Twenty-two
Fiona was in the upstairs flat with Timmy and Becky. On the kitchen table, a pile of empty toilet rolls waited to be transformed into a spaceship.
‘Can I do it?’ squealed Timmy, standing up on his bar stool and lunging for the scissors.
Fiona pushed his hand away. ‘I’ll cut. You two are the artistic directors. Before we do anything, we must decide what the plan is. Let’s draw a picture.’
The flat door opened, and George burst in. ‘Rose! Rose ? Where are you?’ he shouted as he marched into the kitchen area.
‘Daddy,’ squealed Becky.
‘Not now, honey,’ said George, pausing to kiss his daughter’s head. ‘ Rose ,’ he yelled, stalking off and disappearing into the master bedroom.
‘Right, you two,’ said Fiona, picking up a crayon, ‘now what sort of spaceship is this going to be?’ She pushed the paper between the two children and gave them each a crayon.
‘Timmy why don’t you do the top half, and Becky the bottom?’
‘But the nose is the best part,’ squeaked Becky.
Above the whining Fiona could hear raised voices.
Not wanting the children to focus on their parents’ row, Fiona lifted her own voice.
‘No, the bottom is where the action will be. Come on, think about what shape you want the boosters to be – shall we have diamonds?’
Becky leaned her body over the picture, her tongue poking out, a crayon clutched in her fist. Rose, wearing a trouser suit, bustled into the open plan room, her eyes darting round. ‘Mummy,’ cried Becky.
‘Not now, love. I need to find some papers.’ She strode over to George’s desk, trying to pull down the top.
George stormed over. ‘That’s private.’
Rose turned to face her husband, a curious expression on her face.
Fiona leaned over, hiding between the children. ‘Why is it locked?’ demanded Rose.
‘Because it’s private. That’s got all my work papers in it, and I don’t want them messed up by you or the kids. Promise me you will stop hounding the staff.’
‘I’m not hounding anyone. I’m just going to ask everyone a few questions.’
‘No. I won’t let you speak to Ruben or Josh. They’re my team, and there’s no need. I’m sure it’s neither of them.’
Fiona looked up. Rose was glaring at her husband. ‘So, it’s got to be one of my team, has it?’
‘It’s not one of mine,’ said George evenly.
‘I will get to the bottom of this, and you have to let me.’
He grunted, bunching his fists, ‘Back off, Rose. They’re in my team, and I’ll handle them my way.’
Rose snatched up a file, her hands trembling as she pushed it into her bag. ‘You mean, you won’t handle it, just leave it all to me as usual!’
Rose struggled to fasten her handbag, her hands slipping on the lock.
George paused, reached down and secured it for her.
‘Come here you,’ he said, reaching out for his wife.
‘I’m sorry I’m tetchy. The kitchen’s like working in a pressure cooker that’s about to explode – everyone’s jumpy, on the lookout for a thief skulking in the store cupboard. It’s not a good creative space.’
Rose’s shoulders relaxed as he hugged her close. Watching them, Fiona smiled wistfully. They had a special bond. ‘I’d better go back down and let you get off to the accountants,’ George said. ‘I’ll talk to my team. I promise.’
‘Mummy, pleeeeeease help us with the spaceship,’ begged Timmy.
Rose kissed George then walked into the kitchen area. ‘Two minutes – show me what’s going on then.’ She turned to Fiona. ‘I really do appreciate all this help with the kids. It’s so kind of you.’
Fiona hesitated. ‘Rose, can I ask you something?’
‘Yup.’
‘This might sound like an odd question, but ... you and George ... what makes things work between you two?’
Rose stroked her daughter’s hair, a thoughtful expression on her face. ‘It’s a fair question, especially from someone recovering from a broken heart. Are you looking to date again?’
Fiona shook her head. ‘I’m not ready yet. I’m just curious.’
‘A tip from an older woman, then. Perfection doesn’t exist. It’s about accepting faults and flaws and giving your love freely.
Even when, like this morning, your partner doesn’t exactly behave like they deserve it.
’ Rose raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling.
She glanced at her watch, kissed both the children, then said, ‘And on that note, I should leave else I’ll be late. Have fun, you lot.’
Fiona used the scissors to cut into an empty toilet roll, but her mind was elsewhere, once again thinking of Ru.
His faults and flaws had been easy to live with, all adjuncts to his artistic temperament.
Ru in sisted on doing things ‘the right way’.
He wouldn’t tolerate shortcuts or pre-made ingredients.
At home, like at work, he controlled the kitchen, imposing strict rules about how to store, clean and organize items. He arranged everything precisely, making her nervous about offering to even make coffee.
But those were barely flaws. No, the only real fault – if he had one – was that he could be a better listener.
If he’d heard and understood that she wanted to stand up for herself, not shelter beneath his protection, he would never have warned the investors he thought she might fail her exam.
Instead of ‘protecting her’ from the potential rejection of her wine-led restaurant concept, he should have told her directly that he didn’t think her idea would work and that no one would back it.
But she would soon be able to reinvent herself. The exam was only days away.
As the door closed behind Rose, Becky started wriggling in her seat. ‘Timmy, I want to give Fiona her present. It took us ages to make.’
Timmy chewed his lip. ‘Mummy said she wouldn’t like it.’
Becky’s lower lip began wobbling and Fiona spoke quickly. ‘I’m sure I’d love it, Becky.’ Whatever it was, Fiona was confident she could feign pleasure, just like Rose had done with that hideous scrambled egg.
Becky clambered off the stool and shot off, returning with a large sheet of paper flapping by her side. ‘This is for you, because we love you, Fiona. We drew it together.’
