Chapter 8

Eight

“Ready?” I ask Mum as she climbs into the passenger seat of the car.

“For a day of forced fun when I have no idea where we are going, or what we are doing? Not really, Aria.”

The fact that she is being so short with me is just another red flag. Over the last couple of days since I hatched this plan, Mum’s mood has continued to nosedive, and she looks even more exhausted than ever. I tried a couple of times to get her to agree to a girls’ night, or a movie date, but she just begged off with excuses of being too tired or having too much work to commit to a date and time, so I called in the big guns and went over her head.

I felt a little weird when I called her office on Friday morning between classes and asked to speak to Abigail, but Eva put my call through without any questions. Abigail was just as quirky over the phone, answering on the first ring by announcing she was in the bathroom, so to excuse the “tinkling sounds.” Abigail in the bathroom, on the phone to me, was not an image my mind would soon forget. But in true Abigail spirit, when I told her how concerned I was about my mum, how worn out she looked, and my plan for a relaxing girls’ day out, she was immediately on board. As a co-conspirator, I actually couldn’t have asked for more.

When I explained that I wanted to take Mum on a trip up to the Barossa Valley, a world-famous wine-growing region just less than an hour away by car, Abigail jumped at the chance to help with the planning. She cryptically offered to “consult with an expert” she knew, and booked us a few tasting experiences at one of the most well-known wineries, as well as a couple of small cellar doors that had unique offerings. I was only too happy to let her, and grateful for the help. I don’t know the first thing about wineries, only that Mum and I enjoy a good red and fortified wines.

“Just sit back and relax, Mum. It will take us a little while to get to our first stop,” I say, pulling out of the driveway and heading for the expressway. I turn the stereo on, with my mum’s favourite upbeat playlist from our shared streaming account.

Abigail truly took care of all the details for our day, starting with her rather over the top announcement to Mum on Friday afternoon when I got to the office after school. I can’t help the smile remembering the shocked look on Mum’s face when Abigail waltzed into her office, literally spinning in circles to a tune only she could hear, and simply said all Mum’s work account access had officially been suspended for the next 48 hours, and we were to have some fun, before kissing me on the cheek, sticking her tongue out at my mother’s shocked face, then waltzing right back out again.

“I still can’t believe you went behind my back and spoke to my boss, Aria.”

“I have been worried about you, Mum, and Abigail agreed you need some well-deserved rest and relaxation. You are working too hard, and with the end of the financial year coming up soon, you are only going to get busier. Besides, we have hardly had any time with just the two of us between your work and my study. Is it wrong that I miss my mum and want some time for just us?” The guilt trip is a little dirty, but I need her on board today.

“Not at all, my love. I’m sorry. Truly, it is so sweet of you to worry about me, and to have gone to so much effort to plan this surprise. I am looking forward to it, I promise.” Her smile is a little forced, but she’s trying, and that’s all I can ask. “So, do I get any hints?”

“Not a single one,” I say, flashing her a smile, then focusing back on the road.

The turn off I take about forty minutes later, though, is a pretty big giveaway. As is the massive signage when I pull the car into the parking lot at Seppeltsfield Winery. We walk through the complex, pausing to take a selfie at the famous balcony over the fountain before heading into the tasting room. When I give my name, however, we are quickly whisked off down a winding path through spectacular gardens, to a set of heavy wooden doors leading to an underground cellar. Once inside, our eyes widen in shock as we realise where we are. The port cellar. Famous for their hundreds of years old port, Seppeltsfield holds exclusive, and expensive, tastings where you can sample a port barrelled on the year of your birth.

Our guide takes us on a tour of the facility, and I swear by the end my cheeks hurt from all the smiling. Mum’s face, whilst still tired, at least has a glow and excitement shines in her eyes. After our tour, we are taken to an exclusive tasting room, where I encourage Mum to try literally everything they have to offer. I have to monitor my alcohol intake, given I’m driving, but I do sample a few of the wines. We make a list of everything we love during the tasting on a sheet the staff provided, and I’m blown away at the end when they advise us that a bottle of every item we marked on the sheet is being express shipped to our house. Thank you, Abigail!

