‘Be careful what you water your dreams with. Water them with worry and fear and you will produce weeds that choke the life from your dream. Water them with optimism and solutions and you will cultivate success. Always be on the lookout for ways to turn a problem into an opportunity for success. Always be on the lookout for ways to nurture your dream.’
Lao Tzu
I know I’ve taken a huge risk with Joanna, but it felt like the right thing to do. She needs somewhere to stay, and I’ve got a huge house and need another pair of hands, literally. I tried sanding the woodwork in one of the bedrooms the other day and ended up crying from the pain, unable to pick up a pencil for the rest of the day. Wielding a paintbrush isn’t so bad, but the bigger the brush the more difficult it is to hold for any period of time.
Sharing the house with Joanna has been remarkably easy. She’s very quiet and seems to want to retreat beneath the cheap duvet we picked up at the E Leclerc supermarket in Limoux as much as I want to hide under mine.
It feels like we’re two tortoises popping our heads out every now and then, but mostly retreating into our shells. We talk about practical things to do with the house. Virtually all I know about her is that she’s a good cook and that her dad was a painter and decorator. She used to work for him in the school holidays, so she knows what she’s doing. Beyond the fact that she’s “taking some time out to travel,” I don’t know much else. She doesn’t want me to ask, so I don’t.
I haven’t told Mum and Dad or even Michelle in case it gets back to them. They’d be convinced I’m about to be scammed or robbed blind, but I’m positive I’m not. Anyway, I still haven’t arranged for the rest of my belongings to be brought down here yet. It’s surprising how little you get used to managing with if you have to. My laptop is ancient and virtually worthless, and I doubt Joanna wants to steal my watercolours.
We bump into each other in the kitchen at two in the morning sometimes and share complicit half smiles, unable to disguise our bleary, red-rimmed eyes. But we never ask the other what’s up. We just get back under our respective duvets/into our shells.
I think she talks to Pickwick sometimes. He’s taken to her, and sometimes he vanishes from my bed during a nighttime kitchen foray only to be found curled up on her bed instead. I needn’t have worried about the “must love dogs” clause, as they took to each other with mutual adoration. It’s nice to see Joanna smile at their antics.
My theory is she’s running away from something bad; an abusive partner maybe, or something similar. So I don’t ask, and she doesn’t probe me for anything deep and meaningful in return, and we get on well.
We’ve fallen into a daily routine. After a night of little sleep, we ply each other with caffeinated drinks in the morning. Joanna does the food shopping and has been working on prepping the bedrooms for decorating. We started off taking it in turns to cook at night, but Joanna’s a terrific cook, so when she asks, tactfully, if I’d mind if she cooks every night because she enjoys it, I accept gratefully.
It gives me more time to work. I don’t know how long Joanna will stay before she moves on, but in the meantime I’m utterly grateful that we met that day at the café.
I’m honestly not sure who’s helping who the most. I’ve met my Fenella Fairy deadline and am working on my donkey watercolours, budget spreadsheets and to-do lists that don’t contain the word “fuck.”
Since the date/not date debacle, I did try avoiding Leo for a while, but after he caught me ducking out of sight in the kitchen window one day, I decided I was being silly. The more extreme my behaviour is, the more likely he is to assume I’ve fallen in love with him and thought he was going to kiss me on the date/not-date.
Maintaining a semblance of self-esteem is important. I’ve done nothing wrong that I need to skulk in the shadows and hide from him. I’m opting for cool and breezy. I’m trying to be polite but detached.
I’m not sure how well that’s going, but it’s marginally less embarrassing than getting caught ducking down below my kitchen window to avoid Leo’s line of sight when he was on his way into work.
Well, I could’ve been tending to one of the dogs. Though the lowered brow and perplexed look he gave me when he was coming home from the surgery and I did it a second time, but a fraction too late, gives me the impression I’m fooling no one.
I’d love to believe Sophie’s theory about things, but until Leo gives me any evidence he feels anything, it’s just that – a theory.
In the meantime, I try to enjoy my new home – the beautiful views, the joy of doing outdoor yoga with no one watching, the fact the villagers know who I am and that I’m now no longer an invisible city dweller. I like the slower pace of life, and one of my greatest pleasures is drinking in the sunshine and feeling connected to my surroundings. I also get my head down and get on with work. I know I’m privileged to love my profession. I’m working through lunch one day, despite Joanna’s protests, when the dogs’ howling pierces my concentration. I am painting, and I’m “in the flow,” which is how I think of it. It’s almost as though I am a surfer, searching for the artistic current and that will carry me along. Both catching and riding the creative wave is what I try to do every day, sometimes with little success. So being disturbed from my flow when it’s going incredibly well can be annoying.
I head over to where the dogs are balancing on the back of the sofa and getting pretty hysterical.
“If this is just because you’ve seen a bird, you are in deep trouble,” I warn them and peer out of the window to see an open sided trailer with two goats on it, pulled by the most ancient farm vehicle I have ever seen. It is so caked in mud that I cannot make out the make of the vehicle, never mind read the number plate.
Goats?
Goats?! Why is someone bringing me goats? I definitely haven’t ordered any goats. I think I might remember. I carefully disentangle myself from the dogs to make sure that none of them are able to slip out of the door with me when I get outside.
A wizened farmer steps out of the mud-covered rust bucket and lets loose a torrent of utterly incomprehensible French.
When I don’t reply he gives me a dismissive shrug and starts unloading the goats, who seem rather woozy. Have they been drugged?
“Attendez.” I stick my hand in the air palm forward, in what I hope is a universally comprehensible gesture.
Then I run over to Leo’s, praying that he is in. I curse the local dialect, as individual in its own way of a Geordie or a Scouse accent, apparently. It is certainly not the French that I learnt at school.
Leo is eating a sandwich as he opens the door. His face registers a strange mixture of emotions – surprise, pleasure – and then it almost immediately shuts down into his usual composed and inscrutable expression.
“Please come quickly. Someone is trying to dump two massive goats in my garden.” I practically hop in my impatience to get Leo moving. “I can’t understand a word that he is saying.”
Leo looks as though he can’t understand a word that I am saying either. Then a flicker of recognition, very quickly suppressed, passes his face.
“Goats?” he clarifies.
“Yes, goats.” I try not to growl in my impatience. What if the ancient farmer has just gone off and left them there already?
“Please can we get going?” I add and make a mental note to myself to spend more time talking to humans. The urge to growl is becoming more frequent nowadays.
“Okay.” Leo sighs and eats the rest of his sandwich on the way back to Les Coquelicots.
“I’m really sorry to disrupt your lunch break.” I avoid the temptation to run and try instead to match Leo’s long stride. In fact, I’m not especially sorry about interrupting his lunch break, but I feel I ought to be, which is sort of the same thing.
Hmm. Maybe I’m not as over the Carcassonne date/not date as I thought. Leo’s frown deepens when he sees the goats staggering around the garden, and he starts a rapid fire interrogation of the farmer.
After a couple of minutes of an exchange I can’t follow at all, I try to interrupt. This is, after all, my garden, and the goats are running about it, or, rather, staggering about it. Yet I may as well just be invisible, as both men are completely ignoring me.
“Er, excusez-moi, mais pourquoi est-ce que les chèvres … um … sont ici?» I eye one of them nervously, a massive beast with curly horns and a vicious glint in its eye.
The farmer stares at me like I’ve just spoken Swahili and laughs uproariously. Then he turns back to Leo, making a comment that makes Leo smile.
I just know that they are talking about me, which is incredibly frustrating. I fold my arms around me, pathetic barrier that is. It makes me feel a little better.
I’m just wondering if Google will be able to translate “WTF.” Maybe it’s universal. My back teeth are tightly clenched, and I’m almost into gnashing territory by the time Leo and the farmer finish what appears to be an acrimonious dispute but ends in a cheery “au revoir” on both sides.
Next thing I know, the farmer is departing, but the goats are still in my sodding garden.
“So, what did he say?” I ask irritably.
“That you have a very sexy accent when you try to speak French,” Leo replies, amusement quirking at the corner of his mouth.
“About the goats?” I ask sternly, although I file away the comment for later consideration. I can’t help wondering if Leo agrees with him. It never occurred to me that the French would find an English accent sexy in the same way that the English often find French accents sexy, too.
