Chapter One
my father is a famous winemaker.
He owns a successful winery in the north, where every single grape grows to be eyeball-sized. The workshop, where they squeeze the juice out of the grapes , is in the north, too, and from there the juice goes all the way round to Central England, for the obsolescence process. This is one of many more reasons why he is away most of the time.
He has to be there, in the north, and take care of the business. He visits us only once a month for three days, and he drives away to his little workshop.
Well, not exactly little.
Usually, mom takes care of the shop when he's gone. When she's gone, I take care of it. Today is one of these days.
Look, I've been working in this shop since I was eight. I'm fifteen now. It's well expected for me to see, like, every existing type of people: Women, men, children, and even a few celebrities. Some days there are even drunk, poor elderlies coming. Everybody comes here, to the Greenwich Wine Shop, and I quote my mom- "Simply to taste and buy the best wine bottles ever made."
That's why, prima facie, I'm not supposed to be surprised when this weird man enters the shop, but that's exactly what happens.
First of all, the man looks unbelievably old. His beard is completely white, and his skin is wrinkled and loose, and I imagine him as a Bulldog. His hair goes, as said The Beatles- "Down below his knee", and he wears a blue casket. He wears a blue loose shirt that looks like it is from a medieval guy's wardrobe, black trousers, and some really old-looking boots with laces wound around them. A black bag is hung on his shoulder.
The moment I see him, the first thought to pop up in my head is 'What The Hell Is He Doing Here?' Next one after it is 'Someone Really Needs a Good Haircut.'. After I see what he wears, 'Oh, For God's Sake,Dress Up Like a Human Being' is added to the list.
"How can I help you?" I ask impatiently.
He looks as if he didn't hear. He tilts his head towards me, squints and places his hand around the ear. "HOW CAN I HELP YOU?" I ask again, louder this time.
The man derisively snorts and says shrilly, "Maybe the question should be, 'How Can I Help YOU', my young, helpless lady?"
That's the exact moment when I decide that he's just a grumpy old man.
I sigh. "Sir, if you have nothing to do in this shop, I'll have to ask you to leave."
He looked briefly at the bottles shelf to the right, and then turns away and looks at the one to the left.
"I, uh… oh…" He stammers and scratches his chin, and then suddenly turns back to me, pointing at me. "Are you alone here?"
I flinch of the question and prefer lying, because who knows what he can do to me? I've never stopped hearing about old pedophiles. "No," I reply, "My mum's downstairs, in the wine cellar."
He squints again, this time I can see the confusion in his face. "Your what?" he asks.
"My mu-" I start saying, but then I remember how old he looks, and decide to use a better word. "My mother. She's downstairs."
I think I see disappointment on his face, but if it is disappointment, he hurries to replace it with a provided expression. "Huh, good," he mumbles, "Take me to her. I am assured that she explains much better about wines than a young, incompetent clotpole like you."
A clotpole?
Wow. New words to learn. Good.
I grumble and struggle with the thrust to kick him out. While an inner argument happens inside of me – between one side, claiming that the man should be kicked-out, because he have really pissed me off, and the other side, claiming that I should not kick him out, because he's an old man and stuff – I open the door that leads to the wine cellar and accelerate him reluctantly, "Come on, follow me."
"WAIT!" he yells, and I turn my head to look at him. He pats on his back and says, "I want you to carry me."
I stare at him in my 'You-Can't-Be-Serious' stare.
"You want. Me. To Carry. You?"
"Excuse me, young lady, but not everyone here is as strong and young as they used to be!"
I still don't move a muscle.
"Come on, though!" he urges me.
That's the exact moment when I decide that he's more than just a grumpy old man.
I bend down and lean on my knees. Even though I really don't want to, and even though the way downstairs includes stairs, I can't let down my father- who kept saying that "The Client Is First."
He gets on my back and I can barely lift myself up. He's quite heavy relative to an old man, but I try to suffer quietly, mainly when he sticks the platforms of his boots in my waists powerfully, as in trying to accelerate me.
"Would you please cut it down?" I sarcastically try to stop him, and see him calming down. Actually, he gets calmer than I expected. His grumpy face turns pensive and sad. "Oi, sorry, did I hurt you?" I ask, no emotion in my voice.
As if he's waking up of a daydream, he blinks quickly. "Nothing. I'm alright. It's just… a far, old memory." And here comes the real him, again. "Come one, though, I don't get any younger while waiting!"
When we get to the cellar, I can't take it anymore and force him to jump off my back, which hurts me even more. He rubs his hands and admonishes capriciously, "Hmp! Well then, where is your mother, tiny one?"
-"I'll go and get her," I answer, even though I knew the answer in the first place.
