Page 88 of Sisters Making Mischief
The last entry.
18. Ring people up. Don’t just text or send emails.
I picked up my pen.
19. Stop taking the blame for everything. Stop being such a martyr. You can only live your own life.
20. As long as I don’t break any laws or upset the horses, do things that make me feel better about myself. I am not just a sister, aunt, mother, grandmother and divorcee, I am me.
I put the notebook down and turned off the light.
And now there was Luc.
What would they say if they knew about him?
You’ll never guess, the funniest thing happened when I was in France. I met this man…
So, was Luc going to be 21 on my list?Have another man in my life who will need to be explained/introduced to your children and grandchildren.
Did that really matter?
I had been so lonely, and at the same time I hadn’t coped well with company. Christmas had been a perfect example of that.
And then I turned the light on again and took off my wedding ring and put it in the bottom of my handbag.
I lay down in the darkness and felt the place on my finger where the ring had been for so long. My finger was free, and so was I.
28
The following morning, I was woken at about eight thirty by the sun shining through a gap in the curtains. I pulled them back properly so I could see the view, made myself a cup of tea and went back to bed.
It was a beautiful day out there, and I felt very happy, with my situation at that moment, about life in general. So, what did I want to do with the day?
Isabel would perhaps need my help in thebrocantebarn. Maybe Felix could do with a hand in the bookshop? No, it was Sunday, wasn’t it, so the shop would be closed.
Yes, but what didIwant to do?
My train of thought was interrupted by the sight of Marcel’s head, complete with wide, doggy grin appearing at the window and then disappearing again. Several times in quick succession. He was evidently outside, leaping up and down in an attempt to see me. Which meant Isabel was out there too.
A moment later she knocked on the door.
‘Are you decent?’
I opened it, and she sat in the doorway blocking Antoine and Marcel from getting in.
‘Just came to see how you were this morning,’ she said. ‘Sleep well?’
‘Excellent thanks.’
‘Not restless? No funny dreams?’
‘None at all.’
‘Good, hurry up and get dressed, it’s cold out here, and then come over for coffee and croissants.’
I consulted my personal preferences and decidedyes, that would be an excellent idea. I closed my eyes and imagined it. A big, creamy, aromatic, gloriousbolof coffee, I could almost imagine the steam swirling around my face, the buttery richness of the crackling croissant as I bit into it. The sharp sweetness of the apricot conserve. Good heavens where did that come from?
I shook myself back into the real world and did a quick rifle through my clothes and pulled out a black T-shirt, a rather bobbly black cardigan and some very unflattering black leggings and put them all into a bin liner. After all, how could I criticise my sister for needlessly hanging onto things when I did the same thing.
