Page 64 of Somewhere Only We Know

My chest swelled with emotion. He’d faced his demons a lot sooner than I had, dealt with it a lot more positively too. ‘I’m in awe of you. Brontë would be so proud.’

He gave me a subdued smile. ‘I think so. Especially as it’s starting to earn me a bit of money. It’s not the career I had in mind for myself, but then neither was the last year. I’m going to do it until I figure out what comes next.’

‘It’s a brilliant idea. I’ll have to follow you on Instagram.’

‘I’m called @HarryHurts on there.’ He sucked in a breath. ‘I should warn you, it can get a bit raw. My posts are a safe space for people to express their grief. There’s a whole lot of difficult emotions on display.’

‘If you can handle it, so can I. It sounds like you’re helping others as well as yourself.’

We smiled at each other, and I thought what a great judge of character my girl had been in choosing him.

‘Drum roll, please!’ Pete cried, returning with an enormous dessert. ‘Pavlova. My speciality. Make room.’

‘Wow, I’m impressed,’ I said, stacking the dishes to give him space to put the plate down. ‘It’s a wonder you’re still single, Pete, given your culinary skills.’

‘It’s a mystery, Maggie,’ he replied, wiping his hands on the seat of his shorts. ‘Fancy a slice, do you? The pavlova, that is.’ He nudged me in the ribs and hooted at his own joke.

‘Let me,’ said Harry, intervening when he noticed my bemused look. ‘You’ve done enough work this evening.’

Pete nodded at my phone, which was displaying Harry’s Instagram page. ‘Told you about all his groupies, has he? Not surprising, a good-looking lad like him. He’s got all the ladies after him.’

‘I’m not interested,’ Harry said gruffly, thumping a dish of pavlova in front of his uncle.

Pete pulled a face at me. ‘Touchy subject,’ he said in a stage whisper.

‘Where do you think I should go next on my travels, Pete?’ I asked, redirecting the conversation.

He spread his arms. ‘Why would you want to leave the Blue Mountains?’

‘Good question. I guess because I promised myself that I’d do what Brontë can’t anymore.’

Harry asked if I wanted dessert, but I asked if I could have a glass of wine instead. While he went inside to fetch it, I told Pete about Brontë’s gap year and how she’d planned on exploring the Gold Coast with Harry. How doing this trip in her place was my way of staying connected to her, but also giving me a chance to find some peace and happiness for myself.

The outside lights suddenly clicked on automatically and I noticed how dark the night had become. Pete lit candles in a couple of hurricane lanterns and set them on the table. From the kitchen we heard the sound of a cork being pulled from a bottle.

‘She must have been a special girl. There are no words that’ll make it better.’ Pete patted my leg amiably. He lowered his voice. ‘But I do know that in time you will grow from what life has thrown at you. I also know that happiness isn’t something you find, it’s something you make. A happy life is a conscious decision. That kid’s still working on feeling like he deserves one. Sounds like you are too.’

I was taken aback by his insight and how he had flipped from boisterous banter to tender words of encouragement. My throat felt too tight to reply and I squeezed his hand instead.

‘She and I were planning on getting work in the Hunter Valley,’ Harry told us, returning with a large glass of red wine. ‘There are hostels you can stay at, where they pick you up, take you to the vineyards and drop you off again at the end of the day.’

‘It’s harvest time right now.’ Pete shovelled Pavlova into his mouth. ‘Plenty of work picking grapes for those who want it. And you obviously like your wine.’

‘I do.’ I ignored his light-hearted jibe and took a large mouthful of smooth-bodied Australian Merlot.

I could see myself wandering between the vines, picking bunches of grapes in the sunshine, enjoying the camaraderie of being part of a team. ‘But I don’t like hostels. The days of sharing a bedroom are over.’

‘I’m sure you’d make an exception for the right person, eh?’ Pete waggled his silvery eyebrows, each the size of a moustache.

‘Never say never,’ I replied cheerily.

I wasn’t about to get into my love life with him – not that there was much to tell.

‘That’s the spirit.’ Pete clunked his beer against my glass.

‘You’ve got contacts in the Hunter Valley, Uncle Pete,’ said Harry, coming to my rescue. ‘Can you help?’

‘Loads of hotels in those parts.’ He scraped his plate clean and gave a satisfied sigh. ‘There’s even one with a spa if you’re feeling flush.’