It Started With A Tweet(77)
‘What about you? Where do you call home?’
‘I was renting an apartment in Toulouse with my girlfriend before we left, but I am from a small town near the mountains, called Foix.’
‘Where are you going to go for your next help-ex placement?’
‘I am going to Scotland a week on Saturday.’
‘Wow, that soon?’
‘My month will be up. Unless I have reason to stay.’
That means my month will be up too. I promised Rosie I’d stay as long as he did. I can’t imagine being anywhere but here. I’ve actually got used to the rustic lifestyle. The lack of technology. The letters from Jack .?.?. I think of the last time I saw him and I hope that he’s back soon.
‘After Scotland,’ says Alexis, snapping me out of my thoughts, ‘I might then go to Spain for the summer, before Germany or Austria for the winter, somewhere I can snowboard. Then next year I would like to travel.’
‘Ooh, where to?’
I love living vicariously through other people who go travelling. I’ve never had the itchy feet of wanderlust, but I do have a bit of an obsession with following those who do on Instagram and poring over other people’s holiday snaps on Facebook. With the amount that’s out there, I often feel like I’ve seen the major sights without being forced to buy a brightly dyed pair of trousers or having the worst food poisoning imaginable with only squat toilets available.
‘I don’t know yet – Costa Rica, Panama. Somewhere with ocean and beaches. I’d like to learn to surf.’
Images of turquoise waters with golden sand and lush forest along the shore flood into my mind; the type of beaches that were made for Instagram.
‘I had some surfing lessons last year in Newquay. That’s in Cornwall, down South,’ I say, helpfully giving him a geography lesson. ‘It was bloody freezing, but it was a great weekend away.’
SURFING! Why didn’t I think of that when I was on the world’s worst date with Dickhead Dominic? I’m sure, despite me only doing it for six hours over one weekend, it still counts as a hobby. I bought a new bikini to wear under my wetsuit and everything.
‘I think I would like to learn. Was it difficult?’
‘Um, I didn’t find it easy, but then I’m not naturally very well-balanced. I’m sure you’ll find it easier as a snowboarder.’
‘Perhaps.’
I look down at my roller tray and realise it’s empty so I go to refill it.
‘I’ve never tried snowboarding – or skiing, for that matter. I always wanted to go on the ski trip at university but I could never afford it.’ I think back to how cheap it probably was, but back then a couple of hundred pounds would have funded almost an entire term of going out.
‘You should try it. I bet you’d like it.’
‘Maybe,’ I say, thinking that most of my skiing holiday fantasies have me sitting drinking hot chocolate in the lodge waiting for everyone to finish so that we can enjoy the après-ski.
‘You can come to my ’ouse in France; it is close to ski stations. I can teach you.’
He’s smiling at me again, and there are those bloody dimples.
I nod my head, thinking that this is making my illicit Harry Styles crush a hell of a lot worse. He chooses that exact moment to pick out a clump of paint from my hair, and as we stand there for a second, a wave of lust rolls over me. I almost want him to push me up against the wall and take me right here and right now – although I’m pretty sure it’d ruin my paintwork. By the time I’ve scanned the room for an alternative – fire hearth, too rough and bumpy; concrete floor, too uncomfortable and far too cold; rocking chair, probably a bit tricky to get the angles right – the moment’s gone and he’s turned his attention to the paint rollers and we go back to our respective walls.
The rest of the morning passes quickly, with Alexis and I chatting about Game of Thrones. A pretty confusing topic, not only because of the complex plots and ridiculous amount of characters in the show itself, but also because of our accents and different pronunciation of names. I’m pretty sure that other than Jon Snow neither of us knew who the other was talking about. Before we know it, we’ve done our allocated amount of daily hours, and Alexis heads off for another walk. I am far too hungry to go so instead I take up Rosie’s offer of lunch, and now she’s inspecting our handiwork.
‘So you got on OK with the painting, then?’ asks Rosie, surveying the lounge.
‘Pretty good,’ I say, thinking back over it and realising that I’ve practically been asked out on a date to the pub and a skiing holiday.
‘The walls are coming along nicely. I reckon they’ll take about four coats,’ she says.
‘Four,’ I say, sighing in disbelief, before I remember what Alexis said earlier about spending time together and thinking that might not be all bad.
‘So, I was thinking we should probably leave here at about five for the yoga class.’
‘I’d completely forgotten about that, but I could do with a good stretch,’ I say, demonstrating my difficulty in raising my arms above my head.
‘Great. So I’m guessing you’re going to do one of your daily pilgrimages to the mailbox, then?’ she says, giving me the smug look that she hasn’t given me for at least a week.