Leo opens his mouth to speak, and then he stops and shrugs. I fight back the urge to tell him where he can stick his Gallic shrug and take a deep breath.
“You were supposed to stop him leaving the goats.” I roll my eyes. “Why do I have two zonked out goats staggering about my garden, Leo?”
I think I asked the question with admirable restraint. Leo sighs then gestures for me to sit down over at my terrace. “You might want to sit down for this.”
Those are words you never really want to hear. It’s not like you ever get fantastic news if somebody tells it to sit down for it. Well I never have anyway.
Leo takes my hand, and I eye our linked hands with suspicion, trying hard not to notice how my skin tingles where it comes into contact with his.
I mustn’t read anything into this.
Once I’m sitting down, Leo relinquishes my hand, and almost immediately I miss the contact. Goats. I must focus on the goats, not the gorgeous but no doubt untrustworthy Frenchman sitting opposite me.
“It would seem that you have inherited the goats with the property,” Leo says, as though this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Excuse me?” I raise my eyebrows.
“I should have remembered.” Leo watches the goats, a glimmer of sadness in his eyes. “Amelie sent me an email asking how to care for feral goats. A villager was going to have them put to sleep, and Amelie persuaded my sister that she could keep them in the woodland.”
“Feral goats?” This does not sound good. I eye the goats dubiously. “How can anyone forget feral goats?”
Leo grimaces. “I was busy setting up my practice in Paris at the time. I never actually saw the goats, just told her to speak to Angeline. Then when I came back for the funeral the goats weren’t here, so naturally they never came to mind again. There was too much else going on at the time.”
My heart softens a little. “Okay, that’s understandable. So where did they go in the meantime, and, more importantly, why are they back, stoned or drunk or whatever it is they are?”
Leo’s expression hardens. “The farmer who gave them away in the first place took them back while the house was empty. When he heard the house was occupied again he decided to bring them back. As they don’t take well to being moved he drugged them with some of his wife’s sleeping tablets rather than pay a vet bill. I did tell him how dangerous it was, but I know he won’t take any notice. I also asked him to take them back for you, but he said he would put them to sleep, and I don’t like the idea of putting healthy animals to sleep.”
“Oh.” I frown.
“You do, by the way.” Leo attempts a small smile.
“Do what?”
“Have a sexy English accent when you speak French.”
The new information gives me a powerful jolt. But I shake my head. I must keep on track.
“But the goats, Leo? What are we going to do about the goats?” I get the word “we” in quickly to show I fully intend to make this his problem too. “And shouldn’t we do something before the tranquiliser wears off, if they’re really difficult to deal with as he says?”
Leo eyes the goats dubiously. “Only one of them is meant to be a bit … demonic. She is called Celestine. The other is called Josephine, and she is meant to be a bit friendlier.”
“Demonic goats?” My voice rises an octave. “I definitely don’t recall anything about demonic goats in the paperwork I signed. I would have noticed that phrase chèvres démoniaques listed in the items being left behind with the house.”
“Maybe you should just calm down.” Leo suggests.
“Oh, really? And when since the dawn of time has a man suggesting to a woman that she should calm down ever worked?” I give him my best death stare, usually reserved for queue jumpers or men who refuse to take no for an answer.
Leo is apparently impervious, however. In fact, he surprises me by throwing back his head and laughing.
“Good point. We shall instead be very stressed about the situation.”
“Or you could dose us up with whatever they’ve taken.” I gesture towards the goats, and I can’t help smiling myself.
That Leo has not mentioned the question of the paperwork suggests to me that the inheritance of the goats is not so much legal as an awkward obligation. I take another deep breath and try to remember that Leo’s niece was very fond of these goats.
“Okay, I don’t want to see them … you know … executed.” I give in. “But I don’t know what I’m going to do with them. I don’t want them killing the dogs. I have no idea how to look after a goat, and I’m worried they might be a bit strong for me. I thought goats were small, but these are massive.”
Leo casts me a grateful glance. “I suppose I could have a word with Angeline, see if she wants to add a couple of goats to her menagerie of sanctuary animals. And in the meantime, we could put them into your barn. I can get some hay from the donkeys. Do you want to head them in while I go and get some supplies?”
I put my hand on his forearm, momentarily distracted by the warmth of his skin and his firm muscles. I suppose you would need strong forearms to be a vet.
“Leo, if you leave me alone with the goats I promise you I will turn into the neighbour from hell.” I try to inject humour into the statement, but by the way I’ve clamped onto his forearm I think he knows I’m serious.
He grins, and I feel a softening; a definite rapprochement opening up between us. Something of the ease that we used to feel in each other’s company is starting to creep back into our relationship, and while part of me is doing inner cartwheels, I can also hear a few warning klaxons going off.
“It looks like I’m helping you get the goats in the barn then.”
“Bagsy Josephine,” I say quickly. “Which one is she?”
“Bagsy?” Leo asks, confused.
“It means I choose her first so you can’t.”
“I have no idea which one she is.” Leo shakes his head. “Come on, have a bit of confidence. They are both still a bit doped. We can do this, okay?”
“Okay,” I mutter, unconvinced, and head less-than-enthusiastically towards the goats, feeling very grateful that Leo is nearby.
Throughout the next exhausting and humiliating thirty minutes that it takes us to get the goats in the barn, my gratitude at not coping with this alone intensifies. I can’t help replaying the sexy accent comment in my head and remember the feel of my hand in his.
I wish I could trust him, but the memory of how crushed I was after the date/not date keeps my fantasies in check.
Celestine proved the hardest to catch. She recovered remarkably quickly from her sedative, and neither of us liked the look in her eye. Eventually I came up with the idea of throwing a towel over her head. Leo said it showed alarming “black bag” tendencies on my part, but I think he was just jealous because my idea worked.
“I thought that being a vet you would be a natural at this kind of thing.” I puff and sink down onto the bench at the back of Les Coquelicots. Leo is looking far too cool and collected for someone who has just been made a fool of by a goat.
“At what?” Leo sinks down next to me. I try to ignore his thigh pressed up against mine and how it makes me feel. “Capturing, what did you call them? Demonic goats? Yes, this is how I love to spend my lunch break.”
“Sorry,” I say, a little bit more sincerely now.
“It’s okay. I’m just wondering what on earth Madeline was thinking.”
“Maybe that guy tried the whole ‘I am killing the goats unless you take them off my hands’ thing,” I suggest.
“Yes, if Amelie was around at the time that probably would have done the trick.” Leo groans. “I’m going to have to go back to work in a minute.”
“Would you, um, like a drink?” I shift awkwardly in my seat, but my thigh is still pressed up against his with nowhere to go. I mustn’t think about how nice it is; I really mustn’t.
Leo is silent for a minute, and I can’t help wondering what he’s thinking about. Then I kick myself for second guessing everything. Why does it all have to be so difficult?
“No, I really ought to go.” Leo gets up again with a sigh. “I’ll speak to Angeline about the goats, so don’t worry about them.”
Then he smiles in the sexy, quirky way that takes my breath away and spreads warmth throughout my body. I can’t help mirroring him, smiling back. After all, you can’t chase two goats around the garden and not expect a little thawing in neighbourly relations.
But after he’s gone I’m still on edge. In the house, I can’t settle. The dogs are nearly hysterical anyway after hearing the antics in the garden, so I decide that a good walk might help settle us all down.
The sky is now a deep blue above the hills, and the sun is warm on my bare arms and legs. It’s so nice to be able to leave the house without an umbrella or cardigan. The Chihuahuas love the sun, and they lift their heads towards it like little sun worshippers. They are certainly enjoying their new climate. Peanut in particular used to hate going out in the cold or wet weather at home.
As I walk, I mentally run through a list of all the reasons why I shouldn’t like Leo, why he’s unsuitable and what it would be like if we got together and then broke up. I know on a deep, intrinsic level that breaking up with Leo would be far, far worse than breaking up with Pete. I think that Leo could truly break my heart.
Only the last thought acts as a real brake on my feelings, but still it feels like a magnetic thread of attraction is running through my body and tugging me relentlessly towards Leo.
Over and over the thoughts go round in circles in my head, but still the thread of attraction tugs deep inside me, refusing to let go no matter how fast or how far I walk.
