She’d managed a rudimentary wash in what passed for an upstairs bathroom last night. The water had been cold and slightly rust-coloured, but she’d quickly flicked herself over with a flannel, trying not to think of the hot shower and fluffy towels that were waiting in Chloé’s perfect bed and breakfast. ‘I ’ave not so many bookings this year…’ her new friend had shrugged when Lily had told her she planned to move into the house early ‘so if you want to come back, it is possible, yes?’
‘Oh, thank you,’ she’d said, quite positive that she wouldn’t need to take Chloé up on her offer.
Now she wasn’t so sure.
Her phone, plugged in to a two-pin socket courtesy of her one and only travel plug, showed a message and she opened it up with a smile.
House looks cool. Miss you. Ty.
It was short but, by his teenage standards, heartfelt.
Come and visit whenever you can!
She replied.
There was no message from Ben, although she could see from the blue tick next to her photo that he’d seen the picture she’d sent.
Dropping her phone on the mattress, she pulled on her jeans and a T-shirt, socks and shoes and walked down to the dusty kitchen. The box with some of her provisions was on the counter – packing it away into cupboards peppered with ancient mouse droppings had not seemed like a good idea – and she poured some cornflakes and milk into the cereal bowl she’d bought, which still had a stubborn label on the underside. Leaning against the counter and looking out at the ragged mess of the back garden – still somehow beautiful in the morning sunlight – she resolved that while today she’d crunch down this British breakfast on the go, by tomorrow she’d have located the boulangerie and would go all out on crusty pain, croissants and bitter black café.
Suddenly, some movement in the long grass caught her eye, perhaps a cat was stalking through the garden, or a large bird was flapping its wings amongst the stray branches? She put down her bowl and stood on tiptoe at the window, looking out, but could see nothing except the endless green overgrowth stretching away.
When the back door creaked, she let out an involuntary cry. Had she left it off the catch last night? She watched, frozen to the spot, as it continued to groan, praying it was a stray cat rather than a feral Frenchman intent on robbery. Not that there was anything to rob, she thought, desperately. Unless he had a particular penchant for cornflakes.
To her relief, in what seemed like minutes but was probably only seconds, the door opened enough for her to see the reason for the creaking. A small woman was standing there, holding what appeared to be a plastic bag.
‘Bonjour!’ said the woman, stepping past her as if walking into a stranger’s kitchen was completely normal.
‘Bonjour,’ Lily replied, desperately trying to find the words, Who the feck are you and what are you doing in my house? in French, but finding she was unable to locate them in her brain. Instead she went for an unsatisfying: ‘Comment vous appelez-vous?’ What are you called?
‘Bonjour,’ the woman said again, ‘je suis votre voisin, ’ermione.’
Her neighbour. Lily knew there was a woman living next door, but hadn’t glimpsed her so far. She tried desperately to think of something to say. ‘Ah! Une belle nom. Comme Harry Potter!’ she said, at last.
The woman looked confused. ‘C’est ’er-mion-e,’ she said slowly.
‘Oui, Hermione, you know – like from le Harry Potter?’ Lily said. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ she continued, doing her best Hermione impression. ‘Um… expellimarus! Um… J.K. Rowling…’ She trailed off.
The woman regarded her with a confused stare. ‘Je ne comprends pas, Madame,’ she said, sadly. Her hair was short and tousled and a big, army-green wax jacket enveloped a body that could have been any size under its enormous folds.
‘Désolé,’ said Lily, feeling like a complete idiot. ‘Je m’appelle Lily.’
The woman nodded; her face serious.
‘Je suis anglaise,’ Lily felt the need to add, with an apologetic grimace. I am English; sorry about that.
‘Oui, oui,’ the woman replied without smiling, stepping unceremoniously across her kitchen in wellies that were almost certainly covered with chicken poo. ‘J’ai un petit cadeau pour vous!’ She finally smiled, revealing a set of coffee-stained teeth. She held the plastic bag, bulging with something, up as proof.
‘A present?’ Lily said. ‘Oh, thank you!’