L'amour Actually (22 page)

  He winked at me, then sat on the edge of the bed, gently lifting my hand to take the pulse in my wrist. 'So, how is your head this morning?'

  'Not bad, all things considered. It's a bit painful but nothing I can't handle.' He bent my head forward and gently felt the area around the stitches.

  'Well, it all looks very clean. It should heal well. Now,' he said, standing up and taking some X-rays out of the large envelope he had been carrying. 'I'm afraid we found something when we X-rayed your head.' He looked at me seriously. 'It's not something I've ever come across before.'

  I suddenly knew the meaning of the expression about your blood running cold. I felt like I had iced water coursing round my veins and without warning, tears began to prick the backs of my eyelids. I took a deep breath, wishing I wasn't alone to hear the news that, undoubtedly, they had found some sort of brain tumour. He held up the X-ray to the light, so I could see it.

  'Look, you have a mobile phone embedded in your brain. No wonder your head hurts,' he smiled.

  There, in glorious monochrome was the clear outline of my phone, which I had hidden under the pillow when the nurse came in to do the X-ray. It appeared to be stuck in my brain. I flushed a deep scarlet. 'I'm, I'm sorry, it's just that…' I stuttered.

  'Don't worry,' he said sliding the X-ray back in the envelope, 'I'm sure you are not the first to smuggle your phone into the clinic and we are all grateful for the laugh you gave us.'

  'Yes, well I seem to be doing rather a lot of that these days.' I gave him a wry smile.

  'Da nah nah nah nah naaaaah!' From nowhere, Tracey oozed around the door, in a mocking imitation of my
9½ Weeks
dance, grinding her hips against the door frame in a classic porn star manner before turning and shimmying her well-endowed chest.

  'Ooops, sorry mate, didn't know there was anyone else in here.' Tracey laughed a deep, sexy laugh that made Dr Ahmadi squirm. He looked as if all his Eid al-Adhas had come true at once. 'No, please, don't stop on my account,' he smiled, half joking.

  She swaggered over to him, swaying her hips suggestively. Dressed in leather shorts, red killer heels and a sprayed-on top, she looked every bit the dominatrix. His look was a mixture of lust and sheer terror.

  'I'm sorry, mate,' she said running a long, red fingernail under his chin as beads of sweat appeared on his brow, 'but I don't do private shows.'

  '
Docteur
Ahmadi!'

  Nurse Po-Face was standing at the door, mouth open in shock. Dr Ahmadi jumped up, grabbing the large envelope with the X-ray, which he held in front of the bulge in his trousers. A brief but fiery exchange in rapid French took place with disgusted looks being thrown in the direction of Tracey and me.

  'Cor, I'd love to know what that frigid old bat's saying,' whispered Tracey into my ear.

  'Actually, for once I'm glad I can't speak the language.'

  After giving the poor doctor a tongue-lashing, Nurse Po-Face turned on her heel and stalked off, no doubt to tell her friends about the loose-moraled English girls and was it any wonder they had the highest teenage pregnancy rate in Europe if this was how they behaved in front of decent, respectable people.

  Sheepishly, Dr Ahmadi turned to us and told me I was free to leave and that he would leave a prescription for painkillers at the nurse's station. Then he left.

  'Do you think I'm being thrown out?' I asked.

  'Ah, who cares? Don't want to stay here any longer, do you?'

  'Well, no, but…'

  'Well nothing, grab your stuff and let's hit the road. I'll be Thelma and you can be Louise.'

  'We don't have to drive off any cliffs though do we? I've had enough adventure for one day.'

I sat on the edge of the pool, swirling the water around with my feet. It was only ten o'clock but I could already feel the heat of the morning sun beating down on my back. I had come home from the hospital over a week ago and there was still no sign of Julien. I flushed with humiliation at the thought of how I'd made a fool of myself in front of him. Just when a bit of alcohol-induced oblivion would be a welcome relief, I found I could remember exactly what I'd done. Even the rocket fuel that Philippe had given me hadn't erased my memory. It would serve me right if Julien never spoke to me again. I'd certainly confirmed any suspicions that he might have had that British women drink far too much. I'd made myself into a tabloid cliché.

  Those bloody 'make a new life abroad' programmes should be banned, I thought. Where did it say that you'd be beaten up by a mad, D-list celebrity, run over a record-breaking cat and hospitalise yourself trying to recreate an iconic Hollywood seduction scene? Come to think of it, where did it say that you wouldn't be able to find a job, the locals would treat you with a profound suspicion and that the average age of the expat population was about a hundred and three?

  Sighing, which I seemed to do an awful lot of lately, I slipped into the pool to start my daily regimen of lengths. The 'croissant-top' that hung over my jeans was in danger of settling in for the long run and, with the hope that some of my glamorous London friends might visit soon, I wanted to swim it into submission. I had built up to forty lengths, which sounded impressive, until you took into account how small the pool was. Three strokes and you were across it.

  The good thing about swimming was that it was fairly mindless. Once I got going, it was just one stroke after another and I could just let my thoughts wander. And invariably they wandered to Julien. He was quite an enigma. Although he was clearly interested, if that kiss was anything to go by, it was as if something was preventing him from having a full-on relationship with me. Certainly Louis didn't seem too happy about it, but mind you, he didn't seem to be too happy about anything.

  I turned over onto my back to do a few more lengths. The sky was so blue it looked Photo-Shopped and there wasn't a cloud to be seen anywhere. I stopped swimming and just floated on my back, arms and legs spread, feeling the warmth of the sun along the length of my body. It was quite sensual and I wished Julien were there, in a bad, wicked way.

  'OK girl, back to the swimming. Enough of your filthy thoughts,' I said out loud, and turning over onto my front, I swam as if I was in an Olympic final, trying to wipe out the mental picture that had been building of me and Julien and…

  'Oh look, it's The Little Mermaid!'