Even if some areas of my life are a little … confusing at the moment, at least the house is shaping up nicely. Joanna has made a lot of progress with the decorating. Les Coquelicots is looking more “country house shabby chic” instead of just shabby.
We have chosen cool colours to offset the warmer summer weather, duck egg blue and pale dove grey contrasting nicely with chalky, creamy white walls. Joanna borrowed Sophie one Saturday morning so that she could hire a sander and has been sanding and staining the original wooden floors in the bedrooms. I am a little worried about Joanna, because apart from me, and occasionally Sophie, she doesn’t see or talk to anybody. She tells me not to worry and that she is perfectly happy – that this is exactly what she needs at the moment – so I’ve decided to just go with it.
When she discovers that I love sewing, she suggests that we go to some of the local markets to find fabrics for cushions, and also to look out for finishing touches for the guest bedrooms. We go to Mirepoix market the following Monday morning. With the warmer weather, there are noticeably more tourists and English voices around, something that seems to make Joanna nervous.
I love Mirepoix. Its half-timbered buildings and central Market Square make it a very picturesque place to shop. We divert the dogs away from the butchers’ vans and head towards the haberdashery and fabric stalls. I quickly get immersed in some boxes of antique bedding and pillow cases, and Joanna is put on pee-patrol – making sure that none of the dogs decides to cock a leg against somebody’s market stall.
“So, you and Leo seem to be getting on well.” Joanna catches me off guard while we are walking back to the car with our purchases.
“Hmm.” I avoid her gaze, and my thoughts flash back to laughing with Leo in the garden as we were trying to capture the goats. I like my glimpses of Leo like that – the playful, more carefree side to him that I see so rarely. I guess he hasn’t had much to laugh about recently.
“So?” Joanna persists.
I sigh, getting the feeling she’s not going to let this go.
“Yes, we are getting on better.” I bite my lip and try not to think about the sex dreams I’ve been having about Leo. I don’t really understand it, I’m not that into sex. At least I didn’t think I was. “The thing is…”
I fall silent, wondering how to explain my reservations. She doesn’t know about the date/not a date or all that bad feeling at the beginning with him saying he wanted the house back.
“The thing?” I hear the tease in Joanna’s voice. It’s so rare we talk about anything personal I feel I ought to take the opportunity to get closer to her. After all she’ll never confide in me if I don’t confide in her first. “The thing is I’m scared of getting hurt,” I say, realising it’s the truest thing I can say. All my angst can’t be boiled down to that one statement. I am afraid that Leo will reject me, or that he’s only after me to achieve his own ends, to use me or dump me or humiliate me or … I don’t know, hurt me in some other previously unthought of (by me) way.
“I suppose after Pete I am doubting my ability to judge other people’s character properly,” I add. “I mean he wasn’t the one and only or anything like that and I’m actually glad that he did end things between us, but the way that he ended it and the fact that I didn’t see it coming has shaken me.”
I swallow hard and feel relieved to see that the Boulangerie we parked outside is only a few shops away. I hadn’t actually intended being that honest.
I’m glad of the distraction of putting our shopping and the dogs in the car. Once I’m seated in the passenger seat, I turn to face Joanna who is driving, feeling a bit more together.
Well I am together enough not to be about to fall apart anyway.
“I get it.” She smiles sadly. “When the people we love most in the world turn on us it’s as much about the betrayal in the action as the action itself.”
“Yes, that is a good way to put it.” I cuddle Treacle and kiss the top of his head.
“If you ever want to talk … You know…” I avert my eyes from Joanna as I know she is struggling to hold it together too.
“I know,” she says quietly. “Thanks.”
As we drive back into Saint Quentin I see Sophie sitting outside the café in the sunshine drinking a coffee.
“Do you fancy joining Sophie?” I suggest to Joanna, crossing my fingers that she will join.
“Why not?” Tension creeps into Joanna’s expression nonetheless.
“Great.” I smile with relief. Five minutes later Joanna and I are sitting with Sophie, the dogs are waiting hopefully under the table for their treats. After our drinks arrive Sophie takes her sunglasses off and I notice how her eyes are a little red.
“Are you okay Sophie, have you got hayfever or something?” I feel a twinge of concern.
“No, I was crying, it’s silly really.” Sophie sniffs. “It’s about a local story that I saw on Facebook. There’s this dog who was going to be put to sleep because he’s blind and if no one can find a rescue place for him he’s only got a few days to live.”
“Well that’s hardly a silly thing to cry about.” It’s obviously going to be that kind of day. I can feel myself getting upset about the story. One look at Joanna tells me that she’s upset too.
Great.
“Show me the story then.” I know before I even read the story that I’m going to offer the dog a home.
Wordlessly Sophie passes me her phone.
“He looks very sweet.” I stare down at the picture of the dog I’m clearly about to adopt. Sophie can’t because she works full time and Joanna doesn’t know where she’ll be this time next month.
That only leaves me. And four dogs can’t be much more work than three surely?
“He reminds me a bit of a dog I had as a child,” Joanna says.
I read his profile and see that he is relatively young and otherwise healthy. It has always been one of my bugbears, installed in me by Gran, that having a disability or health condition does not negate all quality of life.
I mean I live with arthritis and I’m happy. The thought surprises me. It’s the first time since the Pete bombshell that I’ve actually realised I am happy. Even with all the Leo angst driving me a bit crazy at the moment I’m in my own home in a country I love, I’ve got great new friends and three gorgeous dogs. Scratch that. I look down at the soulful eyes of the Beagle, Fox terrier cross in the Facebook photo and know it will soon be four.
“I’ll take him,” I say.
Sophie looks up, surprised. “I had a whole argument planned. I know we talked about me getting a dog, but I think, being blind he needs someone at home all day and a house and garden he can get used to.
“It’s fine, I’ve already said I’ll take him. Well, if they approve me that is.”
“Oh don’t worry about that, they will approve you. It is the mother of my friend who runs the charity.” Sophie is already tapping away at her phone, presumably making arrangements before I can change my mind.
A few days later I am crouching down on the ground and stroking a friendly and furry beagle/terrier cross breed. He has one ear sticking very firmly up and the other one is sticking out to the side on a seemingly permanent basis. Joanna crouches down next to me.
“Phew, he whiffs a bit.” She strikes one of his velvety ears. “Lovely big ears, so soft.”
“He’s going to have to have a bath pretty soon if he wants to sleep in the house.”
Peanut, Treacle and Pickwick all queue up to sniff at him suspiciously. It’s going pretty well so far, fingers crossed.
“What are you going to call him?” Joanna asks, standing up.
“Barney. I think he looks like a Barney” I scratch behind his ears and he leans in towards me. “I’m afraid Barney the first thing on the agenda for you is a bath.”
He cooks his head to one side.
“He probably doesn’t speak English.” Joanna laughs.
“He’ll learn, won’t you Barney I think he’s an intelligent boy,” I say.
In response he gives my hand a little lick. I think my heart melts then. I’ve never had a problem falling in love with the dogs. You love them, feed them and pat them and in return you get back unconditional love and loyalty.
If only men were that simple and so easy to please.
I opt for the walk-in shower as Barney is a lot bigger than the little dogs who I tend to bathe in the kitchen sink. At first Barney seems bemused but as soon as he feels the warm water on his back he sinks down into the shower tray with an audible sigh of pleasure.
He beams as I massage shampoo into his fur. If only the little ones stayed this still when I bathed them. They tend to cling to me for dear life until the “torture” is over. Barney, on the other hand, looks utterly blissed out, even tipping his head back to have his ears shampooed.
When we emerge back out into the garden the little ones trot in front and behind Barney. They are certainly helping him find his way around the garden without bumping into anything. I wonder if I could teach Treacle to be Barney’s guide dog.
For his part Barney is amazingly gentle with them. He is a lot bigger than them, larger than he looked in his Facebook photo. When I heard that he was an ex chasse, or hunting dog, I was worried that he might see the little dogs as prey.
But he settles down on the grass, basking in the sunshine and doesn’t turn a whisker when the chihuahuas leap all over him. I am so intent on watching them that I don’t hear Leo coming up behind me.
“New dog?”
I start violently and whip around.
“Oh hi,” I say, my cheeks flaming. Why exactly am I blushing? Could it have anything to do with the dream I had about Leo last night? Hopefully he’ll think I’m just hot.
