It Started With A Tweet(48)

‘I was having a shower when his bloody dog came bounding in chasing pigeons. He leaped right over the baby bath and the step ladders collapsed like dominoes.’

‘You could have been killed. I’m so sorry, this is all my fault,’ she says shaking her head.

I start rubbing myself dry and dressing before I get any colder.

‘It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t make Alexis build it to withstand attacks from springer spaniels, did you?’

‘No, but I should have perhaps made sure it was a little safer. I feel awful.’

I think Rosie is more in shock than I am. ‘I’m fine, really,’ I say, towel-drying my hair.

‘So apart from letting his dog run riot, what was Jack doing here?’

‘I’m not sure,’ I say, ‘but I’m guessing by the way that he followed Buster in, that he was looking for him, that’s all. I probably scared him more than he scared me.’

What with my giant bottom being naked and all that.

‘Well, I guess that it’s back to the drawing board with the shower. Hopefully, the plumber will at least have put the sink in tomorrow, and then we can do a good old strip wash.’

‘Now you’re even sounding like Grandma. You’ll be pulling out those funny things she used to have on those taps. The ones that went separately from the hot and cold tap to mix them.’

‘Oh my, I’d forgotten about them. You’d have one end and I’d have the other, then we’d both scream down them, “I am a mole and I live in a hole”.’

We both start to laugh at the shared memory.

‘Where did that come from anyway?’ I ask, thinking how random it sounded.

‘I think it was from an old song from the fifties that Grandma used to play.’

Rosie starts to sing it, and I laugh even more.

I honestly don’t think I’ve laughed this much in ages. I’m doing that proper, infectious bellyache stuff, not the hashtag lols that I usually pretend I’m doing to make it seem like I’m having a good time.

‘It used to be fun when we’d stay there, you know, before we hated each other,’ says Rosie as she starts to sort out the mess of tangled curtains.

‘I didn’t hate you,’ I say getting dressed under my towel. ‘You were the one who never wanted me to touch your stuff or talk to you.’

‘Didn’t I? I just remember you whining all the time.’

‘And I just remember you shouting all the time.’

‘Huh, I don’t remember that at all.’ She shrugs. ‘At least you’re not such a whiner now. I thought you would have been whinging all day long about the lack of phone. I’ve been impressed.’

‘See. I told you I could do it.’

I’m not going to tell her that I’ve already been out twice in search of the Internet.

Rosie doesn’t even attempt to resurrect the cubicle; we’ll have to take our chances with the dry shampoo in the meantime.

‘Now that I know you’re safe, I’d better get back to the sanding. The plumber’s coming first thing tomorrow.’

‘Are you sure you don’t need help? I don’t have a whole lot else to do.’

‘Why don’t you go for a walk? You could catch Alexis up?’

I stutter a laugh. He must have been gone at least an hour by now.

‘Um, no, I might just have a stroll around the farm, take some photos. Then maybe I can get them developed to send to Erica next week.’

‘That’s a nice idea. While you’re there, will you check the post?’ she asks, handing me the keys. ‘I’m waiting on some paperwork from the land registry and I don’t want it getting all damp in the box.’

She marches back off to the house and I set off, scraping my hair into a messy bun as I go.

It’s so much more enjoyable walking in shoes that keep me upright naturally, rather than mimicking walking on an ice rink. I can’t believe I didn’t think to wear my trainers before. I wonder if I could make that walk to the village in them.

Now that I’m not cursing the mud, I can appreciate the views as I walk. I’m enjoying the quietness of the surroundings when a sheep baas, scaring the living daylights out of me.

I look around to make sure no one’s watching and I hop over the wall. I position myself between two sheep and, planting a silly smile on my face, I take a selfie. I spin the camera round and sigh before remembering it’s not digital, and I wonder if I should take some more just in case.

‘You all right there?’ says a voice.

I look up and see an old man who’s presumably the farmer.

‘Oh, yes, perfectly fine,’ I say, pretending that it’s normal to be squatted down in a field next to a sheep with a camera held far out in the air. ‘I wanted to take a photo of myself with the sheep,’ I say tailing off in embarrassment.

‘I’ll take it,’ he says, marching over and grabbing the camera. ‘Say cheese,’ he says, smiling and raising his eyebrows, which are bushy like caterpillars, and it causes me to laugh.

‘Thank you, that’s very kind of you.’

‘No problem. I hear that you’re our new neighbour.’

He’s giving me the exact same look of suspicion that Gerry and Liz gave us in the shop.