I’d had a pretty crappy day. Yes, it was mostly my own doing, but after six hours on the coach—far too much time for someone in my predicament to think—I was ready to lose myself in a favourite pastime. I wasn’t much of a connoisseur and I rarely retained what I learnt, but I enjoyed the wine-tasting experience.
The wines were a gewürztraminer, a spätburgunder, or what German winemakers call pinot noir, and two sweet rieslings, which we would taste last. For each wine, Gunther explained where it was grown and made, and the main characteristics to look out for. Only the rieslings were grown in the immediate region. I had some vague knowledge from a long-ago wine tasting that they were sweet in the Rhine because it was a colder region and something, something, something … See? Wine knowledge is wasted on me.
I liked the crisp, almost floral taste of the gewürztraminer, which I’d never had before. I’d seen it in Sainsbury’s and Tesco sometimes, but I’d figured it would be sweet like the rieslings, so I never bought it. I made a mental note to pick some up the next time I went shopping.
The spätburgunder was amazing, but that didn’t surprise me—I love pinot noir. What did surprise me was learning that the Germans produce more of it than any other country. Until then, I’d thought New Zealand had the monopoly.
As we tasted each wine and as the cheese on the platter in front of us started disappearing, I could feel myself unwinding. Tea was one thing, but was there anything nicer at the end of a long, awful day than some wine?
Lou loved the rieslings best. “Oh my gosh, this one’s delicious!” she whispered as she tasted wine number four. “I mean this one is good, but this one. I’m going to have to buy a bottle of this.” Was Lou getting tiddly? The thought made me smile, then examine myself. I was getting tiddly. Still, being tiddly was far better than being clear-headed and thinking too much.
When Gunther finished talking us through all the wines, he asked if anyone had questions. A few hands went up, including Lou’s. He called on her first. “This last wine is yummy. Can we buy a bottle?”
He chuckled. “Ja, no problem. My colleagues upstairs will be able to help with that. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
She beamed. I leant into her. “You good, Lou?”
“Oh yeah. That was awesome. I don’t usually do this kind of thing.”
I was an idiot. Of course she didn’t—she was married to a man with a drinking problem. She didn’t do wine tastings or have nights out like the ones we’d had together. How had I not thought of that earlier? I gave myself another mental slap for the mounting evidence that I was a self-centred cow.
After Gunther answered the other questions, he signalled to the team of waiters. They did the rounds with the opened but unfinished bottles. That was how I ended up with a full glass of the spätburgunder and Lou got a glass of the “yummy one”.
Dani came up behind us. “Hey, guys,” she said. Jaelee followed closely, both holding glasses of white wine. Jae pulled a chair over from the table next to us, and Lou and I turned ours around to face her. Dani seemed happy to stand. “That was fun, yeah?” she asked.
“It was good value for ten euros, too,” I added. “Which one did you choose?” I asked Jae.
“The gewürztraminer. I don’t like sweet wine.”
“Oh, I love it.” Lou.
“I can see that,” teased Jae before taking a sip.
“I went with the last one, the second riesling,” said Dani. “The same as you, I think, Lou. If you’re getting a bottle, I’ll share with you.”
“Definitely.”
“Jae? Did you want to share a bottle? I’d have the gewürztraminer, or if you liked the red …”
“Sure. I’d rather the white though.”
“No worries.” My inner Aussie came out to play; perhaps it was the wine.
We ended up with three bottles of wine between the four of us. What could go wrong?
***
Many hours later, and long after we should have been asleep, we were two bottles down with the third about to be opened—the sweetest one. I was well past the stage where I cared about what I was drinking more than I cared that I was drinking.
Because we were talking about Jean-Luc.
Lou was sitting cross-legged on the end of her bed and Jae had commandeered her bedhead, propping herself against it. I was reclining on my bed and Dani, for some reason, had opted for the floor, where she sat on one of my pillows.
“Can I please read it?” she whined. Having exhaustively recounted the last two days—everything we’d said and most of what we did (I left out details about the sex)—we’d moved onto The Letter (note the capitals).
“No, for the umpteenth time.” We all looked at the offending envelope, which was sitting on the bedside table between the two beds. If we’d been in a film, ominous music would have played.
“Let’s put it this way,” said Jaelee, sounding far more sober than she likely was, “it will probably drive you crazy if you don’t. And it might not be that bad,” she added.
“Lou. Do you need help?” I asked. She was struggling with the third bottle, and it was a good distraction from the letter. She made a face and handed it to Dani.
Dani also struggled. “It won’t unscrew.” She gritted her teeth and finally the cap loosened. She stood to pour each of us a glass, then sat back down. I wasn’t off the hook, though. “I agree with Jaelee,” Dani said. “You need to know what you wrote. And maybe it’s not all that bad.”
I looked at Lou. “What do you think?”
She tilted her head in that way I’d grown to love. It meant she was considering all aspects of the situation, weighing them up. “I know you probably don’t want to hear this …”—uh oh—“… but it would be good for closure.”
Ugh. That awful word.
After Scott and I broke up, I’d gone to see a counsellor. I’d lasted exactly two sessions, because she kept going on and on about how I needed closure. Only, Scott lived across the world and we’d cut all ties. I was hardly going to ping him on Facebook. “Hey, Scott, how’s Helen? Can I have some closure please?” I’d cancelled the third appointment and never went back. My lack of closure went into a box inside my heart—one I never opened. Ever.
I sighed. “All riiiiight.” I took as long to say that word as it’s humanly possible to do.
Dani bobbed up and down on my pillow, clapped her hands and said, “Eeee,” as though I’d told her we were going to Disneyland. I glared at her. “Sorry.” She sat still, looking contrite.
I took the envelope in my hands and turned it over. Jean-Luc had clearly been impatient when he’d opened it, as the envelope’s seam was torn and ragged. I took a slow breath and pulled the letter out. A small white card fluttered onto my lap.
“What’s that?” asked Dani unnecessarily. I set the letter down and picked up the card.
I thought we could start writing again. Here’s my address. Talk soon.
Love, Jean-Luc
Below that was his address in Paris. I gulped and gasped at the same time and ended up in a minor coughing fit. Lou stood and reached around to pat me on the back. “You okay?” she asked, her face concerned. “Here.” She handed me the bottle of water I’d barely sipped from. I drank some and the coughs subsided.