Thirty
Ivy rested a hand on her niece’s shoulder, her gaze calm but steely. ‘Wait in the kitchen, where you can’t be seen,’ she instructed, her tone leaving no room for debate.
Fiona scuttled into the kitchen, listening to her aunt’s footsteps recede.
She heard the door open. Her chest heaved as she listened to muffled voices.
Fiona strained to hear what was being said, every creak of the cottage amplifying her anxiety.
She forced herself to stay still, gripping the edge of the counter, her knuckles white.
Her mind was racing, totting up the evidence planted against her.
If the courier had circled back and delivered the box to the pub, there was probably enough to justify arresting her.
She heard the front door click shut, then the sound of footsteps echoing from the hallway – multiple footsteps, each heavy with purpose.
Fiona went numb and a chill prickled down her spine.
She stood frozen by the kitchen window, staring blankly at the garden.
Outside, leaves skittered against the windows, tapping like a thousand accusing fingers.
Her hands gripped the edge of the sink. She couldn’t bring herself to turn around.
She knew who it was, she could feel it in the air.
The police.
The footsteps stopped. Then came a voice, clear, commanding and tinged with authority. ‘Fiona.’ The female voice was familiar and unmistakable, yet it was subtly different. She hadn’t heard it for years. It was older and faintly accented with something that took her a moment to place: Melbourne.
She spun around so fast that the world tilted, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her aunt was standing in the doorway ... and behind her were Fiona’s parents.
‘Fiona,’ her mother said again, a hesitant smile playing on her lips, but the friendly face and words didn’t ease the tension.
Fiona’s inner demons raged. After all these years, her parents had reappeared.
Why now, of all times? She’d spent that time protecting herself, putting up barriers and becoming self-sufficient so that their absence and their distance couldn’t hurt her anymore.
Now, with her life in pieces, when her guard was down, their sudden presence pierced to her core, churning up all the feelings of abandonment and sorrow she thought she had put a lid on long ago.
Was Ivy responsible for her parents’ sudden reappearance? Fiona needed time to recover, work through her emotions. Ivy’s soft voice intruded on her thoughts. ‘I’ll make some tea, then I’m going out for a walk. Let you three catch up – in private.’
Once the tea had been served, Ivy left. Fiona sat across from her parents, feeling the weight of their presence like a heavy fog.
Her mother, poised and elegant, cradled a cup of tea in her hands with the same careful precision she applied to every aspect of her life.
Her father sat stiffly, adjusting his glasses, his eyes flicking over the room in a way that suggested he was mentally cataloguing the furniture.
They were academics – cool, distant, and cerebral – and they always would be.
The tea was too hot. Fiona’s cup radiated heat into her hands. Taking a sip, the liquid seemed to scald her throat. Her mother sat up straighter, then carefully placed her cup down on the saucer, her lips pursed as if unsure what to say.
‘So ... jet lag,’ her mother said, her voice clipped and formal as ever. ‘It’s hard to adjust, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Fiona’s father answered. ‘Not the easiest trip, and the weather here ... quite a change from a Melbourne spring.’
Fiona’s eyes drifted to the garden, tracing the sad shapes of the drooping dahlias and asters, mirroring the load settling in her chest. The rosemary bush sprawled across the path, untamed and unkempt, and she thought of her own life unravelling: the accusations hanging over her, the exam she couldn’t pass, and now the unwelcome, jagged edges of her non-relationship with her parents. The silence hung thickly in the room.
‘But at least it’s dry,’ added her mother. ‘I was always glad of a dry English autumn day.’
Fiona couldn’t tolerate the uncomfortable small talk any longer.
‘What are you doing here?’ she blurted, the words tumbling from her lips before she could stop them. ‘Did you know I’d be here?’
Her mother’s eyes met hers, and there was a flicker of something she hadn’t expected.
Something close to ... compassion ? Her mother’s voice was soft, almost tender as she spoke.
‘Of course we did. Ivy is my only sister. When she says something is important, I listen.’ She paused, her gaze shifting to her husband for a moment.
‘When Ivy asked us to come, we came. You know, we would have listened to you too – if you’d have asked us. ’
Fiona stared at them, speechless. This baffled her.
All her life, she’d been left to fend for herself.
