‘He might not have been present with you, Henry. But he never once stopped thinking of you. He was proud of what you had accomplished and felt shame and guilt about how you’d parted.’

Henry nodded in the darkness, against the weight of the pressure in his chest, ache and guilt swirling in a heady combination.

‘My eighteenth … Blake had wanted to show me something in the wine cellar. And all I could think of was that I didn’t want anything more to do with his damn wine. All that day my father had said nothing – no happy birthday, there’d been no card or present – and I genuinely thought he’d forgotten it and I stormed out.’ He felt tears press against the backs of his eyes and he clenched his jaw, trying to stop them. Trying to hold on to it all. ‘I think … I think he wanted to show me this.’

He felt Lily’s warm hand wrap around his, their fingers intertwining, and he clung to them as if they were a lifeline. Her understanding and compassion were almost his undoing. For a moment, he just stood there, drawing strength from her, allowing her to anchor him. Finally getting himself under control, he reluctantly released her hand, reached for two of the bottles, snagging their envelopes with his finger and turned to Lily.

‘Up for a drink?’

Henry emerged from the cellar into the setting sunlight and stopped. It was as if he were seeing the vineyards and the estate grounds with fresh eyes.

I only hope that I can be the father you deserve.

He would have rubbed a hand over his face, but he was still holding the two bottles. And the envelopes. Lily had gone back inside to retrieve the bags of food she’d brought and to find a bottle opener. He’d needed it. That moment to himself. Just to lean into the feelings that had been almost overwhelming in the cellar, but were now soaring free, the tightness in his chest easing.

Quite possibly a bit of hurt. But hopefully also a bit of healing.

That’s how Lily had put it. She’d been right. On both counts, he realized as he wondered at how something could both hurt and heal at the same time. She had given him this. And he had only taken from her.

He walked towards the benches just outside the barn that contained the distillery and placed the two bottles on the table. He stared at the envelope from his eighteenth birthday, half fearful of what he would read. He had argued with Blake that night, hurling words of anger and resentment at him like missiles.