“I heard that you adopted a new rescue dog,” he says his lips curving into a knowing smile that tells me he’s noticed my blush.
I raise my eyebrows. “He’s only been here for thirty minutes.”
“News travels fast in a village.” Leo laughs. “I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to that. Village gossip.”
“What did they say about me then?” I ask, licking my lips nervously.
“Half the village think that you are sleeping with Jacques, although admittedly he is the one who encouraged that rumour.”
“What?” My cheeks flame even hotter. Sophie never told me. “And … The other half?”
I swallow hard and wonder if I really want to know the answer.
Leo leans forward and lowers his voice. “The other half think that you are sleeping with me.”
My breath catches in my chest and his words trigger visible reaction in my body, a tightening and a tingling. I struggle to keep my expression impassive. My cheeks are already crimson and I can do nothing about them.
I look about the garden for Joanna. Nowhere to be seen, she always vanishes unless it’s Sophie.
“Most people tend to shower naked you know.” Leo grins, gesturing down at my clothes and I realise that my skirt and T-shirt are soaking wet from a post-shower Barney shake.
“Very funny,” I say, wishing that I had a pithier response to hand. As it is I am feeling the tightening inside me ratchet up a notch at the words “naked” and “shower,” and I stare suspiciously at Leo. Does he know the effect his words are having on me? From the gleam in his eyes I would say yes.
“Would you like me to take a look?” Leo asks.
What does he mean? A look at what? The words naked and shower obstinately refuse to leave my head. I won’t look down at my T-shirt to see just how wet I am, it’s like he’s daring me to.
I will die of hideous embarrassment in private, thank you very much.
“A look at what?” I narrow my eyes with suspicion.
“I look at the newest addition to your pack of course.” Leo adds casually.
“Yes … Thanks.” I take a deep breath and follow Leo over to the dogs. The little ones abandon Barney to mob Leo, all leaping on their hindlegs to be the first to get a cuddle. I try to ignore the longing inside me leaping up and down saying I wouldn’t mind a cuddle with Leo too. Leo picks up Peanut and cuddles her.
I have to try very hard not to feel jealous. Once all the others have had a fuss Leo gives Barney a cuddle and strokes him to get Barney used to him. He gives him a cursory inspection but without alarming the dog too much.
“Maybe bring him into the surgery for a proper health check, later this week,” Leo suggests. His manner is professional now.
“Actually do you think you could help me with something? I’ll be quick I promise.”
Leo’s professional manner slips as he quirks an eyebrow.
I look away. Is he determined to embarrass me today? He’s being borderline flirty. In fact I would’ve said he is over the borderline and well past Customs. Maybe this is a post-goat bonding thing?
I hurry into the kitchen, taking Barney with me. I needn’t worry about making sure the other three come along as they all just want to be with Leo. Clearly he has bewitched them with his charms too.
“Here, I was given this form.” I hold out the adoption form to Leo. “I just want to check what I’m signing. Does this look okay to you?”
Leo scans the document. “Yes it all looks fine to me.”
I watch Barney walking around the kitchen locating first his water bowl and then the dog bed I bought him specially. Not being able to see doesn’t seem to be bothering him unduly. In fact, he’s been wagging his tail since he got here.
“It’s changed a lot in here,” Leo says quietly, looking around at the old dresser that Joanna has sanded and painted a pale dove grey.
“Would you like to look around at what we’ve done?” I asked tentatively.
“I’d love to another time. I need to get back to the surgery.” Leo casts his eyes back to the dresser. “My sister would have liked it. She was always saying she wanted to renovate it and to get the house updated. This was her kind of style.”
I’m not quite sure what to say to that. Why does my vocabulary shrink to “oh” and “um” when I’m near Leo? Around him it’s as though my thoughts turn into a jumbled up jigsaw puzzle and I can’t quite get the pieces to fit together.
He leaves with a tight smile and a nod for me and a much fonder farewell for Barney and the dogs. When he leaves Barney whines and goes to the door to follow Leo, only to find the door is shut. I kind of sympathise. I’m reminded of the part of My Fair Lady when Rex Harrison as Henry Higgins asks why a woman can’t be more like a man?
I crouch down next to Barney to comfort him.
“Why can’t a man be more like a dog, eh Barney?”
It would make life a lot simpler if men were so easy to please. There’d be none of this angst or second guessing, or third, fourth and fifth guessing with Leo’s inscrutability.
Peanut comes hurtling over, asking to be picked up. I give her a cuddle as she nestles on my chest. It’s when I kiss the top of Peanut’s head that I catch it – Leo’s scent from where he was cuddling her.
My stomach flips. I swear the very scent of him is enough to send my hormones into a tailspin. I slide down onto a kitchen chair. How can just Leo’s scent do this to me? I’ve never had this kind of visceral, physical reaction to a man before. But my pheromones don’t take into account what a complicated, confusing man Leo is. I bite my lip.
If only a man were more like a dog…
From [email protected]étérinaire-saint-quentin-sur-aude
Subject: News
Hi Madeline,
I don’t know why I keep this email account active. I suppose I can’t bear the thought of closing it down. It would be like losing another part of you. Somehow the fact that I can still email you makes it easier to talk to you than standing at your grave. I wanted to tell you that your house is being well looked after. An English woman called Poppy has bought it. She is an artist, she illustrates the children’s books the kind of books that Amelie used to like.
She has been decorating the house and making the changes that you always talked about but never had time to do. She is so like you in many ways. Not least in that she likes taking in waifs and strays.
At first I thought I would hate the idea of the house going to a stranger, but Poppy doesn’t really feel like a stranger. She seems to belong here somehow. I like Poppy, but everything is a bit complicated at the moment. I haven’t been at my best and I could have been a bit nicer when she moved in. Sometimes I think that she likes me but other times I’m not so sure … And there is the fact that she had originally planned to move here with her boyfriend. I don’t think she is still into him but who knows? Well that’s a subject for another email another day perhaps? With much love as ever, please give my kisses to darling Amelie.
Love from Leo
This afternoon I’m trying to make the fence and hedge between the garden and the donkey field chihuahua proof. I’m also working on their recall skills. Ha.
I’m worried the chihuahuas will escape into the field and get kicked by the donkeys. The dogs seem to think they’re invincible which means they scare the hell out of me at least several times a day by carrying out death defying leaps, forcing wolf size dogs to bend to their will and eating things in the garden that I’m sure they shouldn’t.
Peanut can fit through the tiniest space and she enlists Treacle as an accomplice by default. Pickwick, despite being a miniature Yorkie, is a third bigger than they are and is thankfully too big to do the limbo through the minuscule holes.
As I can’t afford to get a fencing company in to do all the boundaries, put the fence deep in the ground or create a moat I’m attempting to create my own Colditz style chihuahua containment strategies. This basically involves attaching chicken wire to the bottom of the fence and then hammering it with tent pegs into the ground to stop the dogs or any other furries from pushing the wire back up.
By the time Angeline comes into the field to fill the water trough I’m thoroughly sick of expending huge amounts of effort for very little result. The hedge has taken a dislike to me and because I was stupid enough to attempt the job without gloves my hands and arms have come up in tiny weals that look and feel like burns. I should’ve learnt from my last excursion into a hedge. Along with the scratches from the wire and the pain building up in my joints I’m thoroughly fed up.
I need a dose of Angeline. I now know why the locals nickname her Angel. Five minutes conversation with her is like a shot of Prozac to the system. She took the goats without so much as a murmur. I think I may have cried with relief.
I down tools and walk round to the gate. The dogs are all up on the back of the living room sofa watching me intently, eyes wide with accusation that I’ve refused to let them help.
“Hello Poppy, how are you?” Angeline envelopes me in cheek kisses and a hug.
“Hmm, okay.” I lie outrageously. Right now I’m utterly demoralised but admitting it might open the floodgates and I’m sure Angeline has better things to do with her time than mopping up emotional leakage.
“How about you?”
“It’s been a very busy day.” Despite her tiredness Angeline is smiling and neatly sidesteps when one of the donkeys tries to head butt her.
Oh fuckity fuck. Leo is walking towards us. I can’t vanish now without it looking really rude.
He joins us and eyes the weals on my arms. “Has your phone been beating you up again?”
“No, it was the hedge this time. It doesn’t like me.” I cross my arms then realise how defensive my body language is so uncross them again. We have been getting on better since the goat incident and Barney has helped a lot too, but I still don’t know how to be around Leo. “How’s Maxi?”
