the village and sit in my garden.
My neck and hands start to sting with a burning rash from where I’ve come into contact with the hedge and ground. Great, now even my garden hates me. I stare at Peanut, willing her to come back.
Either her telepathic skills aren’t working, or she’s ignoring me. Instead it’s Leo who reads my thoughts, and he stalks over to the dogs and deftly picks up Peanut. I expect her to protest, as she’s not keen on strangers as a rule and is especially suspicious of men.
Sensible dog.
Yet she looks up at him in adoration.
Not her, too!
“Your dog?” He hands her to me.
There’s a supercilious tone to his words that riles me. I press my lips together and nod over to the giant dog.
“Your wolf-dog?” I raise my own eyebrow, mirroring him, anger flaring inside me.
“Maxi won’t eat your dogs, you needn’t worry.” Leo shrugs as though my concerns are unreasonable, but his lips tighten.
That shrug winds me up a little tighter. I’m dimly aware the flare of anger has very little to do with Leo, but regardless I can’t control it.
“He knocked on my doors this morning, really early.” My tone is shrill and far more accusatory than I planned, as though the words gathered up anger on route from my brain to my lips.
I’m aware what I’m saying sounds absurd. Accusing my neighbour’s dog of giving me an unscheduled wake-up call isn’t how I planned to get to know the villagers. I don’t know whether to expect disbelief or derision.
What I don’t expect is for the shutters to come down on Leo’s expression as though I’ve slapped him.
“The house should never have been sold to you,” he says coldly. “It was a mistake.”
“A mistake? What on earth do you mean?” Anger and confusion fight inside me for supremacy.
“A mistake I plan to … reverse,” Leo snaps.
Then he turns abruptly on his heel and stalks off, whistling for Maxi to follow. Of course, Maxi obeys instantly.
My jaw tightens. I am irritated, but I really didn’t plan on being quite so … confrontational. Maybe I should’ve explained that I’ve only had an hour’s sleep and that Maxi had scared me half to death this morning. Somehow, I’m not sure it would’ve made any difference.
I try to stop grinding my teeth as I head inside to set up a makeshift indoor studio in one of the reception rooms, and then I remember. Aperitifs tonight at the chateau. Will Leo be there?
I bite my lip, feeling … odd.
This is so not how I expected my first days in France to go. Monsieur and Madame Dubois have been nice to me, yes. And Sophie. But nothing else is going right.
My skin burns where the rash is spreading. I go of in search of an anti-histamine.
Maybe I’ll ease myself into work with a blogpost.
Daydream Designs – Poppy’s Blog
Update –
Okay, so, it’s time to give you an update about what’s happening with my French adventure. I’m here (yay) along with the muttsters, but so far the only belongings I’ve got with me are what I could fit in the Mini. The garden is beautiful. Not to make you jealous or anything, but I’ve been having breakfast out in the sun and sketching. Just like I always imagined I would. :-)
I suppose I’d better stop enjoying myself and get on with some actual paying work.
I hope you enjoy my journal sketches of the dogs exploring the garden. They’ve been chasing each other around in mad happy circles, so I’m taking that as a good sign we’ve done the right thing.
So, I haven’t said anything about Pete not being here, but … there is still time for him to change his mind, right? How stupid would I look if I said that he’d left and then have to tell people he’s back again? It’s just easier this way. Not to mention much less embarrassing. There’s only so much humiliation I can take in one day.
I can’t shake the question pushing at the back of my mind as to whether I really want Pete to change his mind though. How could I ever trust someone who stitched me up and dumped me by text while I was hundreds of miles away?
I pluck a leaf from my hoodie and sigh, picturing the quirk of Leo’s lips. Honestly, if I’m going to have a rebound crush, why couldn’t my body have chosen someone who actually seems to like me? Someone like Jacques? God no. Thinking about his hand on my bra strap makes my skin crawl.
But why did my body pick someone who really doesn’t seem to want me here? It’s like I’m just asking for more humiliation. I push the confusion to the back of my mind and try to settle down to work. Try being the key word.
The sunshine draws me back outside later. I take my work out into the garden and set up on the wrought iron table. Despite the glorious sunshine and cloudless blue sky, I can’t focus. Normally I have no problem losing myself in my work. To anyone non-creative, I find it hard to explain the feeling of being swept up in a creative flow that brings peace and satisfaction.
But now I’m antsy. And it’s not because of the burning rash or any stray insects crawling beneath my clothes after the hedge-gate incident. The crawly sensation was so strong earlier I actually had a shower and washed my hair. So I can only come to the conclusion that it’s psychological antsy-ness.
I’m still unsettled by my interaction with Leo earlier; disproportionately so. I keep replaying it in my mind. Keep imagining … well, things I shouldn’t.
I’d love to write Leo off as a grumpy sod, not worth bothering with, but it seems I can’t. I so wanted to get on with my new neighbours. I didn’t really have a naïve fantasy that rural life would be picture postcard perfect, but I like to think I’m a reasonably nice person. To have fallen out with someone so quickly, someone I’d really like to get on with, is really gutting.
Some of the discomfort is caused by guilt. Leo is probably worried about his father, and I was pretty grumpy this morning too. After a night of virtually no sleep, Leo bore the full brunt of my misdirected anger.
But the anger compass is well and truly pointing towards Pete right now. Especially since I’ve discovered he seems to have blocked my number. I gave in and tried ringing a number of times, needing to talk it out. The first three times I got voicemail, but now I’m getting nothing at all.
I tear up the sketch in front of me. It’s not quite right. Not good enough. I catch a flash of small dog in my peripheral vision and look up. Peanut and Treacle are engaging in a bout of chihuahua wrestling, one of their favourite occupations if they’re not playing chase with Pickwick.
Sensing my attention on her, Peanut takes Treacle’s leg out of her mouth and comes bounding happily over. Tail wagging, she leaps effortlessly up onto my lap and lands a lick on my nose.
“This