  Tracey's flat estuary vowels broke through my thoughts. It was probably just as well.

  'Ah, Trace, ever the comedian. You should actually try swimming yourself but it would probably wash your fake tan off.'

  'Cheeky bitch. This is me, all me, this lot. None of your spray tans, thanks very much.'

  I swam to the ladder and pulled myself up and out of the water. I hated that moment when you went from almost weightless to very weighty. It was an unwelcome reminder that I was heading towards being twice the woman I used to be.

  'Chuck me a towel would you? There's one on the sun lounger.'

  Tracey threw the towel, hitting me square in the face. 'There you go.'

  'Take my eye out, why don't you?' I smiled.

  'Where's the wine then? Got a nice chilled glass of
rosé
hidden somewhere?'

  'You've got to be kidding. It's not even ten-thirty, you old lush. I'll go and get us some sparkling water.'

  'With a shot of something?'

  'Orange juice if you play your cards right.'

  I dried off my hair then wrapped the towel round myself.

  'Back in a minute, unless you want to come and keep me company in the kitchen.'

  'Fack off, and miss all this sun? I've got a tan to work on. A real one.'

  In the cool of the cottage, I stripped off my bikini and slid a sundress over my head. It was almost too hot for underwear, but taking into account my recent form, I pulled on a pair of cotton knickers. I ran a brush through my hair and twisted it up onto my head, securing it with some hairpins, then went into the kitchen to sort out the drinks. It was shaping up to be a scorcher of a day.

  'Here you go,' I said, putting the tall glass full of ice-cold water down on the little table between the sun loungers.

  'Blimey, it's hot.' Tracey took the glass and pressed it to her forehead. 'What's it going to be like in August, eh?' I took a long gulp of my drink. 'Hey, do you fancy going to the Fourteenth of July
fête
next week? I've heard it's a good night.'

  'Yeah, why not? It's not like I've got anything else planned.' We sat in silence for a while, sipping on our drinks, both deep in thought.

  'So, any news from lover-boy?' asked Tracey, interrupting my thoughts.

  'No. Not a whisper. I think I may have blown my chance there.'

  Tracey was silent for a while.

  'Well, at least you did it in style. God, I'd love to have seen it. It must have been priceless, especially the bit when you knocked yourself out.' Tracey laughed so much she snorted water out of her nose.

  'Thanks. Didn't you have somewhere you needed to be?' I said.

  'Ooooooh, hark at you. Yep, got to go. Things to do, people to see and all that.'

  'Yeah, right. You're about as much of a pariah as I am around here.'

  'Oh for God's sake, stop mooning around and go see him if it bothers you that much.'

  'Oh yeah, marvellous idea. Look what happened last time.'

  'Yeah well, it's up to you; you're a big girl now.' Tracey got up, gathering up her bag and sunglasses.

  'You should keep those on,' I said motioning to her shades. 'You're getting crow's feet.'

  'Bitch,' Tracey smiled

  'Cow.'

  'See you later.' She air-kissed me on both cheeks then headed back next door.

  I lay on the sun lounger clutching my glass, deep in thought about life, the universe and Julien d'Aubeville. Mainly about Julien d'Aubeville. Maybe it was for the best if I'd scared him off. I'd been in France for three months now without the whisper of a job. Well, there had been the one with the newspaper but the less said about that the better. I still dreaded running into poor Mrs Merriman. I'd heard on the grapevine that she had taken the disappearance of Snoopy very badly. I had intended to go over and explain, but every time I got in the car to go and face her, my nerves had failed me.

  If I was being really honest with myself, I was even a little bit bored. All the sunshine and cheap plonk was lovely, but I needed more than that in my life. When I was bogged down with work and celebrities in rainy, cold London, the whole France thing seemed like the answer, but now I was here, I was actually missing it: the impossibility of getting a cab when it was raining, elbowing my way up Oxford Street, alcohol-soaked men falling asleep and dribbling on my shoulder on the last Tube home. I was even missing Zane and his lecherous comments and developing a nostalgic fondness for Shitty Kitty. I looked down at my feet, which seemed to be spreading now I spent my life in flip-flops, saw the chipped nail varnish on my toes, and longed for a new pair of shoes. You could take the girl out of Louboutins but it seemed you couldn't take Louboutins out of the girl.

  Draining the rest of my drink, I took the empty glasses back to the kitchen. As I washed them up, the sight of the arnica cream that Laure had bought round, and which I had forgotten to return, caught my eye. Well, at least that would give me something to do. I put the glasses on the side to drain, picked up the cream and set off for her house at the other end of the hamlet.

  I pushed open the old iron gate and let myself into Martine and Laure's garden. It was a mass of flowers and, on the far side, two raised beds were bursting with summer vegetables. Purple and green lettuces grew in neat lines, and tomatoes in a kaleidoscope of colours tumbled off plants growing up curly metal poles. There were tiny yellow ones, enormous black ones and ruby-red plum-shaped ones. 'You want to try some?' A voice behind me made me jump a little.

  'Oh, hello. Um, thanks, um, they do look lovely,' I said, turning to face Martine who was a vision in a pink nylon housecoat set off with lime-green rubber clogs. As usual, a couple of hens were following behind her. 'I have more than I can eat so I would be happy for you to take some.'

  'Thanks, that would be really nice. I've just bought back the arnica cream that Laure brought round. I'm sorry it's taken me so long… wait a minute, you're speaking English.'

  She smiled warmly at me. 'Yes, I can speak it a little,' she said, taking the tube of cream from me. 'I'm very rusty but I manage.'

  'More than a little from the sound of it. Where did you learn?'