“Okay. And your four?” Leo absentmindedly pats one of the donkeys who noses his pockets to see if he’s got any food.
“All fine thank you.” I cross my arms again, unable to work out what to do with them.
Stupid arms. What were they doing while I was talking to Angeline? I wasn’t even aware of them then so why are they such a problem now?
And talking of Angeline, her raised eyebrows and amused smile as she looks at the two of us makes me think my “polite but detached” approach is fooling no one. If I’m not fooling her then I’m not fooling Leo.
“You’ve got a friend staying?” Leo asks.
“Yes.” I decide I’m not exactly lying. I would now describe Joanna as a friend. “She’s helping with the decorating.”
“So you’re going ahead with the guesthouse idea?”
I nod tersely. Angeline is uncharacteristically silent, busying herself with tidying bits of old baling twine.
“I’d better get back inside, I think I need an anti-histamine,” I mumble, eyes suddenly hot and stinging with unshed tears. The weals on my arms and hands are burning. I’ve had allergic reactions before, but this is a really nasty one. My joints are threatening me with menacing spikes of pain, reminding me that perseverance alone isn’t going to make me capable of manual labour.
I’d hoped mind over matter and sheer bloody mindedness would enable me to get things done but I’ve only completed a third of the stretch bordering the donkey field and I’m ready to burst into tears.
“Try aloe vera lotion too,” Angeline suggests as I slip back through the gate.
The gate. Great, I’m going to have to cover the gate with chicken wire too. Oh joy.
I leave all my things out. I’m afraid if I stay to clear up now I’ll start crying while Leo is still in sight and I couldn’t bear him to see.
I make it to the back door before the tears slide down my cheeks. I close it firmly behind me, sit down at the kitchen table and slump, resting my head on the table.
The dogs come rushing into the kitchen along with Joanna. Peanut leaps onto my lap and nestles there while the other two dogs crowd around my ankles.
“What on earth happened?”
“The garden hates me.” I keep my head on the table, not wanting Joanna to see how wet my cheeks are. “The bush bit me. Lots.”
“God, you’re right. Do you want me to fetch you an antihistamine?”
“Yes please,” I reply, pathetically grateful. “And I think there’s some Aloe Vera gel in the bathroom cabinet as well.”
Her brief absence gives me time to dry my cheeks. I don’t want her to think I’m crying over a superficial burning rash.
“Would you like me to do the rest of the fence?”
“No it’s fine, you’ve got enough to do with the sanding.” I smile and accept the gel and tablets. “I’ll get some thick gardening gloves to do the rest.”
“Hmm. Hot chocolate?” Joanna offers, eyeing my face. Her petite features crease with concern.
So far we’ve had an unspoken mutual pact not to pry. I think it’s suited us both to have a bit of space to lick our wounds. I know Joanna has wounds because I see her red eyes in the morning but I assume she’ll talk to me when or if she wants to. I’ve been feeling too raw, trying to process my feelings for Leo and his apparent desire for me to bog off back to the UK.
Humiliation and hibernation tend to go hand in hand.
Joanna’s homemade hot chocolate is a good remedy for both and it’s almost as soothing as the aloe vera gel I’ve applied to my arms.
She sits down at the table with me. “How about looking for a different solution?”
“Like what?” I sip my chocolate, it’s heavenly. I wouldn’t have the patience to make it from scratch myself, but it is far superior to anything I could make from a packet. My ragged nerves are soothed by the creamy chocolate. The butterflies in my stomach have stopped their frantic fluttering of wings and I’m feeling a bit more Poppy-ish again.
I wonder for a second if she’s talking about Leo or the fence. Just how much did she overhear at the café?
“I did some research and unfortunately the dogs are all too small to have GPS implants. They can’t get the technology small enough yet.” Joanna scrolls down the screen of her mobile. “But you can get something for their collars. You put an app on your iPhone and it will tell you where they are at any given time. You can also set up a virtual fence and if they go outside that fence it sends an alert to your phone. You have to buy a SIM card but it’s far more reliable than any of the Bluetooth devices.”
“Oh, really? That sounds far better than pegging sodding chicken wire around all the fences.” My mood brightens. “Thanks for doing all that research.”
“No problem, it’s the least I could do.” Joanna stares down into her mug. “You’ve got no idea how much I appreciate you letting me stay here. It’s just what I need.”
“Good, I’m glad I could help. The feeling is reciprocal, trust me.” I finish my drink. “Hey, I’d probably let you stay just in return for making me hot chocolate and cooking, never mind the decorating. God knows what I should be paying you. I can’t help feeling like I’m taking advantage.”
“Not at all. If I wanted to rent a farmhouse in the south of France at this time of year it would cost me a packet and helping you out suits me far more than waitressing. My French isn’t really up to scratch and being somewhere a bit more private suits me better,” she says, more animated than I’ve seen her since she moved in.
“So I shouldn’t be feeling horribly guilty? You’re sure you’re happy here?” I ask hopefully.
“No you shouldn’t be feeling guilty. You’re doing me a huge favour. Let’s think of it as a working holiday. Actually, I was going to ask if you’d let me help with making the website and marketing and stuff. If you don’t mind that is. I don’t want to step on your toes, it’s none of my business really but I think it would be fun.”
“Would I mind? I’m thinking of asking you to marry me.” I laugh. “You can cook, you’re good at DIY and you’re helpful around the house.”
Joanna laughs but looks pleased I think, her cheeks a little pink. I’d love to ask what she did before she left England to travel. She seems too switched on to be a drifter. I’m more and more convinced she was forced to leave her life behind.
A sudden thought occurs to me.
“As regards the marrying thing you know I’m straight, yes?”
Joanna really laughs then, in a relaxed way that makes her light up.
“Trust me Poppy, you’re very straight. I’m into men too. Well strictly speaking at the moment I’m not into anyone. Far too much hassle.” A trace of sadness creeps back into her eyes.
I feel angry on her behalf, with whoever crushed her spirit.
“Yes, far too much hassle,” I agree.
But then I think about Leo and what Sophie said about seeing things through his eyes and everything he’s dealing with … I want to reach out to him despite the hassle. It matters more than the fear of rejection or a bit of injured pride.
When I go to let the dogs out later on I find my hammer and the remains of the chicken wire placed neatly to one side of the back door. There are no tent pegs though so I go off in search of them to find someone has finished attaching the wire to the whole length of the fence bordering the donkey field. They’ve even gone on a little further, presumably only breaking off when they ran out of tent pegs.
When I go to question Joanna she looks genuinely blank. Also I know she’s been stripping wallpaper since we had our chat. She says she finds it therapeutic.
Which leaves the issue of the Good Samaritan behind the chihuahua-containment fence, or the donkey-defence fence, depending on your point of view, an unsolved mystery. Alongside the other Languedoc mysteries like the location of the hidden Cathar treasure or the search for the holy grail it hardly ranks very highly for most people, I’m sure.
But it’s one mystery I’m keen to solve.
My calmer mood doesn’t last long. I’m already in the leggings and T-Shirt that now constitutes my I’m-single-so-I-don’t-give-a-stuff nightwear. I can’t wait to crawl into bed and I’m thinking about begging Joanna to make me another hot chocolate I can take up with me when she hurries into the kitchen, her face pinched, eyes full of fear.
My imagination goes into overdrive and my first crazy thought is that whatever or whoever she’s been running away from has found her. Has her abusive ex from my imaginings tracked her to St Quentin? Not that I know for sure Joanna has an abusive ex, but it seems a logical assumption. She’s afraid of someone for sure. Scared rigid I’d say.
My stomach lurches violently and despite my exhaustion I tense up, muscles taut with fear as I jog after Joanna into the living room. Treacle is sitting propped at a funny angle against one of the sofa cushions which has found its way onto the floor. His head is twitching in an odd spasmodic way that sends shards of ice down my spine.
It’s when I see his eyes though, that I feel really sick. He’s not there. There’s an absent, unfocused quality to his stare.
Usually I pride myself on being calm in a crisis. Despite my family’s accusation that I lack practical and common sense, purely because I’m an artist, I can normally assess a situation and decide on a course of action without panicking, crying or going into hysterics.
But the blankness I see in Treacle’s eyes fills me with terror.
