In Just One Day

by Helen Mcginn

Twenty minutes later they sat in Flora’s flat, looking down at the pregnancy test in front of them.

  ‘Johnny, I’m so sorry…’

  ‘Hang on, what do you mean? I think you’ll find I had something to do with this, too. Why are you apologising?’

  ‘I know, I just thought… anyway, whatever. What do we do now?’ She looked at him, his eyes still fixed on the thick blue line. He closed them for a second then slowly turned to face her.

  ‘I want you to marry me.’

  ‘What?’ Flora stared at him in disbelief. ‘Are you serious?’

  Johnny’s blue eyes sparkled. ‘Well, I’ve never proposed before but I’m pretty sure it’s not something you ask for fun.’ He took her hands in his. ‘Flora, I’m sure this might not be quite what you had in mind but I’m being absolutely serious. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been so sure of anything in my life. I love you, Flo.’

  ‘I… I…’ Flora wasn’t sure which was more surprising: finding out she was pregnant or being proposed to. ‘Johnny, I don’t know what to say. I just didn’t think I’d be having a baby quite yet. I thought I’d be in my thirties, not my twenties.’

  ‘But that’s the thing. The plan is ours to make together.’ He tilted her face to his with his hand under her chin. ‘Come on, what do you reckon? Are you up for it?’ A wide grin spread across his face, so wide it made his eyes crinkle at the edges.

  Flora swallowed hard. ‘I’m in.’

  ‘Is that a yes?’ He laughed, springing up from the sofa.

  ‘Yes, it’s a yes!’ Flora stood up to meet him and he picked her up, twirling her around before falling back gently onto the sofa, both of them lost in tears and kisses.

  Telling friends had been a doddle. Informing their parents, on the other hand, had been slightly more painful, at least for Flora. Her parents had met and married when they were young, barely a penny between them, as Kate often liked to remind Flora and her brother, Billy. And even though they were so different – or maybe because they were – the marriage had always been a happy one, as far as Flora knew. She couldn’t help but feel she had a lot to live up to.

  Her father had been delighted. Kate, on the other hand, had been all smiles but Flora could sense her disappointment. This was not how Kate had imagined this moment at all.

  ‘So, where will you live? I mean, you can’t bring up a baby in your tiny flat, can you?’ Kate asked Flora.

  ‘Well, we’ll have to for a while. I’m going to move into Johnny’s flat and sell mine. We’re thinking of trying to find somewhere with a bit more space, a small garden, perhaps. But not yet.’ Flora tried to sound as upbeat as possible, ignoring the look on her mother’s face.

  ‘What about work?’ Kate probed further.

  ‘Actually, Mum, I’ve been thinking about changing career anyway…’

  ‘Since when?’ Kate’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘Darling, we didn’t know you were unhappy.’ Her father was clearly concerned.

  ‘I’m not. It’s just, well, I’m really not exactly loving the advertising business any more so I’m going to explore other options, that’s all.’

  ‘And have a baby. And get married. I’m not sure it’s the right time to take stock, do you, Robin?’ Kate turned to her husband.

  ‘Mum, it’s exactly the right time. For me, I mean. Please, just trust me… us,’ Flora looked at Johnny, ‘to work it out.’

  ‘Of course we will.’ Her father looked at her mother. Kate’s mouth was open like a goldfish’s. He turned back and smiled at them. ‘Now, shall we open something to celebrate?’

  ‘That would be great, thank you, Robin.’ Johnny looked back at Kate. ‘We’ll make it work, I promise.’

  Kate sighed. ‘Well, I certainly hope so.’

  ‘Flora, come and help me choose something from the garage. I’m sure I’ve got a decent bottle stuffed away in there somewhere.’ Her father gestured for her to join him. Grateful for the chance to escape before she said anything she shouldn’t to her mother, Flora followed.

  Robin put his arm around his daughter as they made their way outside. ‘Don’t worry about Mum. She’ll come round eventually. It’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all. Two big bits of news at once and we’ve only just met Johnny. Not that that matters – he’s wonderful, Flora. You seem very happy together.’