As the day goes on, Mum is more and more relaxed and happy, and at our last stop, an amazing distillery next to a woodfire pizza restaurant, I know it’s now or never.

“Have you had a good day?” I ask, shoving another piece of the divine truffle mushroom pizza into my mouth. Seriously, who knew a mushroom pizza could have so much flavour?

“Sweetheart, I have had an amazing day. I was not keen, and I know I have been as grizzly as a bear recently. I guess I just didn’t realise how much I needed a break and a recharge to get back on track,” she says, slipping her gin apple-crumble cocktail. “But after today, I think I might take a little me time tonight, and tomorrow I will be a whole new woman, mark my words.”

I beam at her. Mum very rarely takes “me time,” but when she does, the change in her the next day is almost miraculous. I have no idea what she does, but whatever it is, it works. Maybe this time it will involve a certain security expert.

“That sounds like the perfect end to the perfect day, Mum. I’m so happy you’ve enjoyed yourself,” I say, taking a decent gulp of my Coke, having long stopped drinking anything alcoholic. “But I do have something I want to talk to you about.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously at my words. “Was this all just an elaborate plan to get me drunk so you could soften me up? It’s not about a boy, is it? I am not having this conversation now if it is about a boy, Aria. You need to be focusing on your studies right now?—”

“Mum, stop!” I cut in, before her raised voice can attract any more attention. “This isn’t about a boy. Actually, it’s about my studies. You know how much I have been struggling with some of my units this semester, especially criminal law.” She nods her head sympathetically, giving me the encouragement I need to just go for it. “Well, I was offered a place in an exclusive invite- only study group run by the teacher’s aide in my criminal law class. There are only six spots total, and it is for those students who are identified as doing well enough, but could do great with a little extra help. The only thing is that the sessions are held at his house in the evenings for a few hours, a couple of times a week.” At her answering frown, I plough ahead, not giving her a chance to voice her concerns first. “Now, I know what you are going to say, but I have done my research. I checked with a couple of the second-year students and the study group is legit. There is also a mix of male and female students. I even made enquiries with the campus office, and they confirmed that the TA offers the group every year in his own time, and the lady I spoke to assured me that he has never had a formal complaint made against him for inappropriate behaviour, or anything like that. So, I really want to do it, Mum. I think it would be such a great opportunity to learn from someone who is actually in law practice.” I’m practically out of breath by the time I finish my pitch, not wanting to take a breath and give Mum an in before I get it all out in the open. Her eyes roam over my face, so I try to convey my sincerity and desperation to be a part of the study group.

“I don’t know, Aria. I am not sure how comfortable I am with you spending time at an older man’s house.”

I haven’t considered she might assume Anders is “old,” and it might trigger her concern. She still had a lot of hangups about older men taking advantage after her experience with my father.

“I get it, Mum. But Mr Cleave isn’t my father, and he is not taking advantage of me. If anything, I am taking advantage of his knowledge and experience to become a better student. We don’t know any lawyers, so I have never really had anyone I could ask the million questions I have about practice. This could be really good for me academically, and also for my future.” I’m laying it on thick, but none of it is a lie. Anders has already been such a great help with my studies, and I have learned a lot about the reality of practice in just our short meetings.

“Let me think about it, okay?”

“Of course, Mumma,” I say. I shouldn’t have hoped she would be so quick to jump on board, but it isn’t a no, and I can work with that. “Now, how about we order two servings of churros with Nutella sauce, and we get you that hot chocolate cocktail you were eyeing off before we head back home so you can get ready for your night out?”

Her nod and smile leaves me optimistic I can convince her. I just hope it doesn’t take too long.