In the next visit to the Midnight Library, Mrs Elm helped Nora ๏ฌnd the life she could have lived that was closest to the life depicted on the label of that bottle of wine from the restaurant. So, she gave Nora a book that sent her to America.
In this life Nora was called Nora Martรฌnez and she was married to a twinkle-eyed Mexican-American man in his early forties called Eduardo, who she had met during the gap year sheโd regretted never having a๎er leaving university. A๎er his parents had died in a boating accident (she had learned, from a pro๏ฌle piece on them inย ๎ปe Wine Enthusiastย magazine, which they had framed in their oak-panelled tasting room), Eduardo had been le๎ย a modest inheritance and they bought a tiny vineyard in California. Within three years they had done so well โ particularly with their Syrah varietals โ that they were able to buy the neighbouring vineyard when it came up for sale.ย ๎ขeir winery was called the Buena Vista vineyard, situated in the foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains, and they had a child called Alejandro, who was at boarding school near Monterey Bay.
Much of their business came from wine-trail tourists. Coachloads of people arrived at hourly intervals. It was quite easy to improvise, as the tourists were genuinely quite gullible. It went like this: Eduardo would decide which wines to put out in the glasses before each coach load arrived, and hand Nora the bottles โ โWoah, Nora, despacio, un poco too muchโ he reprimanded in his good-humoured Spanglish, when she was a bit too liberal with the measures โ and then when the tourists came Nora would inhale the wines as they sipped and swilled them, and try to echo Eduardo and say the right things.
โ๎ขere is a woodiness to the bouquet with this oneโ or โYouโll note the vegetal aromas here โ the bright robust blackberries and fragrant nectarine, perfectly balanced with the echoes of charcoalโ.
Each life she had experienced had a di๏ฌerent feeling, like di๏ฌerent movements in a symphony, and this one felt quite bold and upli๎ing. Eduardo was incredibly sweet-natured, and their marriage seemed to be a successful one. Maybe even one to rival the life of the couple on the wine label of the bottle of ropey wine sheโd drank with Dylan, while being licked by his astronomically large dog. She even remembered their names. Janine and Terenceย ๎ขornton. She felt like she too was now living in a label on a bottle. She also looked like it. Perfect Californian hair and expensive-looking teeth, tanned and healthy despite the presumably quite substantial consumption of Syrah. She had the kind of ๏ฌat, hard stomach that suggested hours of Pilates every week.
However, it wasnโt just easy to fake wine knowledge in this life. It was easy to fakeย everything, which could have been a sign that the key to her apparently successful union with Eduardo was that he wasnโt really paying attention.
A๎er the last of the tourists le๎, Eduardo and Nora sat out under the stars with a glass of their own wine in their hands.
โ๎ขe ๏ฌres have died out in LA now,โ he told her.
Nora wondered who lived in the Los Angeles home she had in her pop star life. โ๎ขatโs a relief.โ
โYeah.โ
โIsnโt it beautiful?โ she asked him, staring up at that clear sky full of constellations.
โWhat?โ โ๎ขe galaxy.โ โYes.โ
He was on his phone and didnโt say very much. And then he put his phone down and still didnโt say much.
She had known three types of silence in relationships.ย ๎ขere was passive-aggressive silence, obviously, there was the we-no-longer-have-anything-to-say silence, and then there was the silence that Eduardo and she seemed to have cultivated.ย ๎ขe silence of notย needingย to talk. Of just being together, ofย together-being.ย ๎ขe way you could be happily silent with yourself.
But still, she wanted to talk. โWeโre happy, arenโt we?โ โWhy the question?โ
โOh, I know we are happy. I just like to hear you say it sometimes.โ โWeโre happy, Nora.โ
She sipped her wine and looked at her husband. He was wearing a sweater even though it was perfectly mild.ย ๎ขey stayed there a while and then he went to bed before her.
โIโm just going to stay out here for a while.โ
Eduardo seemed ๏ฌne with that, and sloped o๏ฌย a๎er planting a small kiss on the top of her head.
She stepped out with her glass of wine and walked among the moonlit vines.
She stared at the clear sky full of stars.
๎ขere was absolutely nothing wrong with this life, but she felt inside her a craving for other things, other lives, other possibilities. She felt like she was still in the air, not ready to land. Maybe she was more like Hugo Lefรจvre than she had realised. Maybe she could ๏ฌick through lives as easily as ๏ฌicking pages.
She gulped the rest of the wine, knowing there would be no hangover. โEarth and wood,โ she said to herself. She closed her eyes.
It wasnโt long now. Not long at all.
She just stood there and waited to disappear.