  ‘Dad, we really are. And I’m sorry it’s not quite how you imagined things to happen, but I am really happy. Apart from the job, but I guess you can’t have everything.’

  ‘So what else do you think you might want to do?’

  ‘Honestly, I haven’t a clue. What about this one?’ Flora pulled a bottle from wine rack and held it up. ‘Ooh… Crémant. This’ll do nicely.’

  ‘Darling, I don’t even know what that is. Or where it came from. Let me have a look.’ He took the bottle from her.

  ‘It’s not cold but stick it in the freezer for ten minutes and it’ll be fine to toast with. Not that I can go anywhere near it. The smell of wine makes me want to throw up at the moment.’

  ‘That’s it! Wine!’ His face lit up.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Flora was confused.

  ‘Why don’t you do a proper wine course? An evening course, perhaps. You’ve always been interested in what’s on the table. I never really know, to be honest. I just like drinking it.’ He chuckled, passing her back the bottle. ‘Come on, tell me more about this one.’

  ‘Well,’ she looked at the label, ‘it’s from Burgundy, look here… Crémant de Bourgogne.’ She pointed at the words. ‘So, basically, it’s made in the same way as champagne but from a different area. I’ve no idea how old it is because it’s non-vintage, but there’s only one way to find out if it’s any good…’

  ‘You see? You’re a natural!’

  ‘Oh, come on, I went to a wine tasting, like, once. And that was with work. Everyone just got pissed, including me.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re interested in it. Always have been, really. Didn’t you join the Wine Society at university?’

  ‘Yes, but that’s because it was the cheapest way to get four half-glasses of wine on a Thursday night.’

  ‘Well, it’s just a thought.’ He looked at her, an eyebrow raised.

  Later that evening, when they got back to Johnny’s flat, Flora curled up on the bed in her pyjamas and opened her laptop. Indeed, it was just a thought but it was a good one. She typed wine courses near me into the search bar.

  ‘Hey, Johnny, there’s one not far from here I could do, one evening a week, and then there’s a test at the end.’

  ‘So you’d get like a proper certificate?’ He came in from the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

  ‘Yes, it’s just the most basic certificate, but it’s a start and it says it’s a great introduction for anyone thinking of making a career out of wine.’

  ‘Sign up before you change your mind. I think it’s a brilliant idea. I’ll never have to worry about looking like an idiot with the wine list again.’

  Flora was so used to the cold blanket of dread covering her on a Sunday night ahead of going back to work, but now she realised that for the first time for years it just wasn’t there. In fact, for a moment she was excited at the prospect of what might just lie ahead. Then she caught herself.

  ‘Hang on, Johnny. Am I being completely stupid? I don’t mean getting married, obviously. Or having a baby. But throwing in a career change at the same time? Really?’

  ‘Look, if you don’t do it now you might never do it. There’s nothing stopping you. Now go on, put your name down before you change your mind.’

  Flora looked back at the screen, the cursor blinking on the page, and typed in her name.

  3

  Mack was not in sight when Flora got to the shop the next day, although the smell of freshly made coffee gave away his presence.

  ‘Good morning, Mack,’ Flora called out.

  ‘Hello, Flora. With you in a minute.’ He was in the stockroom; at least, that’s what they called it.
Basically, it was a room at the back, stuffed from floor to ceiling with boxes and wooden crates. Flora had tried to install some sort of stock-rotation system, but with so little room, Mack hadn’t seemed to notice.

  The shop sat on the high street in a small market town. It occupied a two-storey whitewashed brick building with a green awning hanging over two windows at the front, the name of the shop, Ten Green Bottles, in thick white lettering across it. Inside, the room was narrow but long, with exposed brick walls and old wooden floorboards giving the space a wonderful cellar-type feel. Thick dark wood shelves, built by Mack himself back when he first opened the shop in the early 1980s, were loaded with wines. It looked like a mad sweet shop for grown-ups. In the early days he’d enjoyed roaring trade with a long list of loyal customers, both private and in the restaurant trade, keeping the business hearty and healthy. Mack had even opened a bar at the back of the shop in the tiny courtyard garden for a while. But then the recession hit and, to make matters worse, a supermarket opened up smack bang opposite the shop, on the sunnier side of the street. It wasn’t a huge supermarket, more ‘express’ size, but Mack struggled to compete with their prices.

