‘That was the perfect reaction. Thank you.’

‘Thank you for telling me,’ I said. ‘Mala must have felt so loved by you.’

‘I did my best,’ he replied, sorrowfully. ‘Most days I still can’t believe she’s actually gone.’

18

I hated that I wasn’t sure how to navigate our conversation after Patrick had told me about Mala, and I hated that he knew it, and so was demonstrably more chipper than he’d ever been, like he was communicating that it was okay for us to continue to have a good time. I played along because I didn’t want to give the impression that I saw him differently now, even though I did. Of course I did. His wife had died. I replayed every conversation we’d had, looking for the clues. All that talk of seizing the day, and knowing what loss was like. I thought he’d been dumped!

I knew he was a good guy, but the only conclusion that I could draw was that he was an even stronger, kinder man than I’d first realized. To get up every day missing somebody that way – to be robbed of a life with someone, but still find ways to bring goodness to the world, to make people smile or to be helpful. It was staggering, really. I knew I couldn’t make the death of his partner some sort of quirky backstory for him, or a personality trait, but it did make me double down on my admiration. I couldn’t help it.

‘And how does the type of flask impact the flavour?’ Patrick was asking the winemaker, who looked delighted to delve into a detailed and informative answer for him. Patrick nodded, wineglass in hand, his mint green polo shirt contrasting with the deep ruby red in his glass and the golden halo of his hair. He looked as if he was posing for a painting to be done only in the brightest of colours.

‘Annie,’ he summoned. ‘Have you tried this one? I think I’m going to get some bottles to take home.’ I rushed to be by his side.

‘Don’t you two look like a couple of lushes?’ Bianca observed as we wandered down the pebbled path of the vineyard entrance to where she waited in the limo. ‘Thanks for walking down – there’s nowhere to turn this thing around up there.’

‘Thank you for picking us up,’ I said, my face burning from the wine. I was flushed and smiley, and there was no way to hide it. ‘It’s really so great to have somebody to navigate us to where we need to be. I’d be rubbish at map-reading and we’d probably only end up seeing the motorway.’

We climbed into the back seat and Bianca rolled down the partition to keep chatting.

‘I think you two would have fun even parked in a service station car park,’ she quipped, and Patrick smirked at me.