31.

It looked as though they’d buried a body.

Oliver stood next to Gabe above the barrel they’d just lowered into the ground, leaning on the shovel.

‘I didn’t think we’d ever do this again,’ Gabe said, sitting on the chair of the bobcat.

‘Well …’ Oliver reached into the bobcat and took a bottle of Pommery from a small esky. He pulled the cork, took a sip and passed it across to Gabe. The winter wind was punishing. Over the hill, the vines had lost their leaves and the grass was tinged brown. The sun peeked through a cloud and Oliver closed his eyes, letting the serenity grip him. ‘I guess we all almost checked out for a minute there.’

‘I don’t mean that,’ Gabe said, sipping and then sending the bubbles back to Oliver. ‘I just thought after everything that had happened, you’d find somewhere else. Something different.’

‘I thought about it,’ Oliver said. ‘Now, though, it’s like a burden’s been lifted from my shoulders.’

‘So, you don’t want to sell?’ Gabe looked seriously at Oliver. ‘Sorry. It’s been a week. I had to ask.’

He smiled. ‘You can keep your cushy gig.’

Oliver was lodging with Gabe for the moment. He wasn’t superstitious, but he didn’t want to live in the cottage again. He’d already planned on building something else, closer to the wine shed.

‘I was sweating that you’d actually make me find a real job. Next thing, you’ll tell me you’re going to build a cellar door.’

‘I’ve done up some plans at the house,’ Oliver said, and Gabe spat the champagne from his mouth. ‘I’m joking. After all the shit in the media, I’d prefer we never mixed with the public ever again.’

‘No objections here.’

Oliver passed Gabe the champagne bottle and went for a walk. Through the vines, across the hill; he needed some time to clear his head. He was recovering well, the doctor being happy with his progress, but he needed to take things slowly.

On the way back, beside a row of pines, he noticed a small lump of fur. He bent down, confirming that it was a joey. There was no sign of another kangaroo. The joey was tiny, the size of a kitten. Dirty brown fur, with mottled pink skin peeking underneath. It twitched slightly as Oliver approached.

Taking off his jumper, he delicately scooped the joey into the fabric, into his arms.

Gabe was still sitting in the bobcat when Oliver arrived back.

‘What have you got there?’

‘Little Jack’s lost her mum.’

Gabe leaned over and peered down into the jumper, raising his eyebrows. ‘Lucky to be alive.’

‘Me or her?’

‘Both.’

‘I’ll take her inside,’ Oliver said. ‘Hopefully, she’ll make it.’

Oliver let out a deep breath, before taking in a draught of air through his nose. He looked over the mountains at the trees and the vines and the grass trying to fleck green after the rain.

‘What are you thinking about?’ Gabe asked.

‘Sounds pretentious, but how fickle breathing is. How lucky we are to be here right now.’

Gabe got down from the bobcat and grabbed Oliver’s shoulder. ‘Every breath is a gift, no matter how fickle … Anyway,’ he said, ‘I’m heading home. I’ll call someone about the joey.’ He turned towards the driveway. ‘It looks like you’ve got a visitor.’

Oliver pressed the animal’s warmth closer to his body as he gazed towards the driveway. Penny stood beside her little white Corolla, parked near the house. After a moment, she offered an awkward wave. Gabe was already halfway to his cottage, walking with his head down.

‘Can I help you?’ Oliver called out.

‘I think I’m lost,’ Penny said, moving closer and stopping a few feet in front of Oliver. ‘I was told there was a bed and breakfast out this way.’

‘Ah, I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but it hasn’t been operational for a number of years.’

Penny frowned. ‘Well, I can see there are some vines around here. Are you by any chance the vigneron?’

‘Yes,’ Oliver said, ‘matter of fact I am.’

‘Well,’ Penny said, proffering a bottle of red wine, ‘I had this old Brunello di Montalcino just rolling around in the car. Thought I could tempt you to let me stay. Maybe share it with me?’

‘A ten-year-old Brunello? I suppose we could always make an exception.’

‘You told me a few things in hospital.’

Oliver feigned a grimace. ‘I don’t remember any of them.’

‘In fairness,’ Penny said, ‘you were pretty drugged up.’

‘Did I tell you that you’re the best wine-bar owner I know?’

‘A couple of times. You groggily proposed twice. Said if I came out with a good bottle of wine, you’d cook me dinner and tell me everything. You might have even mentioned that whatever’s yours is mine.’

‘I really said that?’

‘Which means I can come and teach myself the piano whenever I like?’

‘Sure.’

‘And I can open up some vino from the cellar, if I’m here alone?’

‘You know you can.’

‘And I can take a few bottles of the Pavillion Rouge du Chateâux Margaux on a girls’ weekend next month?’

‘Well,’ Oliver said, pointing to the wine shed before leaning in and kissing Penny’s cheek. ‘There’s yours and mine, and then there’s taking the piss.’

‘If our chat goes well,’ Penny said, sliding open the door, ‘I’ll settle for a single André Jacquart Blanc de Blancs.’

‘Did I really propose in hospital?’

‘Four times. I said twice before, but now the Margaux’s off the table, the truth’s tumbling out.’

Inside, Oliver held the joey close and rinsed a couple of glasses with one hand. Closing his eyes, he almost smiled at the pop of the cork as Penny pulled it from the bottle.