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It’s going to take me nearly two hours to get to Napa and as much as I wish I could stop somewhere, take a shower and mainline some coffee, I can’t. I’m due to start work tomorrow and thanks to the three hours I spent in the airport, I don’t have time for breaks.
This whole job and how I came to get it is actually kinda weird. An opportunity that only came up because someone was trying to get in contact with my dad, not knowing he’d retired and was currently traveling the world with Mum. Apparently, some equipment he’d set up at one of the wineries over here was now not working. Even though it was probably because it was fifteen years old, rather than replace it, they wanted someone to fix it, and when I’d answered the email and explained that I was more than capable, they’d given me the job.
That’s the beauty about having my dad’s last name though. He knew how to get shit done and he did it well. People always figured as his son, I’d be the same and fuck me if I didn’t try my hardest to be exactly that. My dad was a legend in Australian wine making, a man who spent his entire career being lured from one winery to another. We’d lived in all the regions, from Margaret River in the West, the Barossa in the South and even the Hunter and Coonawarra regions over east.
As a kid I’d loved it and as an adult, I knew that I was always going to be living up to his name. And there was no way I was gonna fuck up that rep of his.
Plus, the timing was awesome given the fucking mess my life had become in the past few months. Technically speaking, I wasn’t running away; I was between jobs and this gave me a month or so of work. In reality though, I was kidding myself if I thought escaping like this wasn’t a huge drawcard.
So here I am, heading up to Napa, America’s most famous wine region and a place my dad frequented a lot over the course of his career. Sometimes I was lucky enough to come and visit and while I don’t remember all of the places he worked at, there is one particular winery and one particular girl who still sticks in my mind to this day.
Lulu.
Annoying, feisty, but unbelievably cute, Lulu.
Just thinking about her brings a smile to my face. God, how I loved to tease that girl and even though I have no idea if she still lives up this way, a part of me is tempted to look her up while I’m here, see if I can’t have another go at riling that girl up like I used to.
Eventually the view outside the car gives way to hills of grape vines and as they do, I can’t help but chuckle as I remember back to the last day I ever spent in the US.
Fuck me if I couldn’t stop laughing my arse off at the sight of Lulu, covered in mud and screaming at me for what I’d done. And yeah it had totally been deliberate, but how could I resist, especially given it was my last day and I had no idea if I’d ever see her again.
She looked so fucking cute, covered in mud and trying so hard to stomp her feet at me, her little red boots stuck and only making her more frustrated.
The GPS interrupts my thoughts, telling me to take the next right. I move to indicate, instead clicking on the windscreen wipers, before saying fuck it and making the turn anyway. Christ this is going to take some getting used to.
As I do though, I’m hit with a memory of driving down this very road. Glancing around, a wave of familiarity washes over me and I can’t help but smile.
I used to love her family’s vineyard, although I know it can’t possibly be theirs anymore, not when person who gave me this gig was called Ellen McIntyre. A part of me wonders why they sold it; a bigger part wonders where Lulu might be as a result.
As the landscape becomes more and more familiar with every kilometer I travel, the nostalgia becomes almost too much, the memories flashing through my brain. By the time I’m turning into the actual vineyard, the sense of déjà vu is overwhelming.
“I’m back,” I say to myself as I drive past the sign announcingSomerville’sWinery & Vineyardand head down the long drive, past the cellar door and out toward the sheds at the back, all of it so familiar; a trip I made countless times as a kid.
Whoever this new owner is, they’ve obviously kept the name and it’s not hard to understand why.Somerville’swas a brand and it had a reputation. A good one too.
I park the car by a dirt-covered four-wheel drive, killing the engine and hopping out. Almost immediately, this cocky-looking kid, who can’t be more than seven years old, comes strutting out of one of the sheds like he owns the place.
“Hey,” he says, stopping in front of me. “What can I do for you?”
I can’t help but laugh. “You the boss around here then?” I ask.
He shoots me a weird look. “Why do you sound so funny?”
I roll my eyes. Here we fucking go. God, I remember being over here as a kid and the never endingoh my god, I love your accent,which was usually followed by,I’m sorry, but what did you say?
I got it nearly every time I opened my mouth. Fuck knows why they could never understand me though, it’s not like I was speaking Swahili or whatever.
“Why doyousound so funny?” I throw back at him, the same exact words I said to Lulu when she asked me that question on my first day here.
“I don’t,” he fires back, a look on his face that screamswhy are you such an idiot?
I shake my head, wondering why the hell I am getting into an argument with a seven-year-old. “I’m looking for Ellen McIntyre?” I ask.
“She expecting you?” he asks, arms crossed over his chest now.
I laugh. “Look kid, I appreciate the welcome and I’m sure you run a tight ship and all, but yeah, she’s expecting me. Can you tell me where I can find her?”
The kid gives me a hard look as though he’s trying to work out whether to believe me or maybe he’s just trying to work out what I actually said. Eventually, he seems to come to a decision and with a nod of the head, he says, “Follow me.”
