Page 65 of Somewhere Only We Know

‘I’m not the spa kind,’ I told him. ‘I’m a doer. But if there’s work to be done, I’m your woman.’

His eyes glinted. ‘Plenty to get your teeth into around here then.’ He gestured to his backyard.

‘I was thinking of that winemaker friend of yours,’ Harry persisted. ‘The one whose wife left him?’

Pete scowled. ‘Nasty business, that. Ran off with his winery manager, leaving her kiddie behind too.’

‘Poor man!’ I commented. ‘Poor child too! How sad.’

‘Jono’s rushed off his feet with the harvest.’ Pete looked at me speculatively. ‘I think you’d fit right in there, Maggie.’

‘I’ll give it a go.’ I hoped he didn’t mean I’d fit in because we’d both had a bad time recently and we could share our tales of woe.

‘I’ll show you the website.’ Harry got out his phone, scrolled through quickly and held it out to me. ‘Ruby Creek.’

The website showed valleys lined with vines, rows of oak barrels, bottles and bottles of wine, smiling people gathered together, wine glasses raised. There was a message on the homepage advertising temporary work starting immediately. When would I ever get another chance to bring in the Australian grape harvest?

‘I wouldn’t want to earn money, but if Jono could put me up in his house, I’d happily help him out for a week or two.’

‘Free labour?’ he chuckled. ‘I imagine he’ll snap your hand off.’

I was going to go for it. I would be far happier being busy and helping someone out than wandering from place to place soaking up the sun.

‘Then will you ring your friend please, Pete? It sounds perfect for me. That’s where I’d like to go next if Jono will have me.’

Pete whistled. ‘You sure make your mind up fast. I’ll call him now.’ He got up from the table and went inside, muttering, ‘Now where did I put my phone?’

‘Good decision,’ said Harry, finishing his beer. ‘It’ll be fun, and if nothing else, you’re guaranteed good wine with dinner.’

‘I’m really excited about it,’ I told him. ‘Oh God, am I being insensitive? Do you mind? I mean, this was something you’d planned to do with Brontë, and I’ve steamrollered over it.’

‘Don’t even think about it,’ he insisted. ‘It’s Mum’s Gap Year now, remember. Which reminds me.’

He took out his phone. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I took a photo of you earlier. I know I should have asked you first, but I posted it on Instagram.’

He held it out for me to see the screen.

The photograph was of me at Echo Point looking out across the Blue Mountains. It had been taken from behind, so my face wasn’t visible, but there was something hopeful and brave about the way I was looking outwards, my chin tilted towards the sky, hands on hips.

‘That’s beautiful,’ I breathed. ‘Thank you.’

‘I wrote a post to go with it telling my followers who you were. So far there have been one hundred and fifty comments. You’re a big hit, Maggie! Want to read it?’

I held out my hand in response and he gave me his phone.

There’s a special visitor to my place in the Blue Mountains today. Meet Maggie, Brontë’s mum. I only knew Brontë for three years and the strength of my grief is overwhelming. Maggie brought Brontë into this world. Imagine the pain of seeing her leave it far too soon. Brontë’s relationship with her mum was special. Maggie is an incredible woman, mother and role model. She was the first person Brontë wanted to talk to when something good or bad happened. Maggie is yet another gift I have to thank Brontë for and I am honoured to have her visit me while I’m in Australia. And guess what? The gap-year travels that my girl planned in such detail have not been abandoned – because Maggie is doing them for her. She’s chosen action as her way to work through her grief and I’m here for it. #MumsGapYear

Brontë, Brontë, Brontë … clearly he was able to write the word, but not speak her name yet, I noticed. Harry’s post was followed by a stream of comments. I scrolled through them, my heart lurching as I read about the pain of other people’s losses.

I handed his phone back to him and hugged him tight. ‘Thank you for those beautiful words. I’m honoured to know you too.’

‘Thank you.’ He hung his head and exhaled a weary breath, after a moment adding, ‘Want to know what my favourite thing to do at night is?’

I nodded and he pointed upwards.

‘Stargazing?’ I asked.

‘Yep. No light pollution out here. Wait there a sec.’