Page 68 of Sisters Making Mischief
I gave a sad little whimper and thought how thirsty I was yet again. And my back was hurting, too, I thought it quite possible I had pulled a muscle or perhaps it was worse than that and I had slipped a disc. I imagined myself in traction in hospital with the nuns Eugénie had mentioned, gliding around my bed, sneering at me and telling me how foolish I had been.
I sat down on the step outside the back door with a wince of pain, and realised there was nothing for it, I would have to squirt some water into my mouth from the hosepipe. The pressure wasn’t very good; I was sure it would be okay.
I lifted the hosepipe with its fancy, multi-spray attachment to my mouth and pressed the lever. There were a couple of pathetic splutters of water. Perhaps there was a kink somewhere in the neatly coiled hose. I gave an impatient tug and tried again. Of course, this time a fierce jet of water shot out and hit me in the face, making me rock backwards and fall, screaming, off the step onto the ground.
‘What on earth are you doing now?’ said a worried voice.
I looked up from my prone position on the grass. I’d managed to lock the hose and the water continued to pour out all over me. I was soaking wet, filthy dirty, my hair was all over my face and I felt more foolish than I had in my life.
‘Hello, Luc,’ I said, trying to wrestle the hosepipe away from my legs and sound as though this was an everyday occurrence and not one of the most embarrassing moments I had ever experienced, ‘I thought I’d pop over.’
‘To do what? Drown yourself?’ he said, turning the tap off.
He held out a hand to help me.
When I was younger, I used to be able to spring up unaided, now I needed someone to haul me up like a sack of potatoes and when at last I stood upright, my back felt very painful indeed. I tried to look unconcerned and not wince with pain as the water dripped off my hair and down my face. I’d put mascara on that morning, too; I bet I looked a sight.
‘I’m guessing you came to get Isabel’s plants back?’ he said.
‘That was the idea,’ I said, not sure whether to laugh or cry. ‘But I couldn’t lift them into my boot.’
He tutted a bit. ‘Are you okay? Not injured? Why didn’t you ask me? I would have brought them back.’
Who knows? For a moment I asked myself the same question, and then realised it was because over the last few years I had become used to sorting this type of thing out on my own. Had I wanted to seem capable or resourceful? Not expecting some man to come to my assistance. Well, that didn’t end well.
‘And what were you doing with the hosepipe?’ he added.
‘I was hot and thirsty,’ I said, rather sulkily.
At that point he roared with laughter and despite myself I could feel the corners of my mouth twitching, and then I laughed, too, although I was having to hold onto the doorknob, and little stabs of pain were radiating down one leg. Even so, as we stood there laughing together in the sunshine, it was the best feeling in the world. He wasn’t laughing at me; he was laughing with me.
‘Oh dear,’ he said after a moment, ‘I think you have hurt yourself.’
‘My back,’ I said, ‘I think I’ve done something silly.’
He unlocked the back door and helped me inside, where I made a trail of muddy foot marks on the clean stone floor, and then he sat me down on one of the kitchen chairs and went to put the kettle on.
‘A cup of tea, I think,’ he said.
If he had offered me a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, it wouldn’t have sounded any better.
‘Yes, please,’ I said, ‘and I’ve brought you a present, but it’s on the front seat of my car, if you want to go and get it. I don’t think my back is up to anything much at the moment.’
He came back with my gift ofMère Poulardbiscuits in the cute tin with the swirly writing and put them on the table.
‘You mean these? That’s very kind,’ he said.
‘Well, you did say you’d run out,’ I said, wincing as I tried to get comfortable.
‘That’s so thoughtful, thank you. Do you needun antidouleur– a painkiller? Or perhaps something to rub on your back? Some liniment?’ he made little motions with his hands as though he was massaging an arthritic horse.
Oh my word, this really was one of the least romantic situations I had ever been in, and on top of that as my clothes dried I think I was beginning to smell rather rustic.
I sat and drank my tea and ate three ofMère Poulardbiscuits, which really were rather good, while Luc moved all the plants into the back of his truck in about ten minutes. He came back into the kitchen and drank his tea.
‘All done,’ he said, ‘how are you feeling?’
‘Fine,’ I said, moving to check that I did.