“How long has he been like that?” I interrogate Joanna. “Did he fall or bang his head?”
“I don’t know, I found him like it and came to get you straight away.” She’s pale and seems on the verge of tears. I ought to reassure her but I’m too distraught. I need to focus, need to think…
As we watch him his head stops twitching and his eyes appear to refocus. Should I move him? Not move him? Where the sodding hell is my Dog First Aid Encyclopaedia? With all my other stuff in sodding storage.
I force myself to take a deep breath. I haven’t got time to waste trying to get a good enough phone signal to google what to do so I listen to my instincts and scoop Treacle up off the floor, cuddling him against me. I gently stroke his back and kiss the top of his soft head. Of all the dogs I’ve worried the most over Treacle. He didn’t bounce back from the mistreatment by his previous owners with the same confidence as Peanut, or any confidence at all really. He’s always been the most fragile of the dogs, the most timid and the one in greatest need of my love.
“Do you think that was a seizure?” I voice the dreaded S word. “I mean it was just his head but his eyes, they didn’t look right.”
“I don’t know, hang on, I’ll see if I’ve got a good signal.” Joanna pulls her phone out from a pocket and stands on the sofa by the window. “Yes, good enough for a text search. Hang on … Seizures, partial seizures … Hmm it seems dogs can have partial seizures that affect just part of their body, so…”
“I’m taking him over to the vets. Angeline often works late doing the paperwork.” I walk swiftly towards the hallway, mind made up and grab the fabric baby sling I used for when Pickwick hurt his leg and wasn’t supposed to put weight on it. It also came in handy when Treacle was too terrified to face the world. I’d take him on walks with the others and in his own time he’d wriggle to get down and join them in squirrel sniffs in the park or a game of ball. He associates it with being his safe place.
While his eyes are focused again he’s abnormally quiet and still, content to snuggle into my chest.
“Would you like me to come with you?” Joanna hovers next to me in the hallway.
Peanut jumps up at me anxiously, sensing my mood. Pickwick and Barney just woof excitedly, assuming we’re all going for a walk.
“No I’ll be fine. Could you look after the others though? Peanut’s already stressed out and I don’t want to leave them all howling. Is that okay?” I slip bare feet into my Ugg boots and look on the hook for the torch. Not there. Never mind, no time to look for it. I should be able to see enough by moonlight and with the lights from the village. I’ve always got the torch app on my phone if necessary.
“Of course I’ll look after them. You know … don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be okay.” Joanna lightly touches my arm then scoops up Peanut and Pickwick, one under each arm, so they can’t escape when I open the front door.
I barely hear her words as I step outside. My teeth are clenched so tightly my jaw aches. With a conscious effort I take a deeper breath and try to relax for Treacle’s sake. If it’s true that animals can smell our stress pheromones I’m doing him no good at all.
“You’ll be okay sweetheart, don’t worry.” I cuddle him through the sling. “Angeline is going to sort you out. We’ll look after you.”
The walk to the vets isn’t too bad as there’s enough moonlight to see the path once my eyes have adjusted. I could’ve driven but that would’ve meant extra time to find the car keys and the surgery is only down the lane and a little way down the main road. This is quicker. Plus I’m feeling a bit too shaken up to drive, to tell the truth and I need to hold Treacle close to me.
I see a dim light in the vets’ surgery reception and feel a surge of relief. When I get closer and see no signs of activity I don’t panic, assuming Angeline or a veterinary nurse is out the back with an admission. I knock on the door, but nobody comes. After a third attempt at knocking I get my phone out and switch on the torch app to see if I can find any emergency contact numbers on a sign anywhere. I can’t find anything so Google the main number and ring to see if there’s a recorded message telling me what to do, but crossing everything someone will magically appear from the back rooms to answer the phone.
No one comes. I listen to the recorded message and feel engulfed with panic for the second time this evening. My chest constricts. I don’t understand the frigging message. I turn around and swiftly head for home. I don’t know where to find Angeline but at least I know where Leo lives and I’m going to see him now. I couldn’t care less if I’m crossing boundaries. I don’t even care if he hates me and wants me gone, not enough to make me hesitate for one second to get help for Treacle.
As I stumble my way back onto the main road it occurs to me I’m far more distraught at the possibility of losing Treacle than I was at the reality of losing Pete. Something’s definitely off-kilter about that but now isn’t the time to examine it.
Walking along the side of the road where there’s no proper footpath it occurs to me I’m in the road in the dark and I’m not wearing anything reflective. The moon has disappeared behind some clouds since I set out and I discover my iPhone torch app doesn’t remotely penetrate the darkness of the French countryside.
When I reach a bend in the road I frown. There shouldn’t be a bend in the road. I’ve come too far. How on earth can I have missed the turning off to my track?
Warm tears slide down my cold cheeks as I retrace my steps. A distant yap from Peanut guides me in the right direction and I half smile through the tears. Move over Lassie, there’s a new kid on the block.
Treacle is still worryingly quiet in my arms. I jog over to Leo’s front door and knock, feeling sick in spite of the light streaming out from the windows until I actually hear telltale movement from inside.
When the door opens and Leo steps out my mind falters like a stalling car engine.
“Help … I need … help. It’s Treacle, he’s not right.” I’m gasping for air, almost hyperventilating and, embarrassingly, after an utterly inept attempt at explanation I burst into noisy, uncontrolled sobs.
Thankfully Leo is more proficient at dealing with crises than I am. He leads us both inside to his sofa, decides who needs help the most and gently takes Treacle from me. After a brief examination and several quick, calm questions which I just about answer between sobs Leo replaces him on my lap.
“I’m going to get my on-call bag out of the car. I’d like to do a proper examination.”
I bite back the panicked questions that will only potentially delay Leo from doing what he needs to. My mind goes to dark places while I perch on the edge of the sofa, mechanically stroking Treacle as I wait. Maxi’s placid, sleeping presence helps soothe me a little. He raises a head, sees his girlfriend/despot Peanut isn’t present and goes back to sleep.
The mellow warmth of the log burner also helps to calms me, as does knowing we’re in Leo’s capable hands now.
Or at least Treacle is.
I feel utterly useless. In this bleak moment I consider if everyone has been proven right – I can’t cope on my own. I came out tonight without a torch or any reflective clothing and got lost within minutes. I couldn’t understand the answerphone message at the vets, my hands aren’t capable of doing the work needed to secure fences or turn the house into a working guesthouse. Who knows how long Joanna will decide to stay for. Have I taken the stupidest risk of my life deciding to stay on without Pete?
Worst of all is the guilt that I wasn’t watching Treacle. That I don’t actually know if he hit his head or not. I suppose I do know I’m being unreasonably hard on myself. Logically I can’t watch all the dogs for every second of every day. I have to work for starters, not to mention sleep.
Logic makes no headway though, it’s like an emotional dam has been breached inside me. I have never freaked out like this before in an emergency. Treacle’s seizure seems to have triggered the opening up of the dam gates. I had a schoolfriend who was epileptic, we walked to school together every day. Until the day she died from a massive seizure aged only thirteen.
Again, the logical part of my brain knows one seizure doesn’t necessarily mean epilepsy and even if Treacle does get the epilepsy diagnosis it doesn’t mean Treacle will die, not imminently. But…
I lightly kiss the top of Treacle’s soft head again. I feel so useless. The thought of losing him and being unable to help him is unbearable.
I take a shaky deep breath. Maxi stirs from his sleep again and trots over to me, laying his giant head on my feet.
While Leo examines Treacle I manage to hold it together. Maxi doesn’t move and it feels like he’s looking after me as Leo’s loyal assistant. I look down at myself and for the first time I realise with embarrassment I’ve got no bra on. I was ready for bed when I left, nightclothes on and face scrubbed clean. I wish even more now I’d brought a hoodie with me. I cross my arms over the empty baby sling. Honestly, in the big scheme of things it hardly matters.
I stare down at Maxi and remember Leo deciding early on, before he even met me, that I was going to fail at making a go of life here. A view compounded when he discovered I’d be doing it on my own. I wonder at what point he started hatching plans to buy the house back. With Mum, Dad and Pete all thinking me incapable too I find myself, for the first time since I made the move, wondering why I’ve been so convinced that they were wrong, and I was right.
