‘A little,’ I reply. ‘I was a sommelier for a bit.’
‘Oh yes?’ she replies, immediately animated. ‘I grew up surrounded by vineyards. My aunt and uncle even have apetite maisonin the Loire.’
‘That must have been fun,’ I say, picking up a different bottle, this one with a pencil sketch of rows of vines along a deep valley.
‘Well, it was very lucky for me, but of course I didn’t appreciate it as much, when I was seventeen. Couldn’t wait to get out.’
I nod, as my thumb runs back and forth along the row of vines. ‘No one wants to live at home at seventeen. Try coming from Plymouth.’
She giggles and holds her hand out. ‘Do you want a tasting?’
‘Idid,’ I say. ‘But I’m thinking I’d better keep a clear head.’
‘At least let me offer you a taste of this rosé?’ she says, wandering across to the fridge and plucking a bottle from the bottom shelf. She pours out a generous tasting glass and, when I frown at her, we both grin.
‘Thanks,’ I reply, thinking about her family vineyard, wondering what it would be like to have a home that you couldn’t wait to return to. ‘Can I ask you something?’ I say, looking up at her.
‘Of course.’
‘How did you know you wanted to open this wine shop?’
‘Well, wine is in my blood, as you know, and I think although time passes, you never lose the love for where you are from. It is who you are.’
‘Hmm,’ I say, downing the drink. ‘But what if you don’t have those roots. What if you moved around a lot? Or you had shitty parents. You know, not everyone wants to stay where they were. Lots of people want something better, right?’
‘Tell me what you love,’ she says.
‘I love,’ I say, running my fingers around the nearly-empty bowl of rosé, ‘I love belonging. I mean, what the fuck does that even mean?’
‘To a man?’
‘No. No,’ I say, shaking my head.
‘A family?’
‘Yes, I suppose, though not my own.’
‘Perhaps you must find somewhere to put your roots into the earth? A little water, a little sunlight, a little time and space? Like the vine? You cannot hope to debut the perfect vintage if you do not take the time to grow and nurture and love.’
‘I don’t believe that,’ I say, feeling my head become dizzy and suddenly wanting to leave. I down the rest of my glass.
‘Don’t you?’ she says, taking a sip of her rosé.
My mind drifts back to the loch, the dark clouds thick overhead, the wind whistling across the grey water. I walk back through the woods, along the river. I pass the little stables where Brett is grooming the horses, and along to the cottages. Bill and James are making coffee in the kitchen. I head up the pebbled path to the main house and see Irene standing in the doorway, wearing something flamboyant and fabulous. Inside, Roxy is bobbing about in the restaurant; and in the kitchen Anis stands by the main counter, ordering the two rookie chefs about. And then I think of Heather, and I can see her there. Standing in the doorway, smiling easily, with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other.
‘’ello? I lost you?’
‘Oh, sorry, I was in my own little world,’ I say, repeating those words back to myself.My own little world. I want to speak to Heather. ‘Someone once asked me: if I could do anything in the world, what would it be?’ I continue. ‘And my answer was always:fuck-all for twice as much.’
‘And now?’
‘Well…’ I say the words in my head – words that I would have crucified Heather for, something that I would have seen as being against my feminist ideals, something I thought was weak. ‘I want to belong. I want to be loved.’
She gives one of those knowing smiles, with the eyebrows raised and a slight nod of the head. I would have found this condescending a few months ago. But now it feels warm and approving. Like I got the answer right at last.
‘Thanks for listening,’ I say, realizing this poor woman only wanted to sell a bottle of wine, not provide therapy for the most fucked-up woman in London.
‘You sure you want to go?’ she asks, holding the wine up to offer more.
