Page 20 of Sisters Making Mischief
In the morning it would be sunny, with a brisk, refreshing wind coming from the river. Maybe the sounds of a few chickens scratching in the dirt. Did Isabel even have chickens? I didn’t remember any but then it had been three years ago. She had been talking about getting some to go with the other animals that roamed around their house. Perhaps by now the dogs would stop leaping up at me every time I appeared in the kitchen…
I went back to my pleasant thoughts. I remembered the kitchen table that Felix had made many years ago out of an old barn door, where I had drunk perfect coffee from a potterybol, the distinctivecafé au laitbowls that Isabel collectedand displayed on her dresser. I imagined mounds of organic vegetables spilling out of a trug, waiting for Isabel to work her magic, making delicious meals.
I was distracted from my daydream of huge cushiony croissants and apricot jam by a massive, green tractor veering around the corner in front of me. Just as I was about to honk the horn and let fly with a fruity oath, I realised I was in the wrong, I had drifted onto the left side of the narrow road.
There was a screech of my brakes, a similar but industrial strength noise from the tractor, and then a volley of French words from the driver which I was pretty sure was not a cordial greeting. The tractor passed on, kicking up some clumps of gravel which peppered my windscreen like gunshots. I flinched, came to a spinning, abrupt halt on the grass verge, stalled the engine and sank down in my seat. Then I closed my eyes in relief that the whole event hadn’t been worse.
The tractor sped away, probably with the driver’s rude language floating behind him like black smoke, and I took a deep breath. I could feel my heart thudding, and all too easily imagine what might have happened. Me in a ditch probably with the airbags deployed and a broken nose, the front of the car crumpled. Then the arrival of the police, swiftly followed by theSapeurs-Pompiersto cut me out of my car, and then an ambulance to cart me off to hospital. And all this in French. It didn’t bear thinking about. Where were my insurance documents anyway?
I looked up and took an inventory of the damage. Apart from the fact that I was slewed at right angles across the narrow road, the worst thing that had happened was that my handbag had skidded off the seat next to me into the footwell, disgorging all its contents onto the floor. I heaved a heartfelt sigh, realising how lucky I had been, and got out of the car, going round the other side to open the passenger door.
Head down and bottom up I scrabbled around under the passenger seat to retrieve my purse, passport, various keys, two lipsticks that I hadn’t known were in there, a small notebook and three – no four pens, a tin of breath mints, which had spilled out everywhere, a dry-cleaning ticket I thought I’d lost, a folding umbrella with a broken spoke, which had wedged itself into the carpet with the impact and my spare glasses. How could one reasonably ordinary handbag contain so much rubbish? And I thought I had cleared it out before I left home. Obviously not.
I paused from retrieving all the detritus and lay across the seat for a moment with my head in my hands, actually enjoying the break from the drive and the noise of the car engine.
I was startled by the irritated honking of a car horn somewhere behind me, and I jerked upright, banging my head on the door frame.
Stunned for a moment, and actually seeing stars, I rubbed the sore spot and looked around. A red truck sort of vehicle was waiting in the road, blocked of course by my car and the open passenger door. A man leaned out of the driver’s window.
‘Dépêche-toi! Qu’est-ce tu fais?’
Hurry up, what are you doing?
Bloody cheek, I would have thought it was obvious.
I backed out, rear end first, from my less than elegant position across the car seat and stood up. Ooh. a bit woozy there. I rocked gently for a moment and the newcomer beeped his horn again.
‘Seras-tu beaucoup plus longtemps?’
‘I don’t know if I am going to be much longer. I’ve just had an accident!’ I shouted, searching around in my memory banks for the right word. ‘Un accident.’
The man rolled his eyes and after a moment got out of his car. He was tall and long-legged, wearing the sort of blue boilersuit a lot of French farmers wear. He pulled off his baseball cap, revealing grey hair cropped close to his head.
‘Êtes-vous d’accord?Okay?’
‘Oui,’ I said stiffly, not wanting him to take me for a complete fool. What other French words did I know? ‘Pas mal.Not bad.’
‘Alors, je suis pressé,’ he made some encouraging hand signals towards me, and slipped into English, which was a relief, ‘I’m in a hurry. Perhaps you could move? Now?’
He sounded very annoyed, and I was suddenly cross. It felt as though a dam of frustration had suddenly burst inside me, and it all came flooding out in a torrent of irritation. It was absolutely not like me at all. Perhaps it was the adrenalin rush. The possibility that I might have been injured, my car written off, my holiday ruined before it had even begun.
I turned and faced him.
‘AndI’vehad a very early start, I didn’t sleep very well on the ferry and nearly had a bad accident. Which, okay, might have been my fault because I was on the wrong side of the road, but I’ve only been here for a couple of hours, and everyone knows it takes time to get used to it. And I’ve had a really difficult time recently, with my family all being considered, and if you farmers didn’t try to drive like Emerson Fittipaldi there wouldn’t be a problem. And on top of that I might well be concussed, but don’t let that bother you, you rude, obnoxious man. I’ll gladly get out of your way and then I’ll probably collapse in the ditch with a brain haemorrhage. How would that suit you?’
He pushed out his lower lip thoughtfully. I wondered how much of that he had understood.
‘I cannot see any blood,’ he said after a few minutes.
This made me even crosser. I felt like a stroppy child being admonished for not doing their homework.
‘Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry about that. If I had known I was going to inconvenience you I would have bashed myself a bit harder, so it would have made it worth your while.’
He laughed. He actually laughed. The nerve of the man.
‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ he said. ‘Do you need an ambulance?Médecin? To see a doctor?’
I did a quick mental check on all my limbs and faculties.
