Better than expected.

The next morning they rolled through the vineyard gates just before dawn, Bentley’s tired engine echoing through the otherwise silent rows of vines.

The eastern sky was only just beginning to lighten, revealing hundreds upon hundreds of neat green rows stretching over the gentle hills. A handful of utes were already parked beside a large machinery shed and people carrying lunchboxes wandered toward a gathering point with steaming mugs of coffee in their hands.

Emma looked around and groaned. “There are so many vines.”

Robyn smiled. “I think that’s the general idea.”

A broad-shouldered man in his late fifties wearing a faded Akubra stepped forward with a clipboard tucked under one arm. “You the two girls who rang yesterday?”

Robyn nodded. “Robyn.”

“Emma.”

“Good stuff. Name’s Graham. If you don’t mind hard work, you’ll fit in just fine.”

He gathered the new workers together before giving them a quick demonstration of how to cut bunches cleanly without damaging next year’s growth. Within minutes everyone disappeared into the vines.

The first hour wasn’t too bad.

By mid-morning, both girls had changed their minds.

Emma straightened up slowly, pressing a hand into the small of her back. “Whose idea was this?”

Robyn snipped another bunch and dropped it into her bucket. “Yours to travel.”

“My idea didn’t include manual labour.”

“You should’ve read the brochure.”

Emma picked another bunch before muttering, “I hate brochures.”

A voice drifted over from the next row. “If it makes you feel any better, everyone’s dying.”

The girls looked up to see another picker about their age stepping out between the vines. She had a short brunette pixie cut that framed a sun-tanned face, and despite the sweat running down her forehead, she wore an easy smile. “I’m Tarnia,” she said. “First season?”

Robyn nodded. “Is it that obvious?”

Tarnia laughed.

“You two are still standing up straight. Give it another couple of hours.”

Emma grinned. “I like her already.”

Despite the complaining, they kept working.

The other pickers were friendly. A Canadian backpacker named Josh offered them tips to speed up their picking. Two German girls laughed every time Emma exaggerated how exhausted she was. Tarnia drifted between rows throughout the morning, chatting to everyone as she worked, somehow managing to keep one of the fullest buckets in the vineyard despite rarely seeming to stop talking. An older local couple had been returning every harvest for nearly fifteen years and happily shared homemade slices during the morning break.

By lunchtime, Robyn’s arms ached almost as much as they had after surfing the day before.

Emma collapsed beneath the shade of a gum tree with her lunch. “I’ve discovered muscles I didn’t know existed.”

“You’ll have abs by next week.”

“I’d rather have a nap.”

Tarnia wandered over carrying her lunchbox. “Mind if I join you?”

“Please,” Emma replied. “Everyone else looks like they’ve done this before.”

“I have,” Tarnia admitted, sitting beside them. “I come back every vintage when I need some quick cash. It’s brutal for the first few days, but your body gets used to it.”

Robyn looked around the vineyard. For the first time since arriving in town, she felt optimistic. The work was hard. Really hard. But if they could stick it out for a couple of weeks, they’d have enough money to keep travelling without constantly checking the last few notes in their wallets.

As they headed back into the rows after lunch, Graham walked past, glanced into both of their buckets and gave an approving nod. “Not bad for your first morning.”

Emma waited until he was out of earshot.

“I think that’s Farmer for ‘you’re still painfully slow.’”

Tarnia chuckled. “Nah. If Graham doesn’t yell at you on your first day, you’re doing alright.”

Robyn laughed. “That’s reassuring.”

Neither of them noticed Bentley sitting alone in the car park, a small puddle of green coolant slowly forming beneath the front bumper.