  For years now the shop had limped on, barely covering its costs, but Mack loved his customers and did everything he could to keep them happy. He held monthly wine tastings in the shop, his clients perched on wooden boxes, trying his latest finds from tiny producers in France, Italy, Spain or some remote region further afield that it was unlikely anyone had heard of. He’d always had help in the shop, not least because he needed someone to run the place when he was out making deliveries. But more than that, it was for the company. He’d lived on his own since his wife, Elizabeth, had died, almost ten years ago. They’d been together for over forty years and he’d adored her. The irony was she hadn’t even liked wine that much.

  Flora remembered Mack mentioning his son, just the once, when she’d asked him one day if he had any children.

  ‘We did. But he died too, sadly.’ He’d not offered any more than that, not even a name. Flora sensed from this response that it wasn’t something Mack wished to talk about and she’d quickly changed the subject.

  ‘Ah, there you are.’ Mack emerged from the back, glasses askew. ‘I know I’ve got some Château Palmer ’85 back there somewhere, I just can’t for the life of me remember where I put it. Old Mr Peters called yesterday asking if we had any; wants it for a birthday present.’

  ‘Yes, you have, and I think I know exactly where it is. Let me go… I’ll just put this stuff down.’ Flora shrugged off her coat and went to put her bag on the shelf below the counter.

  ‘No books today?’ Mack had got used to Flora carting the heavy tote bag with her everywhere she went.

  ‘Not today, Mack. I’ve got to the point where I feel like every time I learn one thing, I forget another. So, I’m giving it a break for a bit.’ The truth was she knew that she and Mack would need to have a proper talk about the future of the shop, and she was fully expecting to be sent home today with an apology that her job was no longer viable. And as much as that saddened her, the thought of Mack losing his shop broke her heart even more. She’d wanted to talk to Johnny about it before he left for work but he was up and gone by the time she’d woken up that morning.

  ‘Coffee? I’ve just made it.’ Mack poured out two cups and handed one to her.

  ‘Thank you. So, how did yesterday go?’

  ‘At the bank?’ Mack took a long sip of his coffee. ‘Not great.’

  ‘Oh, Mack, I’m so sorry. What did they say?’

  ‘I can’t get another loan, I’m afraid. They said they’ve done all they can. I’m going to have to sell the lease, possibly the building.’

  ‘But where will you live?’ Flora immediately thought of Mack’s flat upstairs. It was remarkably similar to the shop, just with books rather than wine lining the walls and piled up in every corner. She couldn’t bear the thought of Mack losing his home.

  ‘I’m not sure yet. I hadn’t really thought about it. But the shop’s going to have to go. I’ve tried, but it’s just not making enough to keep trading. Not by a long way, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. That’s awful. I don’t know what to say.’ Flora reached across and put her hand gently on his arm. Mack looked at her, his face softening with a smile.

  ‘Honestly, I knew it was coming. Has been for a while, but I had just hoped that we’d have enough business to keep us ticking over. Technically, I should have retired long ago but, to be honest, I wouldn’t know what else to do.’ He looked around the shop. ‘I built this place, but you know what? It’s only bricks. And bottles. All good things, as they say.’

  ‘There must be something we can do, Mack. How about a proper marketing campaign? We could start online wine courses or pop-up tastings? Or, I don’t know… how about running a mini wine festival?’ Flora was speaking quickly, wishing she’d pushed him harder to consider these ideas long before now. She had tried in the past, but he’d always insisted they were fine as they were.

  ‘You’re kind, Flora, but really, it’s too late. I’ve already been to the estate agent’s at the bottom of the high street. They’re coming to have a look at the place later. I really am so sorry, but let me know if there is anything I can do in terms of a reference for another job. And I’ll pay you for another month’s work.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that, Mack. I know you’ve done what you can. This must be so very hard for you.’ Flora felt desperately sad.

