“So, how was it?”
“Oh, the wine was good, really good. We even got to taste some other varietals, but I think the gamay is their best—that’s what we’ve been drinking today. And Marc—the wine guy—he’s the grandson of the previous winemaker—he’s been experimenting with different grapes. Of course, in this region, everything is all gamay all the time, you know?” She was rambling; it was highly entertaining.
“Sure,” Lou said, an amused smile on her lips.
I adjusted my cover-up, so it was actually covering me. I’d had more than enough sun, but I really didn’t want to go inside. “So, how many people were on the tour?”
“Oh, for the first part, there were probably ten of us?” She posed it as a question, her inflection going up at the end of the sentence. She sounded like a Sydneysider.
“And was there a second part?” prompted Lou.
“Um, yes, there was.” She picked at some blades of grass.
“Jaelee, seriously,” groaned Lou, “you’re killing us. Spill already.”
“Well, Marc—that’s the—”
“We know,” we both said at the same time.
“Well, Marc offered to show us the room where he’s been experimenting with some blends.”
“How nice of him.” She flashed me a pointed look which I ignored. “And I’m guessing you were the only one who took him up on it.”
“Well, me and this guy from the other tour group—Phillip or something. He’s into wine.”
“Something tells me there’s more,” I said to Lou, as though Jaelee couldn’t hear me.
“He asked me to dinner.” Then she grinned like an idiot and squeaked out a little squeal. It was the most un-Jaelee-like thing I’d seen her do.
“Wow, you move fast.” I was honestly impressed. We’d been there less than four hours and she’d teed up a date.
Like I was one to talk.
“It’s like Noah’s ark around here,” Lou added. Jae had said almost the same thing on the coach. I scoured Lou’s face for any sign of self-pity—none that I could see.
“Are you all right with that, Lou?” I asked, just to make sure.
She replied matter-of-factly, “Oh, totally. Romance is the last thing on my mind. Right now, I’m about scenery and sunshine and wine …” She picked up the now empty second bottle. “Speaking of which—” she cocked her head to the side “—I’m pretty sure it’s my buy.” And with that, she was off across the lawn, up the stairs and into the château.
“That was insensitive of me.” Jaelee seemed to have suddenly sobered up.
“No, I think she’s legitimately steering clear of romance right now. Remember on the first day when she said the thing about having time by herself to think things through?” She nodded solemnly. “Hey. You deserve a little fun. We all do. And I mean, look at Dani.”
Dani shrieked on cue as Jason hoisted her in the air. She landed with a splash and emerged smiling. She tried to splash him as retribution, but it was like watching a mouse take on a bear. Jason was a big guy.
“I think you might be right.”
“I almost always am.” She rolled her eyes, then pulled out her phone to check the time. “One more swim before I need to get ready.”
“What time is dinner?”
“Seven.” She got up and performed a perfect dive into the deep end.
I watched her, doubting it could take someone as put-together as Jaelee nearly three hours to get ready, but then again, maybe that was why she was also so put-together. I suddenly realised the reason she was travelling with her own bikini waxing kit and dismissed the thought immediately. TMI.
“I got us food.” Lou took up Jae’s vacated spot.
“Oh, thank God.” We were supposed to have bought our lunch when we’d stopped for morning tea, but Lou and I had been too focused on hot beverages to get anything else. Dinner wouldn’t be for hours, and two pieces of cold toast at breakfast didn’t sop up much wine at four in the afternoon.
She started pulling things out of a paper carrier bag. “You’re supposed to buy this big picnic basket to go have lunch down in the vines or something, but that sucker was huge. So I convinced the rep to just sell me just the cheese, the olives and these.” She took out a small packet of crispbread. I saw the flakes of sea salt crusting them and started salivating.
“Lou, as soon as your divorce comes through, I’m proposing.”
She grinned at me. She was certainly holding it together way better than I would if my marriage was ending. I added it to the long list of things I already loved about her.
She laid out the food and pulled the last thing out of the bag—a bottle of wine. “I also got us this.” I actually groaned. Maybe there was such a thing as too much wine.
***
There is such a thing as too much wine.
Even though Lou and I had snuck into the kitchen around 1:00am to steal big bottles of water, and even though we’d each drunk nearly a litre before bed, I was decidedly hungover when my eyes creaked open the next morning. I peeked around the room, not daring to open them all the way.
Dani had snuck in around three—well, she’d stumbled in, attempting to be quiet, and had woken us when she called out in pain from stubbing her toe on the bed frame. She was sprawled across the top bunk on her stomach, her head under a pillow and snoring softly.
I looked at my wrist and my watch taunted me with 7:18am. We were leaving at eight. Breakfast, for those who could stomach it, had started at seven. By the time I dragged myself out of bed and made myself presentable, it would be over. I groaned.
“Morning, sunshine,” croaked a voice from above.
“Lou, I hate you. Do not speak to me.” This was followed by a low rumbling chuckle. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn she had a smoker’s hack. “I’m serious. I never get hangovers. Never.” This was (mostly) true, because my method was (mostly) fool-proof. Water after every drink, a pint of water and two paracetamols before bed. On a particularly big night, add two ibuprofens and two slices of buttered Marmite toast to the mix—and voilà!
The thing is, the method only works if you actually drink water in between drinks and take the pills. I had not done either of those things and I cursed myself as much as I cursed Lou. I’d been wrong—she was the enabler.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
“Meh, I’m okay. I haven’t let loose like that in a long time—since before …” She trailed off, but I knew what she meant. Once Jackson had started drinking, she’d become a teetotaller, the responsible one.
“I get it.” I did. No matter how disgusting I felt, I wasn’t going to begrudge Lou letting her hair down. “Hey, Lou, you haven’t heard anything—”
She cut me off. “Nope. I told him not to.”
We were both quiet, and I contemplated the heft of Lou’s situation. A divorce. Just awful.
I realised that the ripe smell stinging my nostrils was me. “Uh, Lou? Why do I stink?” I tried to remember what had happened after dinner, which was a stir-fry so dense with capsicum, that by the time I picked all the capsicum out, there was barely anything left on my plate. I came up empty.