By the time Leo hands Treacle back to me silent tears are streaming down my face and I’ve given up caring that I look a state.
“Hey,” Leo says gently, gripping my arm once Treacle is back in my sling. “The news isn’t too bad. I think from your description he definitely had a seizure. Is it his first one?”
“I don’t know, he’s a rescue dog. He was abused. He’s not had a seizure before that I know of.”
“And he’s how old?”
“About eighteen months, though that’s a guesstimate.”
“A guesstimate?” Leo eyes me quizzically. It must be the first English idiom I’ve used that he hasn’t understood.
“A cross between a guess and an estimate.”
“Ah, I like that word. Guesstimate.” Leo smiles at me gently and then lowers himself down onto the sofa next to me. Bedside manner Leo, or sofa-side manner Leo is a considerably nicer version than I’m used to. “Given we don’t know his history we can’t know if it’s a one off or part of a pattern. You can have partial seizures. As long as they remain short, under a minute say, and don’t start increasing in frequency we could start him on some relatively mild tablets that help increase the blood flow to the brain. Also it might be an idea to keep an eye on him tonight, to check he doesn’t start vomiting or become confused.”
“You mean like you might with a human who has a suspected head injury?”
“Exactly.” Leo turns to me, his leg pressing up against my thigh. “But what about you Poppy?”
“Me?”
“Are you … okay?” He seems anxious, not so much worried about treading on egg shells as stepping into a man-trap with iron teeth. Perhaps it’s not all that surprising given the combative nature of our recent passive-aggressive exchanges.
I wonder if the real question is “are you planning on having a nervous breakdown on my sofa? “ I’m not quite sure that the answer to that question isn’t “yes.” It might only be a mini crisis, a necessary release of pressure, but I’m definitely not okay.
Leo does the staying quiet trick so the other person will fill the silence that normally annoys me. If I wasn’t so upset I’d stay quiet just to be obstinate but tonight I really need to talk and find myself telling Leo all about the epileptic school friend who died so suddenly and then about losing Gran last year – the only member of my family who ever truly believed in me and accepted me as I am. The only member of my family I ever felt loved by.
“Her mother was French, so I do have a little bit of French in me,” I say and then realise exactly how that sounds and shut up. With anyone but Leo my mind wouldn’t have drifted to the double entendre. I’m not sure what that says about his effect on me.
“Then your boyfriend broke up with you on the day that you moved to a different country where you don’t know anyone,” Leo says, the words blunt but the kindness in his eyes infinitely gentle. “And some of your neighbours weren’t exactly welcoming.”
“Only one of them, really,” I mumble. “Don’t sign up for the Samaritans helpline, will you?” I roll my eyes, managing to dredge humour, or at least a semblance of it, out of my soggy misery. I wipe the salty wet tears away from my face. “I’m sorry for going to pieces on you. It’s just … I just…”
I come to a halt, wondering if he might understand the terrible sense of panic and helplessness that swamped me tonight. The trigger – my terror of losing Treacle who is such a kind, sweet, affectionate little dog and so willing to learn to trust again in spite of what other humans have done to him. Just the thought of losing him breaks my heart.
“I’m trying to say I do understand Poppy,” Leo says kindly, gently taking my hand and caressing my palm.
I look down at my hand in his, remembering the last time he held it in the car after our infamous Carcassonne date/not-actually-a-date debacle.
This time I don’t want to pull away. The contact comforts me. I need the connection. I want things to be okay between us, if they can be.
“I couldn’t bear to lose Treacle you see.” I stare down at our joined hands. The contact feels intimate but instinctual. “He was so scared of the world when I rescued him, and so terrified of everyone. He flinched at the slightest thing as though constantly afraid of being hit. And now he has just started to be happy, to trust again. I want him to have the chance of a happy life.”
Fresh tears stream down my cheeks. There’s no point worrying what I look like – a soggy, unhinged mess – it’s a certainty.
Leo squeezes my hand. “I think he has got a happy life ahead of him. I am not unduly concerned. No promises, there are no promises in life, but we’ll keep a good eye on him and take care of him.”
The word “we” feels like an anchor, attached to a rope I want to grab hold of. The connection with Leo feels as strong as ever. Stronger maybe, now I’ve fallen to pieces on his sofa and let my guard down with him. I’m too tired to fight the connection, or even remember why I’m fighting it. Whatever Leo said to me about the house the day of the date/not-a-date I know the connection between us is real. Life is complicated, and Leo’s life is a little more complicated than most.
Yes, Pete has badly shaken my ability to trust but … I glance down at Treacle, tiny head resting on my chest, rising and falling with my breath, trusting me utterly and finding the confidence to be himself despite having received treatment far worse than anything I’ve experienced. Never mind wanting the heart of a lion, I think I want the brave heart of a chihuahua.
“Was it you who finished the fence for me?” I ask, turning to search Leo’s face.
“Yes.” He holds my gaze as he intertwines his fingers with mine and squeezes.
“Do you really think I’m incapable? That I’ll be forced to go back to England?” I ask calmly, without any antagonism. I genuinely want his opinion. His belief, or lack of it, will determine whether I let the hand holding and thigh contact continue. I’ve had enough of people whittling away at my confidence. I need to choose carefully who I let into my life from now on. I need people who believe in me at an intrinsic, basic level.
“Not now I know you Poppy, no,” Leo answers carefully. “That wasn’t why I did the fence for you, because I thought you weren’t capable.”
“I know, you were being kind. Thank you.” I stare down at our intertwined fingers, not wanting to let go. The needle thin scratches from the wire are still visible on my skin. I get the impression he noticed them yesterday, that he picked up on my pain and my low mood after my attempts to chihuahua proof the fence.
The crackling fire suffuses the room with a mellow warmth, relaxing me, soothing away first the stress and then the tension in my muscles.
“I have early onset arthritis,” I say, wanting to share more with Leo while we’re in this safe space. “It’s a genetic thing but I’ve developed it early for some reason. It makes certain tasks harder for me. It was one of the reasons I wanted to move here. The climate, the warmth and the extra sunshine, it helps. I plan on finding solutions for the things I can’t manage easily. Plus I still have my income as an illustrator, it’s not like I’ll starve if I can’t make a go of the guesthouse. The idea was to create another source of income if my hands ever … Well if it gets difficult to paint.”
I shudder inwardly. If I ever get close to that point I’ll probably take all the medication the doctors offer because the thought of not being able to paint is unendurable.
“I’m sorry I was so crass, the day we went out.” Leo exhales loudly. “I know I offended you and I’m sorry. I saw how bad it must have looked to you.”
I watch him silently, waiting, sure there’s more to come.
“I wasn’t building up to the question all day, I promise. I had a nice day with you. There was no calculation. It was, when we drove back and parked outside Les Coquelicots … It was hard, to me it still felt like Madeline’s house. It hit me afresh, the pain of knowing I would never see the front door open and see Amelie come racing out to tell me what happened at school or about the picture she’s just painted … You’ve lost your grandmother and I understand your grief. I’m still coming to terms with mine and sometimes I get these waves that hit me when I’m not expecting it.”
I nod, knowing exactly what he means.
“Amelie liked art too did she?” I ask softly.
Leo smiles and some of the tiredness leaves his expression. “Yes, she was quite like you in many ways. She was always making up stories too. She’d sit on the front steps and read them aloud to Maxi.”
“Oh.” I can’t stop fresh tears spilling out, Leo’s sadness is tangible and I can see the picture he painted so clearly in my mind. “Is it very hard, every time you see me in the house, a stranger?”
“You’re not a stranger to me anymore Poppy. A little strange maybe but not a stranger.” Leo’s lips quirk into a grin.
I pretend to be outraged but then I think about the iPhone black eye, the fat lip as a result of a miniature Yorkie and then my ducking out of sight in the kitchen whenever I saw Leo. From his point of view I concede he has a point.
“It’s not a bad thing to be different.” He shrugs. “Who wants to be normal? Normal is boring. You, Poppy, are not boring.”
He’s still smiling but there’s an earnest intensity to the words that feels like magic, like an absolution. It lifts a weight I hadn’t realised I was carrying.
“Come here,” Leo whispers, putting his arm around my shoulder and taking care not to disturb Treacle.
I sigh as I relax against Leo’s body. It’s so nice to feel human touch again, to feel the solidity of warm, firm muscle. To know I’m not alone.