Her parents, always so absorbed in their world of academia, had never really involved themselves much in her life.
It was Ivy whose shoulder she’d cried on when her first boyfriend dumped her; Ivy with whom she’d discussed her dreams of becoming a sommelier; Ivy who’d driven her to college, the back seat of the car stacked with the contents of Fiona’s bedroom – from Ivy’s rectory.
Her parents were always too busy, their thoughts on higher things.
Yet now, they were here after years of absence, because Ivy had asked them to come. Seriously?
Then, fragments of the letter her father had written to Ru floated into her memory, bobbing like pieces of a broken cork.
She had spent her life building a protective wall of hurt self-righteousness, convinced their love was conditional on her academic achievements.
Had she been wrong about that, just as she had been wrong about Ru?
The anger still burned within her, but it was now tinged with confusion.
It was as if she had dismissed a complex wine after a hasty sip, only to find her palette detecting subtle hints of depth and complexity she had initially missed.
‘All the way from Melbourne?’ Fiona’s voice was shaky, almost a whisper.
‘Yes,’ her father said, his voice firm. ‘You’re our only child, Fiona. I know we can get wrapped up in our work, and you made it obvious you valued your independence and did not want us smothering you with love, but if you’re in trouble, we would go to the moon for you.’
The words hit her like a punch to the chest. For the first time in her life, Fiona felt the strength of their love.
A love she had never understood. What her father had written in that letter to Ru was true.
They’d always seemed so distant, so wrapped up in their books and papers.
But their love had been there all along, just hidden beneath a layer of academia.
She had been responsible for pushing them away, just as she had alienated Ru.
At least it wasn’t too late to fix her relationship with her parents.
Her father shifted, his usual reserved manner slipping for just a moment. ‘Ruben ... came to visit us, a few months back ... Actually, he was the first to tell us he thought you might need us.’
Fiona felt the blood drain from her face. Her hands shook, the cup rattling against its saucer. ‘What?’ she asked, barely able to keep the tremor from her voice.
‘Yes,’ her father said, nodding with an air of approval.
‘He came all the way to Melbourne. He wanted to meet us even though you’d turned down his proposal.
Ruben said you’d been going through a rough time, thought you might need us.
We’ve been trying to speak to you, but Ivy kept saying you weren’t yet ready to listen to what we had to say. ’
Fiona froze, her thoughts racing. She had expected Ru to go to Melbourne in lieu of the honeymoon, rather than wasting the money, but why had he bothered to visit her parents after she’d rejected his marriage proposal?
Her father continued, oblivious to the turmoil in Fiona’s mind. ‘He’s a good man, Fiona. We liked him.’
Fiona winced. She forced herself to speak, but her throat felt tight. ‘Yes. I ... I ...’ But it was too late. Ru had moved on. Her mother’s gaze softened again. ‘What did Ivy mean when she said you were in trouble?’
Fiona hesitated. The room seemed to shrink around her. The tea had gone cold, but her fingers were too numb to notice. She stared at her parents, their faces earnest, waiting for her to speak. Eventually, she told them about the break-up with Ru, and the missing wine.
‘I ... I didn’t steal anything,’ she said, her voice barely audible. ‘But someone is framing me for it.’
Her parents’ expressions shifted. They weren’t academics now. They were parents: worried, protective, alert.
‘When the doorbell rang earlier,’ Fiona continued, her voice growing more strained, ‘I thought it was the police. I thought they’d come for me. I didn’t know what to do.’
Her mother got up first. Then her father.
They moved toward her with surprising speed, wrapping their arms around her in unison.
The embrace was unexpected, yet it felt so right, something she hadn’t realized she wanted until it was happening.
Fiona closed her eyes, trying to hold back the tears.
She couldn’t remember the last time they’d hugged her, not since she was a young child.
Yet cradled in their arms, she felt safe.
The pressure in her chest eased. She didn’t even try to hold back the tears, but let them fall, blubbing like a baby, and all the while she felt the grip of their arms, holding her tight.
She sniffed, wiping her eyes, summoning the courage to speak again.
‘I failed my Advanced Sommelier exams. Twice.’
Her father didn’t hesitate. ‘It doesn’t matter, Fiona. You don’t need a piece of paper to succeed. Ru told us you’re the best sommelier he’s ever worked with.’