"Fine. Good," he mumbles, and I silently disappear behind a tall buffer with wine barrels and bottles. I look for a place good enough to hide, and when I feel safe where I am, I bend down on my knees, and call, allegedly, my mum. To convince him, I need to create a situation where I answer myself, so I lower my voice and shout more quietly, so he thinks my mum answers me from far away, "Yes, Johnna, dearie?"
Johnna is not even a real name. Not even my real name. But it was the first to come in my mind.
I shout 'back', "I finally found you!", step on the floor vigorously and start mumbling, as if we were having a conversation. When I come back, I'll tell him she was too busy to come.
My steps were heard all over the cellar, and I hope the old man hears them, too. When I find him seated on a barrel and shows no signs of interest in me, I deduce that he either didn't hear them, or he did and ignored. I clear my throat purposely loud. He doesn't even seem surprised, just looks up at me.
"Hmn… yes, where is she?"
"She was too busy to come," I lie, and add, "Sir."
He sighs, disappointed. "Oh, Well. I'll have to adapt to you, I suppose. I'll have your three bests and three worsts, so I can value."
I really dunno why, but his last comment makes me really mad. I can't take it but to actually burst.
"If you got all the way through here, to the most famous winery and wine shop in the central England, PRESICELY HERE, I assume you've got some recommendations and I bet you know which ones, to others' mind, are the bests and worsts. And in case you don't, I know you're just a stray who doesn't know what he wants. If that's the case, you'll have to taste it all yourself, because picking the bests and the worsts is much like picking your favourite child. IS. THAT. CLEAR?"
I didn't even know how emotional I can be when it comes to wines. Look what an annoying, old man can do to a normal girl like me.
The old man looked shocked of that little speech I've made, but he only says, quite like a command, "I demand you to taste it all with me."
My eyes open wide. He does have an impertinence. How does he even have that nerve and courage? I wonder how his parents got along with him when he was young. If he was young at all.
"I'm sorry for the question, Sir, but are you trying to get me drunk?" I inquire.
And in exchange, I get that cruel-looking smile, which makes it quite clear that I can't get out of the situation without anyone hearing about it.
We taste, about, five different types of wine, until he "reaches his threshold" and declares that he can't take it anymore, and quite cheekily asks me to keep tasting without him.
"Sure," I laugh rigidly, "Would you like me to send the results to your home at the end of the test?"
"I didn't know you have shipping services, but yes, I'd love to- The More, The Merrier, they say."
"I prefer The More, The Worse," I hiss, and refuse my own offer firmly.
Apparently, the old man really insists to annoy me, but he probably catches my fury, and he bursts. "That's it, I got tired of you, Johnna the Incompetent!" ('So he DID hear THAT,' I think.) "You've been treating me terrible, refusing my asks and requires, and I got tired! I am going now, but don't think I am not going to tell anyone! I will report to anyone who wants to hear, and I WILL COME BACK!"
And in these words, he steps towards the stairway.
My rage – Wow, what a powerful, fitting word – Bubbles inside me like lava inside a volcano. I can't accept the fact that all my hard work today, all the troubles and damage that he caused, were in vain. I clench my fists and close my eyes.
And then it happens.
At first, it's only one bottle. It actually explodes, fragrant white 'Merlot' wine starts spilling of it. I am supposed to get alarmed of that noise, but it doesn't scare me at all. I clench my fists even more powerfully than in the first place, and immediately three more bottles explode, splashing red wine all over.
Soon enough, I find myself in the eye of a wine storm, all red, white and mixed up. For some reason, I remain perfectly clean.
Finally I manage to open up my eyes, and I see the old man standing right in front of me. He doesn't look frightened, more like… satisfied, as if he was expecting all that. He looks like he's about to burst in laughter.
I notice four things while looking at him.
First- He remains clean as well.
Second- He moves towards me.
Third- His smile looked too childish, and I manage to notice that he has high cheekbones.
The fourth thing is that his eyes glow gold.
Glow gold?!
The thing is so illogical and supernatural that I close my eyes again. I wonder if I look like that, too, and try to convince myself that my eyes must have fooled me, along with that storm going on.
I feel a hand pulling my hand, and I know, I know this is all just a bad dream, because I know that the hand holding mine is my mum's, and I know she's here to wake me up.
What brings me back to reality is kind of an electric current in my hand. I open up my eyes and hear the old man mumbling words that I try hard to understand. Some inner voice in me tells me than I can understand them, if I wish.
One minute before the whole places crushes down, I hear the door shuts behind me. I feel him pulling me quickly up the stairs and out of the shop, too quickly relative to a man in his age.
We both inhale heavily. I am surprised to discover that the sun had already set, and we're in the dark.
One moment before I lose consciousness, I can see his eyes change colour from orange to light blue, and then I get lost in the darkness.
