Page 51 of A Perfect Devon Pub
Fiona shook her head. ‘I’m not ready yet. I’m just curious.’
‘A tip from an older woman, then. Perfection doesn’t exist. It’s about accepting faults and flaws and giving your love freely. Even when, like this morning, your partner doesn’t exactly behave like they deserve it.’Rose raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling. She glanced at her watch, kissed both the children, then said, ‘And on that note, I should leave else I’ll be late. Have fun, you lot.’
Fiona used the scissors to cut into an empty toilet roll, but her mind was elsewhere, once again thinking of Ru. His faults and flaws had been easy to live with, all adjuncts to his artistic temperament. Ru insisted on doing things ‘the right way’. He wouldn’t tolerate shortcuts or pre-made ingredients. At home, like at work, he controlled the kitchen, imposing strict rules about how to store, clean and organize items. He arranged everything precisely, making her nervous about offering to even make coffee. But those were barely flaws. No, the only real fault– if he had one – was that he could be a better listener. If he’d heard and understood that she wanted to stand up for herself, not shelter beneath his protection, he would never have warned the investors he thought she might fail her exam. Instead of ‘protecting her’ from the potential rejection of her wine-led restaurant concept, he should have told her directly that he didn’t think her idea would work and that no one would back it.But she would soon be able to reinvent herself. The exam was only days away.
As the door closed behind Rose, Becky started wriggling in her seat. ‘Timmy, I want to give Fiona her present. It took us ages to make.’
Timmy chewed his lip. ‘Mummy said she wouldn’t like it.’
Becky’s lower lip began wobbling and Fiona spoke quickly. ‘I’m sure I’d love it, Becky.’ Whatever it was, Fiona was confident she could feign pleasure, just like Rose had done with that hideous scrambled egg.
Becky clambered off the stool and shot off, returning with a large sheet of paper flapping by her side. ‘This is for you, because we love you, Fiona. We drew it together.’
Fiona took the paper. The drawing was a vibrant swirl of innocence and love, with stick figure people linked arm in arm, forming a cheerful, uneven circle. There was George with huge, oversized arms and a protruding tummy, Rose and the two children. In the centre stood Fiona, with an exaggerated smile and wild, colourful hair.
Becky bounced from foot to foot. ‘Say something!’ she demanded.
Timmy whispered. ‘You see, we put you in the middle ‘cos Mummy says you’ve become the heart of the family. Mummy says she relies on you.’
They tugged at her hands and shouted, ‘We love you, Fiona!’
Her chest swelled with gratitude. Children gave their love sofreely, she thought, without hesitation or conditions, and being included in their little world felt like a special gift. But she was keenly aware of the holes in her own life–losing Ru, the unfulfilled dream of having her own children and the distant, muted love she’d experienced from her own parents. The picture was beautiful, but it spoke to her deepest desire, which she feared now she might never achieve.
The chill of the autumn breeze nipped at Fiona’s cheeks when later that afternoon she and Josh strolled along Brambleton Beach. The sun hung low in the sky, its rays glinting off the water like scattered diamonds.
‘Isn’t this just beautiful?’ Josh remarked as he kicked at a clump of seaweed, sending it tumbling across the sand.
‘It is,’ Fiona replied, her gaze drifting over the horizon. ‘This beach is one of my favourite places. I’ve been coming here since I learned to walk.’ The waves lapped gently against the shore, a soothing backdrop to their conversation.
Fiona had orchestrated this outing with care. Knowing it would be deserted in November, she’d chosen the beach instead of the staffroom or a café. Josh had hounded her for one last wine lesson and if he hadn’t suggested one of her favourite topics – sparkling wine – she probably wouldn’t have relented.
Fiona smiled. ‘Let’s start with Champagne, shall we?’ She gestured toward the vast expanse of sky. ‘Imagine we’re in the Champagne region of France. It’s cool and crisp, much like it is here. The grapes – Chardonnay, Pinot Noir and Pinot Meunier – thrive in that environment.’
As they walked, Fiona eulogized about Champagne. She could almost hear the faint hiss of a Champagne cork being teased out of the neck of the bottle, see the froth escaping. ‘Champagne is made using the traditional method, or what we call theméthode champenoise. Each bottle undergoes a second fermentation,creating those fine bubbles.’
‘Fine bubbles?’ Josh teased. ‘Can you get coarse ones?’
Fiona smiled. ‘We call them ‘larger bead’ and you find them in lower quality fizz, like Prosecco, which has a much quicker carbonation process, usually in steel tanks. Fine bubbles are a hallmark of quality sparkling wine.’
‘Do you ever think about pairing wines with seasons?’ Josh asked, his eyes scanning the beach, looking for something to latch onto. ‘Like, would you drink Champagne in autumn, or something heavier, like a rich red?’
‘Absolutely,’ Fiona said. ‘Champagne is often seen as a celebratory drink, but it complements lots of foods.’ She lifted her arms, as if to embrace the breeze that whipped past them. ‘Imagine tonight, sitting in front of a glowing wood fire, eating apple crumble paired with a vintage Champagne. It’s all about balance.’
Josh looked at her. ‘You make it sound so romantic,’ he said, his drawl dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘How about it? Just you, me and a bottle of Champagne?’
Fiona felt her cheeks warm but steered the conversation back on course. ‘For me, wine is about sharing, learning and enjoying the moment.’
He nodded and grinned. ‘Yes, boss.’
They approached a rocky outcrop where waves crashed more violently spraying a cool misty spray across her face. Josh fell silent for a moment, gazing out at the waves. Fiona felt the need to fill the silence. It was a habit she had developed over the years whenever conducting wine tastings – not trusting their own palate, guests were often too shy to voice an opinion.
She described how the different fermentation processes gave different characters to each sparkling wine, and ended with her favourite of the mass-produced fizzes, Prosecco. ‘The simplicity of Prosecco comes from its focus on the Glera grape. It’s lesssuited for ageing, but perfect for a bright, accessible sparkling wine. You can really taste the difference when you sip it.’
‘Well,youcan’ he said, with a laugh.
Fiona chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. ‘Thanks. It’s my job, but it’s also a huge part of my life.’
‘Nope. Itisyour life – I mean I appreciate you carving out time for this lesson, but why not carve some out for yourself? There’s so much more to life than wine. I’m getting the vibe that you don’t want to date me – and that’s cool – but you should be having fun with someone. You’re gorgeous, clever, passionate. Find someone who loves that!’
