It Started With A Tweet(33)

Instantly I relax and pull myself out from behind Rosie’s shadow. With his wavy dark hair and glossy chestnut eyes he doesn’t look like much of a threat. Although, I guess what watching five series of Dexter should have taught me was you can never tell what a serial killer looks like.

‘Ah, thank goodness,’ he says with a heavy French accent. ‘I thought I was stuck.’

I look between the man and Rosie. He doesn’t sound like he’s one of the neighbours.

‘I came earlier and you were not ’ere. I look for you in the barn,’ he says shrugging, ‘and then the door was closed.’

I’m nodding along with his story, which sounds so much better in his sing-song accent. It doesn’t occur to me to ask what he’s doing here.

‘I am Alexi,’ he says, jutting out his hand and looking between Rosie and me.

I nudge Rosie. Seeing as it’s her farm, she should welcome him.

‘Oh, um,’ she says shaking his hand.

‘It is wet, no? Perhaps we talk in the ’ouse.’

He gestures towards the farmhouse, but my sister seems rooted to the spot – too confused to move.

‘Yes, good idea,’ I say, walking forward and ushering him inside.

Rosie follows us and we stand like shaggy wet dogs in the kitchen. I pat down my hair, cursing the weather for sending my straight hair into a frizzy mess just as an attractive man shows up.

‘So, you are Rosie?’ he says to me.

‘Ah, no, I’m her sister, Daisy. This is Rosie,’ I say, slapping her on the back.

‘Enchanté,’ he says to us both, and for a minute I’m wondering if I should step forward and get all the kisses. Isn’t that what you do to be polite in France? I’m all for embracing other customs, especially when it involves hot men.

‘What did you say your name was?’ I say, realising that Rosie looks like she’s in shock.

‘Alexi,’ he says.

‘But you can’t be,’ pipes up Rosie. ‘You’re a he.’

He looks at her and squints as if he doesn’t understand what she’s saying.

‘I’m expecting Alexis,’ she says in a shaky voice, emphasising the s. ‘Not Alexi. My advert expressly asked for a woman on the help-exchange website and your photo was of a man and a woman so I assumed you were the woman.’

It slowly dawns on me what’s going on and why Rosie is so confused. This is the help-exchange worker she was expecting next week.

‘I do not understand. You speak so quickly. I am a woman?’

‘No, you are a man,’ says Rosie. ‘I was expecting a woman. I saw the photo of you and the woman or girl, whoever she was, and I thought she was you.’

‘Ah. You thought the girl in the photo was who was writing to you? That was my girlfriend. But I do not understand. You thought she was Alexi?’ he says in a tone that suggests Rosie is quite strange. ‘It is a boy’s name.’

‘Yes, well, in English, Alexis can be a girl’s name. You know, like Alexis Carrington.’

My mum would be so proud of her citing Dynasty; she adored that show in the eighties.

‘I think she was actually Alexis Colby,’ I add.

Rosie gives me a look that suggests I’m not helping. She’s lucky I don’t have my phone as I’d totally be googling it by now to find out which one of us was right. All I can remember is that she was played by Joan Collins.

‘We do not pronounce the s. A-lex-i,’ he says, breaking it down for us, so that we’re in no doubt how it’s said. ‘But now I am ’ere, I will work,’ he says, looking around the kitchen and nodding his head.

I want to point out that, in my book, he’s totally welcome, merely because he’s not a woman, but I’ve already had one death stare so I’m keeping out of it.

Rosie sighs. I know it’s a bit of a shock that he is a he rather than a she, but I don’t understand why she’s getting so het up. He looks very fit and healthy, and his arms look like they’d be very strong .?.?. you know, for all the lifting and carrying needed for working on the house, obviously. I totally wasn’t looking at them thinking they’d be great for picking me up and throwing me onto the hay bales in the barn.

‘Well, you’re going to be here with just me and Daisy, so I understand if you aren’t comfortable with it being just the three of us.’

‘I am very comfortable with girls,’ he says smiling. ‘I ’ave three sisters.’

‘Of course you do,’ says Rosie. ‘But, um, you know, we weren’t expecting you until next week.’

‘No, no, this week. Today, in fact. I send you an email yesterday to say my plans change. I ’ad been in Portsmouth, but I thought I arrive early.’

Rosie looks like she could cry.

‘Oh,’ she says nodding. ‘We don’t have Internet here.’

‘It is not a problem, I am ’ere now.’

‘But we aren’t ready for you. Your room isn’t done, I don’t have a bed for you; I don’t even have a spare towel.’

Rosie’s head looks like it’s going to explode.

‘I understand this is, ’ow do you say it, “a work in progress”?’ he says with air quotes. ‘I ’ave my sleeping bag and mat.’