television.
He washed his single plate and the bottle, then folded a pile of washing.
Friday night was usually his favourite night of the week. An aliveness would dwell within him after a long week at work, knowing that tomorrow he could relax.
He and Rachel would always go out for dinner or have a barbeque at a friend’s place or go to the movies or out for drinks at the pub. But his usual aliveness hadn’t been present for many many months.
He felt like he was standing in an expansive field that went on in all directions. The dark night sky overhead was limitless and unreachable. In comparison, he was so tiny.
Mitch loathed to feel this loneliness because he had a life full of people whom he loved dearly. A daughter. Brothers. His mother. Friends. He shouldn’t be lonely.
A stronger person wouldn’t dwell on it. A better person would be grateful. Look at Mum, she had been on her own for eight years and not once did she admit to being lonely.
Dad would get on with more important matters and certainly wouldn’t stay in a condition as miserable as loneliness. He’d call a mate, go have a beer or, better yet, get out and do some hard physical labour until his fingers bled.
But Mitch did feel this way. He missed his wife. Rachel’s absence was like the unending sky, and he was the small, nonconsequential remnant of the life they once lived together.
And now he desired a new intimacy—with Matilda. This missing and the wanting combined, amplified the loneliness like nothing he’d ever felt before.
He ached to climb into bed beside Matilda and tell her about his week.
Sweet From the Vine Page 21