  ‘Thank you. I just wish it didn’t have to be this way.’ Mack looked at her, his eyes glinting with tears. ‘Now, did you say you knew where that bottle of Palmer was? Mr Peters will be here to pick it up soon.’

  ‘Glass of wine?’ Flora grabbed two glasses from the dresser and put them on the table. ‘Sorry about the mess.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’re apologising for the mess. Have you seen my house?’ Tilda laughed as she picked up the empty beakers from the table. ‘Yes, please… Thanks for feeding them today; you didn’t have to do that.’

  ‘Pleasure. I owe you anyway.’ Flora put the glasses on the table, unscrewed the wine and poured a generous measure into each. From the garden, the squeals of the children reached them as they flipped and flung themselves at each other on the trampoline. ‘Please be careful! You’ve only just finished eating!’ Flora called across to them, only to be completely ignored. ‘Cheers!’ She raised her glass to her friend’s.

  ‘Cheers, happy Friday.’ Tilda took a long sip. ‘God, that’s good. What is it?’

  ‘Pinot Gris from New Zealand… a bit like Pinot Grigio but with more meat on its bones. You like?’

  ‘I like. Very much, actually. So, when’s the exam?’

  ‘Exams. Plural.’ Flora looked at her glass. ‘In a couple of months, and that’s just the first lot. I’ve got to do another load of exams next year, too.’

  ‘So, is this like a diploma?’

  ‘Exactly. God knows what I was thinking when I decided to do it.’ Flora absent-mindedly swirled her glass as she spoke. ‘I think I might have been temporarily deranged.’

  ‘Oh, come on. If you’re going to take exams, at least you’re doing ones where you get to drink wine.’

  ‘I know, I know. I really shouldn’t complain.’

  It had all started with that evening course. Flora had turned up thinking that if she just did a few classes it would get it out of her system before going back to her old job and that would be that. Instead, before the end of that first evening, she knew she’d found something she loved. And it wasn’t just about whatever wine was in the glass. She fell in love with everything about it, from the people who made the wine, the place it was from, the culture surrounding it, the combination of tradition and innovation, the assault on the senses… all captured in that glass. The whole thing absolutely fascinated her.

  Within a few months she’d completed the evening course – gaining her first official wine qualification – and promptly signed up to
do the next level before she changed her mind. Shortly after Pip had been born and when her bosses at work had refused her request for a part-time role, she’d resigned, switching instead to earning a modest income from copywriting through old work contacts. Meanwhile, Johnny was making good money from his job, enough for them to sell his flat, move out of the city and buy a small house in a quiet seaside village on the south coast. It was a small Victorian red-brick house set back from the road, reached by a gravel track, and had – as the estate agent put it – lots of potential. Of course, they’d had grand plans when they’d first arrived, of knocking down walls and creating an open-plan, modern living space. But apart from giving the whole place a lick of paint, the house was still pretty much as it had been when they’d first moved in. Still, as Flora often reminded herself, one spent more time in a house looking out than the other way round. And the views from the inside out were quite spectacular, the small garden backing onto fields with woodland behind. Best of all, the beach was a five-minute walk away, miles of shingle overlooking the Solent and the Isle of Wight beyond that.

  As soon as Pip had started nursery Flora had gone back to studying wine part-time from home, gaining a further two certificates along with another baby in between. By now she was itching to get back to something other than churning out copy for advertorials found in the back of magazines. So it was she found herself sitting in Mack’s shop one day with her two-year-old son Tom asleep in the buggy, begging him to give her a job.

  ‘But what about this wee fella?’ Mack pointed at the boy, cheeks flushed hot with sleep.

  ‘I’ve got a place for him at nursery starting next term so I’d be free three days a week to come and work for you.’

  She’d been so eager, Mack hadn’t the heart to say no. A month later, Flora started working in the shop. She’d been able to keep up her studies, signing up for the wine diploma that she was now almost halfway through, and thinking that she just might have bitten off more than she could chew.