‘How did I know you were going to say that? They’re my favourite. I have to stop what I’m doing every day at five o’clock to watch my favourite chateau DIY programme.’
‘Oh, I’d love to renovate a chateau. Now that would be a goal in life.’
I shake my head in disbelief. Why do we have to have so much in common?
‘Do you want to see my cellar?’ asks Tomas.
If anyone else asked me that, I might well have a panic attack and think they wanted to lock me up, but seeing Tomas’ cellar is an invitation I can’t miss. I have never been in one before, and I am in awe as Tomas takes me on a tour around. One dark corner of the cellar is full of red and white wines, and I realise that Tomas must be quite the wine connoisseur, something I didn’t know until now. Then again, in his line of work, I suppose that shouldn’t be such a surprise.
‘It’s amazing. It’s like a secret wine grotto down here.’
Tomas takes out one of the vintage bottles and tells me how he has been saving it for a special occasion and this is what he needed to pick up.
‘I think tonight is special enough to open this. Luckily, you’re allowed to take your own wine to the restaurant we’re going to.’
I have never tasted a proper vintage wine before and worry it might be full of cobwebs. But I am sure Tomas knows what he is doing.
‘Do you know what year it’s from?’ asks Tomas.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t have a clue. You’re the wine specialist. I’m ashamed to admit this, but I just choose the cheapest at the supermarket.’
Finally, I have found something that we don’t have in common, but I’m sure I could be persuaded to convert my ways.
‘Well, it’s from 1993. The year my uncle met your aunt. I thought it would be appropriate.’
‘Tomas, that’s so thoughtful. What a great idea. Goodness though, does 1993 qualify as vintage nowadays?’
‘You’d be surprised,’ laughs Tomas.
When Tomas goes to the bathroom before we leave, I take a closer look at my surroundings. Of course, I don’t peek into drawers and things, but I look around the living room at the photos I didn’t have the nerve to pick up when he was standing beside me. I pick up a silver frame.
Tomas looks so happy in every photograph as his smile radiates out. Even in the photos of him as a child in the Seventies, that big cheesy grin is unmistakable. He seems to have this positive outlook on life that shows on his face, and it is one of the things I adore most about him.
I look at the abstract paintings he has hanging on the walls. They are all bright and sunny and, I expect, reflect his disposition. Even his house is yellow like the sun. Everything here is so colourful, including the sofa and the bright blue throw that lies across it. It is such a happy home. It reminds me of the colour scheme back at the mill. It’s almost a home from home. I peek through an open door to another room and see that it is his study. I look up on the wall to where his university degree certificate hangs. The university that brought him to Wales, where we sadly never met. We were so near, yet so far. I wonder how different things would have been had we met there.
‘Are we ready?’ says Tomas, catching me with a photo of him in my hand with two people who are presumably his parents.
‘Yes, of course. Sorry, I was just looking at this. Mam and Dad?’
‘Yeah, it wasn’t long before their accident.’
‘I can see the resemblance. They look lovely.’
I could stay at Tomas’ home all evening, but we are already running late for dinner.
We leave the house and drive through the lovely suburb he lives in, with its hip art galleries and cafes. It is quite a trendy area, which surprises me given that Tomas’ house is tucked away and more traditional. Street art on the side of buildings blends in with the shop fronts, and I spot a painting of Charles Bridge in a shop window. It is the type of place I could definitely enjoy walking around, window-shopping.
When we reach the restaurant, Tomas holds the door open for me. I can’t help but enjoy a bit of chivalry, even if that does make me old-fashioned to some.
I don’t know if Albert chose the restaurant or Tomas, but I am delighted by its charm. A waiter leads us to a quieter table in the corner with dim mood lighting that reflects against the burgundy and gold damask flock wallpaper. The pristine white pressed tablecloths make me think how I wouldn’t dare have something like tomato soup in here. The restaurant is packed with locals, and I can imagine Aunt Grace coming here with Marek, had they made it. I think how this might have been their favourite place, and they may have even come with Albert and Zuzana who are both already seated at the table. They get up to give me a hug as we greet each other. We chat about the snow, and Tomas tells Albert that he managed to pick up the vintage wine when Albert proposes we make a toast.
‘I think we should celebrate Marek and Grace bringing us all together, don’t you?’ says Albert.
‘I agree. If it wasn’t for them, we would never have met Olivia,’ says Tomas.
‘Very true,’ I say.
‘Let’s not waste time. Let’s open the wine and make a toast,’ says Tomas.