Fiona took the paper. T he drawing was a vibrant swirl of innocence and love, with stick figure people linked arm in arm, forming a cheerful, uneven circle.
There was George with huge, oversized arms and a protruding tummy, Rose and the two children.
In the centre stood Fiona, with an exaggerated smile and wild, colourful hair.
Becky bounced from foot to foot. ‘Say something!’ she demanded.
Timmy whispered. ‘You see, we put you in the middle ‘cos Mummy says you’ve become the heart of the family. Mummy says she relies on you.’
They tugged at her hands and shouted, ‘We love you, Fiona!’
Her chest swelled with gratitude. Children gave their love so freely, she thought, without hesitation or conditions, and being included in their little world felt like a special gift.
But she was keenly aware of the holes in her own life – losing Ru, the unfulfilled dream of having her own children and the distant, muted love she’d experienced from her own parents.
The picture was beautiful, but it spoke to her deepest desire, which she feared now she might never achieve.
The chill of the autumn breeze nipped at Fiona’s cheeks when later that afternoon she and Josh strolled along Brambleton Beach. The sun hung low in the sky, its rays glinting off the water like scattered diamonds.
‘Isn’t this just beautiful?’ Josh remarked as he kicked at a clump of seaweed, sending it tumbling across the sand.
‘It is,’ Fiona replied, her gaze drifting over the horizon. ‘This beach is one of my favourite places. I’ve been coming here since I learned to walk.’ The waves lapped gently against the shore, a soothing backdrop to their conversation.
Fiona had orchestrated this outing with care.
Knowing it would be deserted in November, she’d chosen the beach instead of the staffroom or a café.
Josh had hounded her for one last wine lesson and if he hadn’t suggested one of her favourite topics – sparkling wine – she probably wouldn’t have relented.
Fiona smiled. ‘Let’s start with Champagne, shall we?’ She gestured toward the vast expanse of sky. ‘Imagine we’re in the Champagne region of France. It’s cool and crisp, much like it is here. The grapes – Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and Pinot Meunier – thrive in that environment.’
As they walked, Fiona eulogized about Champagne.
She could almost hear the faint hiss of a Champagne cork being teased out of the neck of the bottle, see the froth escaping.
‘Champagne is made using the traditional method, or what we call the méthode champenoise . Each bottle undergoes a second fermentation, creating those fine bubbles.’
‘Fine bubbles?’ Josh teased. ‘Can you get coarse ones?’
Fiona smiled. ‘We call them ‘larger bead’ and you find them in lower quality fizz, like Prosecco, which has a much quicker carbonation process, usually in steel tanks. Fine bubbles are a hallmark of quality sparkling wine.’
‘Do you ever think about pairing wines with seasons?’ Josh asked, his eyes scanning the beach, looking for something to latch onto. ‘Like, would you drink Champagne in autumn, or something heavier, like a rich red?’
‘Absolutely,’ Fiona said. ‘Champagne is often seen as a celebratory drink, but it complements lots of foods.’ She lifted her arms, as if to embrace the breeze that whipped past them.
‘Imagine tonight, sitting in front of a glowing wood fire, eating apple crumble paired with a vintage Champagne. It’s all about balance. ’
Josh looked at her. ‘You make it sound so romantic,’ he said, his drawl dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘How about it? Just you, me and a bottle of Champagne?’
Fiona felt her cheeks warm but steered the conversation back on course. ‘For me, wine is about sharing, learning and enjoying the moment.’
He nodded and grinned. ‘Yes, boss.’
They approached a rocky outcrop where waves crashed more violently spraying a cool misty spray across her face.
Josh fell silent for a moment, gazing out at the waves.
Fiona felt the need to fill the silence.
It was a habit she had developed over the years whenever conducting wine tastings – not trusting their own palate, guests were often too shy to voice an opinion.
She described how the different fermentation processes gave different characters to each sparkling wine, and ended with her favourite of the mass-produced fizzes, Prosecco.
‘The simplicity of Prosecco comes from its focus on the Glera grape. It’s less suited for ageing, but perfect for a bright, accessible sparkling wine.
You can really taste the difference when you sip it. ’
‘Well, you can’ he said, with a laugh.
Fiona chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Thanks. It’s my job, but it’s also a huge part of my life.’
‘Nope. It is your life – I mean I appreciate you carving out time for this lesson, but why not carve some out for yourself? There’s so much more to life than wine.
I’m getting the vibe that you don’t want to date me – and that’s cool – but you should be having fun with someone.
You’re gorgeous, clever, passionate. Find someone who loves that! ’
She gave a half laugh. For a cocky, Aussie KP he was a sweet guy, always trying to make her feel good about herself. ‘I will do ... just not yet.’
Josh took hold of her arm and stopped her. ‘When, then? You only get one life, you know.’
She wasn’t about to admit it, but she knew when. In a few days, when she was a member of the CMS, and could get a job in any restaurant she liked. ‘Soon,’ she hedged.
‘Come on, Fiona. Isn’t it time to live the life you want, not the one someone else dreams for you?’
She gaped at him. ‘But being successful is my dream.’
‘Is it? Seems to me like your dream is being a sommelier, and you’re already doing a great job of that,’ he said laughing.
They walked in silence for a moment, the sound of the waves filling the space between them.
‘Can I ask you something that’s about wine, but not about wine?
’ he asked easily. She took a breath. Was he going to ask her out again, despite what he’d said earlier?
‘Of course,’ she said, trying to keep her tone light.
‘This missing wine ... do you think someone has stolen it?’
She drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. ‘I’m afraid I do. Rose and I checked the cellar. It’s not been misplaced, and it’s worth too much for this to be a mistake. Why do you ask?’
‘I’m kind of nervous about being interviewed. Can I tell you why?’