“I am sorry about this evening, all the crying. I don’t know what happened,” I murmur into his chest. “I’m not usually like this.”
Leo lifts his free hand and gently strokes the stray tears away from my face with his thumb.
“It wasn’t just about Treacle. Like I said, you’ve had a lot to deal with and anyway, even if it had been just about Treacle, trust me, I’ve seen people go to pieces over their pets. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Leo moves his thumb from my cheek to stroke my hair, taking a long wavy lock in his fingers and playing with it. “I’d cry like a baby if I thought I was losing Maxi. Honestly, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
Treacle doesn’t stir in his sling and I don’t want to move either. I’d like to stay cocooned in this bubble of warmth in Leo’s home, revelling in the anticipation, the hope of something more. Maybe not tonight though. I’m shattered and emotionally drained.
“I ought to get back. I left Joanna looking after the other dogs and I know she’ll be worried. She’s fond of Treacle.” I sigh, my body utterly unwilling to leave the sofa and the comfort of Leo’s embrace.
“Who is this Joanna I’ve been told about?” Leo lets go of my lock of hair. “I heard she came to the café looking for work and you took her in.”
“Then you know already.” Reluctantly I sit up. “She needs bed and board and I need another pair of hands. She’s great.”
Leo stares at my hands, no doubt thinking about what I said about my arthritis.
“Can you trust her though?” He asks carefully. “What do you know about her?”
“Not much but then if I put an advert up asking for help I’d not know much about anyone who came forward.”
“She’s staying in your house though.”
That he says “your house” without a hesitation doesn’t go unnoticed.
“I’ve got nothing of much value. My laptop is too old to be worth anything and anyway, I trust my instincts in this instance.” I turn to face him. “I appreciate your concern, but I knew lots about Pete, or I thought I did. I shared everything with him and he left me high and dry. Also I have plenty of friends who’ve been ripped off by boyfriends or partners getting them into joint debt. Joanna needs help, I can help her and at the same time she’s helping me. I haven’t asked her lots of questions because…”
I think about mentioning my theory about an abusive ex but as Leo is already showing a not unattractive protective streak and I don’t want to give him any more cause for concern.
“Because she needs some space to heal,” I add. “Joanna will come to me and talk when she’s ready. I just have to wait and let her do it in her own time.”
Leo looks pointedly down at Treacle. “Is that your policy with rescue dogs too?”
“Absolutely.” I smile.
Leo smiles back and I glimpse something unexpected in his gaze – affection.
“A house for waifs and strays then?” He suggests. “I think Madeline and Amelie would have liked that idea. Let me walk you back.”
“In case I get lost?” I raise an eyebrow and would laugh if I hadn’t just got lost so close to my own house. I’m never going to live that one down.
“Something like that.” Leo grabs a torch and whistles to Maxi to follow him, he trots off ahead of us, sniffing at the grass and pricking his ears up at the faint sound of Peanut barking in the distance.
Leo rolls his eyes at Maxi. “It must be love.”
“Must be,” I reply lightly and my skin tingles when he takes my hand again.
He’s talking about the dogs, right? Yes, of course he must be.
I lower Treacle out of his sling so he can have a loo trot. He seems much more alert now and is following Maxi along as though nothing has happened.
We pass the ruined chapel that borders the woodland and Leo stops. As his hand is holding mine he pulls me to a stop too.
“Do you know I had my very first kiss here in this ruin?”
He tugs me closer and places his other hand firmly in the small of my back, holding me in place so I’m pressed up against the hard length of him, soft flesh yielding to hard muscle. For a moment I think I forget to breathe. I know instinctively he’d let me go if I wanted.
But I don’t want Leo to let go of the tight hold he has on me.
He’s a fair bit taller than me, my head only reaches his chest so I have to look up to meet his gaze. From what I can make out in the shifting shadows and patches of moonlight Leo’s eyes are dark, glittering with intent.
“Did you now?” I whisper, trying the breathing thing only to find my breath catches in my chest. I steady myself in his arms and try again, breathing in the cool night air tinged with pine needles and distant wood smoke.
“You know you said you couldn’t get the hang of the French kissing thing?” Leo asks.
“Uh huh,” I say casually, as though I haven’t cringed a million times since I uttered those words at the welcome party at the chateau. Leo knew full well I’d meant the timing of the triple air-kissing greeting, but of course he’d had to choose to misinterpret. I thought it had been purely meant to embarrass me but maybe there’d been an element of flirtatious teasing all along and I missed it because I was so busy being pissed off.
“Would you like a lesson now?” Leo’s voice is low, both the tone and the words send a tingle down my spine.
“It’s always good to be familiar with local customs,” I say breezily, as though my heart isn’t beating so hard I’m worried he can hear it. My ear is pressed against his chest and it reassures me that his heart rate increases too.
“Ah, Poppy.” Leo laughs softly and adds something in French I don’t catch.
I look up as he lowers his lips to mine, and I meet his mouth hungrily. He doesn’t dominate my mouth by instantly invading and thrusting with his tongue as I might expect but instead he takes the lead gently. Our tongues slowly explore and stroke as I open up to him, letting him dominate. He trails kisses along my jawline and down my neck. Then he grazes my earlobe with his teeth and my knees go weak. Only the firm hand at the small of my back holds me upright. I plant soft kisses along the rough stubble of his neck, wondering about how and where it might graze me. Then I reach up to meet his mouth and tongue again. I could kiss like this forever. I didn’t realise how tantalising it could be -full of promise and hope, loaded with intent. I arch my body up against his and warmth pools in my stomach and between my legs. My kisses grow more hungry. I’m positive Leo must feel my nipples tightening into hard buds as I press hard against his chest. It’s a nice sensation without the barrier of a bra between our T-Shirts.
Then Leo cups my bottom with one hand and squeezes so that I gasp into his mouth. I guess he noticed the nipples, was that his revenge? Relentlessly he kisses me, probes and teases me. I don’t notice how or when it happens but the torch is now on the ground and Leo slides the hand not caressing my bottom up inside my T-Shirt. I raise my arms and loop them around his neck so that he has access to first gently trace the outline of my breast and then stroke closer and closer to my aching nipple. He’s tormenting and teasing me, touching everywhere except where I need it. I deliberately twist my body so the next sweep of his palm encounters the tight bud of my nipple.
I groan and press against his palm, wanting, needing more. He cups my breast and squeezes, lightly pinching my nipple. The hand cupping my bottom moves round and strokes up and down the top of my inner thigh above the layer of my leggings. I shudder instantly and violently, jerking when his fingers dance lightly between my legs. I’d be embarrassed by how quickly my body responds to his touch if I weren’t so utterly immersed in the sensations and if I didn’t know by Leo’s own rapid breathing that he’s as turned on by this as me.
I’m gasping, panting against his open mouth, my body melting and dissolving into him, when I hear Joanna open the back door of Les Coquelicots and the dogs set up a medley chorus of barking, welcoming me home and greeting Maxi and Treacle.
“Are you okay Poppy, is that you out there?” Joanna calls out, her voice tinged by anxiety.
The anxiety pierces the haze of my longing and brings me back to reality. I pull away from Leo, feeling weak-limbed and as unsteady on my feet as a fledgling foal.
“Yes, it’s just me, Joanna, there’s nothing for you to worry about,” I call back, trying to sound normal but, I suspect, failing miserably. “Treacle is okay now. Leo was just … seeing me home safely. I forgot my torch.”
I hear Leo’s low chuckle next to me as he retrieves his torch from the grass and feel my cheeks flame a response.
“Thanks for the French lesson by the way, Leo,” I whisper, suppressing a fit of the giggles. “I think I’ve got the hang of it now.”
I move forward to welcome Peanut and Pickwick and to reassure them that Treacle and I haven’t been eaten by the boogie-dog.
“Bye Leo.” I don’t dare turn back or look at him, even though I’m sure the dark must hide my flaming face.
Instead I hurry towards Joanna to tell her all about Treacle.
All in all I’d say it’s been an eventful evening.
“Goodbye Poppy. Anytime you want to practice your French … just let me know.” I can hear the grin in Leo’s reply as surely as I can hear the crunch of gravel as he turns and walks back into the night, whistling for Maxi to follow him home.
I’m not sure I’ll ever look at that ruin in quite the same light again.