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‘Pinot Gris from New Zealand… a bit like Pinot Grigio but with more meat on its bones. You like?’
‘I like. Very much, actually. So, when’s the exam?’
‘Exams. Plural.’ Flora looked at her glass. ‘In a couple of months, and that’s just the first lot. I’ve got to do another load of exams next year, too.’
‘So, is this like a diploma?’
‘Exactly. God knows what I was thinking when I decided to do it.’ Flora absent-mindedly swirled her glass as she spoke. ‘I think I might have been temporarily deranged.’
‘Oh, come on. If you’re going to take exams, at least you’re doing ones where you get to drink wine.’
‘I know, I know. I really shouldn’t complain.’
It had all started with that evening course. Flora had turned up thinking that if she just did a few classes it would get it out of her system before going back to her old job and that would be that. Instead, before the end of that first evening, she knew she’d found something she loved. And it wasn’t just about whatever wine was in the glass. She fell in love with everything about it, from the people who made the wine, the place it was from, the culture surrounding it, the combination of tradition and innovation, the assault on the senses… all captured in that glass. The whole thing absolutely fascinated her.
Within a few months she’d completed the evening course – gaining her first official wine qualification – and promptly signed up to do the next level before she changed her mind. Shortly after Pip had been born and when her bosses at work had refused her request for a part-time role, she’d resigned, switching instead to earning a modest income from copywriting through old work contacts. Meanwhile, Johnny was making good money from his job, enough for them to sell his flat, move out of the city and buy a small house in a quiet seaside village on the south coast. It was a small Victorian red-brick house set back from the road, reached by a gravel track, and had – as the estate agent put it – lots of potential. Of course, they’d had grand plans when they’d first arrived, of knocking down walls and creating an open-plan, modern living space. But apart from giving the whole place a lick of paint, the house was still pretty much as it had been when they’d first moved in. Still, as Flora often reminded herself, one spent more time in a house looking out than the other way round. And the views from the inside out were quite spectacular, the small garden backing onto fields with woodland behind. Best of all, the beach was a five-minute walk away, miles of shingle overlooking the Solent and the Isle of Wight beyond that.
As soon as Pip had started nursery Flora had gone back to studying wine part-time from home, gaining a further two certificates along with another baby in between. By now she was itching to get back to something other than churning out copy for advertorials found in the back of magazines. So it was she found herself sitting in Mack’s shop one day with her two-year-old son Tom asleep in the buggy, begging him to give her a job.
‘But what about this wee fella?’ Mack pointed at the boy, cheeks flushed hot with sleep.
‘I’ve got a place for him at nursery starting next term so I’d be free three days a week to come and work for you.’
She’d been so eager, Mack hadn’t the heart to say no. A month later, Flora started working in the shop. She’d been able to keep up her studies, signing up for the wine diploma that she was now almost halfway through, and thinking that she just might have bitten off more than she could chew.
‘You love doing this stuff really. Your mind would turn to mush without it.’ Tilda shrugged, her glass waving in the air.
‘I know, you’re right. Anyway, how’s your work going?’ Flora emptied a couple of packets of teddy bear-shaped crisps into a bowl. ‘Sorry, it’s all I can find.’
‘Well, being a doctor’s receptionist isn’t exactly the most taxing job in the world but at least I know exactly who’s on Viagra in this small town.’
Flora’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’
‘Oh, you’d be amazed. They might look old but, my goodness, there are plenty of them still having a lot of fun. Must be all that sea air. And I’m a pro at finding out who’s doing what with whom.’
Flora laughed out loud. ‘Really? What do you mean?’
‘Well, it started when someone came into the surgery claiming he’d no idea where he’d picked up a particular, er, ailment. But a few quick searches and I found pictures of him on Facebook with someone who definitely wasn’t his wife. Let’s just leave it at that.’ Tilda winked at her friend and took another sip of her wine. ‘How’s the shop?’
Flora sighed. ‘Not so good, actually. Mack’s got to sell.’
‘Seriously? Oh, that’s so sad.’ Tilda’s face fell. ‘Why?’
‘It’s been on the cards for a while but I just thought, you know, he’s managed to keep it going all these years, I’m sure he’ll think of something. But it turns out trade is just too slow. He’s done.’
‘What will you do? I mean, do you think it might stay as a wine shop?’
‘I’ve no idea. If he can’t make it work – and he’s been there forever – then I’m not sure anyone can.’
‘Rubbish! It’s not enough to just sit there with a shop and expect people to come to you these days. You’ve got to go out and find them!’ Tilda was adamant.
‘I know, I’ve been through all this with Mack, but he doesn’t want to try. It’s his shop and, well, he says he’s done with it.’
‘What about Johnny – can’t he help with setting up an online shop or whatever? I mean, he does that kind of thing at work, doesn’t he?’
Flora shrugged. Johnny did work in IT but she had never been entirely sure what he did exactly. Selling software packages, she knew that much.
‘Actually, Johnny doesn’t know yet. I only found out this morning and he hasn’t picked up my calls all day. I know he’s been really busy at work. I even tried his direct number today. He was in meetings for most of the day, apparently.’ Flora topped up their glasses. She gave hers another swill, sticking her nose in to savour the aroma, all limes and nectarines.
