It Started With A Tweet(47)

She looks a little lost and it’s interesting getting a glimpse into her life. It’s funny, as I’d always been so envious of her life with Rupert and their beautiful flat, but it seems as if it’s not all as perfect as it looked.

‘It’s a shame that you don’t like doing this, though. We could have gone into business together,’ she says, laughing.

‘Oh, yes, I’m sure Mum would be well impressed if we both became professional strippers.’

‘Watch it. I’m managing a property portfolio, I’ll have you know.’

‘That’s fair enough. I just don’t think it’s really me. I wish I was one of those people who harboured a secret dream to run their own company, like baking cupcakes or running a little country cafe, but I liked my job.’

I shake my head. It was nicer not thinking about the future and just mindlessly pulling off wallpaper.

‘I think I’m going to take that shower now,’ I say, picking up the last of the rubbish on the floor. ‘I’ll take this down on my way.’

I peer out the window on the landing and I see the tiny spec of Alexis walking on the horizon. Pleased that the coast is well and truly clear, I grab some toiletries and clean clothes and hurry to the barn before I can change my mind.

I slide the door open, leaving it slightly ajar, as the last thing I want to do is get stuck in here like Alexis did that time. Rosie would probably struggle to hear me over the sander and I’ve got no desire to be shouting again for someone to rescue me.

Pecking around the floor between me and the shower are half a dozen pigeons cooing away. I’m not usually bothered by them in parks when I’m eating a sandwich, but there’s something about being in an enclosed space with them that makes me feel a bit uneasy. I feel as if I’m starring in Hitchcock’s The Birds.

‘Coo, coo,’ I say, doing my best impression as I walk through them, trying not to make eye contact in case it sets them off.

I take a deep breath outside the makeshift cubicle Alexis has cobbled together. There are four old stepladders of varying heights, with brooms and shower curtains hanging off them, woven through the steps. He’s then hooked the solar powered shower to the top of the tallest ladder, and the bottom of the cubicle appears to be an old baby bath, which I’m supposed to empty outside when I’m finished. If it were not me who had to use it, I’d be slightly impressed by the ingenuity, but as I strip off my clothes, I wonder again what I’ve got myself into.

I climb into the mini bathtub and I stand behind the bright white curtain. Forget The Birds, I now feel like I’m in Psycho.

I take a deep breath, bracing my shoulders, as I pull the shower cord. The water drips out in a warmish dribble, reminiscent of the inside shower. This isn’t actually that bad; my bum barely has goosebumps on it. I’m just starting to relax when I hear the pigeons cooing loudly, followed by a bark.

‘What the –?’ I shout, desperately trying to rub the shampoo out of my eyes and hair in a race to finish quickly.

The barking gets louder and a pigeon flies into the curtain, making the brooms start to wobble.

‘Buster!’ shouts a voice.

I see the spritely springer spaniel dart around the back of the shower, yapping away as he goes.

I lunge for my towel, realising exactly whose dog it is, when a pigeon flies overhead and Buster decides to use the shower as a shortcut to get to it. Barging under a curtain and jumping over the baby bath as if he were a horse jumping a water fence, he bursts through the gap on the other side. For a second, I think that I’ve got away with it, that the shower is going to remain intact, but then I see the solar shower bag start to wobble and the next thing I know the cubicle starts to fall down around me. I instinctively crouch down, and fling my arms over my head and scream as I brace myself for impact. The ladders and brooms hit the ground noisily. I realise that I’ve escaped more or less unscathed; that is, until I open my eyes to assess the damage and see Jack standing in front of me.

‘I’m not looking,’ he says, shielding his eyes with his arm and desperately hissing at his dog to come to him.

I’m glad that I’m at least hunched up behind my knees so that Jack can’t see anything. The only trouble is, if I make a lunge for my towel, I risk exposing a boob or a buttock. Neither of which I’m too happy about.

‘Um, are you going to catch Buster anytime soon?’ I say, my teeth starting to chatter.

‘Absolutely. Come here, Buster, you’re not getting away from me that easily.’

‘What the bloody hell’s going on?’ says Rosie, running in and gasping as she sees the ladders and the tangled mess of shower curtains.

She picks up my towel, and for a moment I think she’s going to run off with it, as she would have done when we were kids, but instead she wraps me up in it.

‘Are you OK? Are you hurt?’ she asks, looking a little nervous.

‘No, I’m fine. Luckily everything fell away from me.’

‘Gotcha!’ shouts Jack as he grabs him with both hands and slips a lead on.

‘Um, sorry about that. I’ll leave you to whatever you were doing,’ he says, his cheeks colouring.

He practically runs out, dragging Buster along behind him, and I wonder what he was doing here in the first place.

‘What happened?’ asks Rosie giggling, as I sigh with relief that he’s gone.