A Grand Old Time Read online

  The men were busy in the wine-making barn. She’d seen most of them many times before helping Benji, but there were new faces too; so many people willing to help. She could hear their voices as she passed. She would not go in – she wanted this time to herself and, besides, they were so involved in what they were doing, she doubted that they would notice her presence. She walked a little further and arrived at the vines, now stripped, cut down and bleak. They were just sticks, thin withered fingers, twisted stumps. A few dark, gnarled grapes were dried and suspended in clusters here and there, hanging down from shrivelled stalks. The wooden supporting posts remained sturdy, solid and vertical while the vines wasted around them. Snaggles of weeds were pushing through, but the ground was mostly brown soil and little sharp stones. Evie took off a glove and grasped the stem of a vine. It was woody and knotted like rope, surprisingly strong and deeply rooted. Next year the grapes would come again. There would be another abundance of wine.

  Vine after vine, in straight rows, sparse little bushes stretched out and upwards to the rising hills. A blast of ice in the wind gripped her bones through the woolly cardigan, and she hugged herself and gazed into the distance. A gust blew her hair back, exposing her forehead, and her eyes watered a little. She breathed in the clean air; perhaps it came down from the mountains; perhaps it would soon bring snow. Winter would be a cold time, but there would be family and friends and the fireside. Then eventually spring would come, and a new baby would arrive; the grapes would begin as buds. That might be the time, this might be the place, to scatter his ashes and to say goodbye. She could not let him go yet, but there would be a new year, and life would begin again.

  Evie turned and the wind was at her back as she walked towards the house. A car slowed down and stopped by the new sign and she waved to the woman who was closing the driver’s door, watching her opening the boot and pulling out a cage with two chickens in it. The woman called out and Evie called back and smiled. She walked towards her new friend, quickening her pace. There was a lot to do, much to organise and plenty of everything to go round. She began to hum a familiar tune to herself and a smile flickered across her lips. Ne me quitte pas. Don’t leave me. She’d always have memories; he’d never leave her. She hugged Jean-Luc’s big old cardigan close to her, snuggling inside the safe warmth of the wool. The air was bitterly cold and it would not be long before the sky became dark.

  As she walked, she counted the months in her head, until Christmas, until the baby was born, looking for the number four. But there were no lucky numbers, only life as it is now, the present, and chances and changes. She would make a new present for herself in her home: a good life for herself and for the others she loved and she would focus on everybody’s happiness. She did not need luck now: she had found her own way to be blessed. The present truly was a present, a gift. It was all about finding happiness within herself. No, not happiness. She would call it ‘Bonheur’ from now on.

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  About the Author

  Judy Leigh completed an MA in Professional Writing at Falmouth University in 2015, leaving her career of 20 years as an Advanced Skills teacher of Theatre Studies. She has had several stories published in magazines, including The Feminist Wire, The Purple Breakfast Review and You is for University. She has also trained as a Reiki healer, written a vegan recipe blog and set up a series of Shakespeare Festivals to enable young people to perform the Bard’s work on stage.

  About the Publisher

  Australia

  HarperCollins Publishers (Australia) Pty. Ltd.

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  HarperCollins Canada

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  HarperCollins Publishers (New Zealand) Limited

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  HarperCollins Publishers Ltd.

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  United States

  HarperCollins Publishers Inc.

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