‘Yeah. We definitely need a good night’s sleep because tomorrow the partying in Monaco begins,’ says Soraya.
‘Night night, my loves. Sweet dreams,’ says Carol.
I sink into my gloriously comfortable, ornately carved bed, which has just had a change of sheets thanks to a pile of folded up laundry we found in the utility room.
Ah, this is the life, I think. If I don’t have inspiration for a story after being here, then I never will.
I close my eyes and think about all the things we will be doing over the next few days. I feel like a kid in a sweet shop. Will we bump into movie stars? Could I really run into a publisher or literary agent? With the thought of all the potential possibilities running through my mind, not to mention the sunbathing, cocktails and fun with Soraya and Carol, it takes me forever to get to sleep. Although I am pretty sure that by the time I drift off, I have a huge grin on my face.
Chapter Five
Waking up dehydrated, I search for my water bottle to find there is only the teeniest drop left. I hold the bottle over my tongue and shake it for any drip I can get out of it. I really need tea this second.
Even though Soraya promised she would be first up, I tiptoe into the living room in case anyone is still sleeping, and I wake them with my banging about. However, there is no sign of either of them. For a moment, I wonder if perhaps Soraya has already gone to the supermarket, but I notice her handbag is in exactly the same place as she left it last night. There doesn’t appear to be any movement from either her or Carol.
In case I am mistaken, I open the fridge door with a glimmer of hope. I keep my fingers crossed that a pint of semi-skimmed milk has miraculously appeared on a shelf overnight. Alas, just as I had feared, the fridge is as empty as the last time I looked.
I don’t want to wait any longer for Soraya to get up, whenever that might be, so decide to get some milk myself. Quickly brushing through my hair and throwing on the first loose-fitting summer dress that I find in my suitcase, I grab the front door key from the console by the door and rush out.
The sun is already shining brightly, and I squint my eyes as I realise in my haste to get milk that I forgot to grab my sunglasses. I also realise that while people dash to the supermarket back home wearing whatever is closest to hand, here, everyone is super elegant. Their outfits look as though they were planned months in advance, although I suspect this isn’t true and they just happen to be casually put together at this early hour. How they can look this amazing before nine a.m. beats me. Whatever it is, I wish I knew their secret.
Ladies walk past me showing off their teeny waists in white jeans, with Chanel loafers finishing off the look. I almost want to curl up and hide myself. At least now I know I need to make more of an effort when I come back out later. I knew it would be glamorous here, but this place istrop chic. I stop for a moment as I see a shop selling designer clothes for dogs. The contrast between this and the pet food store I worked in is quite astonishing. We used to have a special food bank area for pet owners who struggled to afford food. I can’t imagine how much the navy and white sailor suit costume, complete with its coordinating hat, must cost. It seems it isn’t only the humans who lead an affluent life here. When I die, I want to come back as a pet in this place. I’m pretty sure they have a much better wardrobe than mine if this store is anything to go by.
Since I am dressed less stylishly than the local pet population, I try to stay invisible, keeping my head down as I continue my search for the nearest supermarket. I never look my best before three cuppas as it is, let alone somewhere so glam.
Finally, something resembling a corner store comes into view. A posh one, though, of course. I make a note of my surroundings so that I can remember where I am and so that we can all come down together later and fill the fridge properly. I am quite partial to French cheese and that is definitely on the shopping list for later. For now, though, milk is my priority.
Walking through the automatic door feels like a mirage in a desert at this point. I am so in need of caffeine. By the time I get to the milk fridge, I could hug it. Looking at the labels, I realise I have no idea which is semi-skimmed, but, at this point, I will take anything, even the organic, skimmed milk of a camel that has been crossed with a llama. Fortunately, though, I do find something that has a picture of a cow on it and head in the direction of the till. With the milk in my hand, I end up making a detour and look for a basket to hold everything since I get carried away when I spot some huge croissants that the girls will appreciate. I also throw in a family-sized bar of chocolate for us to share later. Finally, I pick up a small bottle of water on the way to the cashier to keep me going until I get back to the apartment and get the kettle on.
I notice a distinguished-looking man in navy shorts and a smart polo T-shirt who reaches the till at the same time as me. I am grateful that he politely lets me go ahead of him. I assume he’s a local, coming in for his freshly baked morning baguette and has all morning to kill before taking his spaniel for a walk.
When my items are rung through, I could kiss the cashier with relief. I finally have my milk. But then she tells me how much I owe, and I realise that it wasn’t only my sunglasses I forgot back at the apartment.
‘Fifteen euro, s’il vous plait.’
I feel in the baggy pockets of my sundress in the hope that I have a twenty euro note in there, but I know what the answer is.
‘Oh my, I’ve… umm… forgotten my purse. Oh no, I’ve never done anything like this before.’
I hear someone tutting and assume it’s the man behind me. Now I feel terrible that he let me go ahead. The cashier repeats the price, not listening to a word I have said. I feel my skin flush as a whole queue of annoyed people stare at me.
‘Look, I’ll put the basket back. But is there any chance I can take the milk and bring the money later?’ Stupid question, but I know Mavis in the Londis around the corner from me would always feel sorry for someone who had left their purse at home.
The thought of walking back up the hill to the apartment block empty-handed is too much to bear. Soraya and Carol will be wanting their cuppa too. It’s already getting hot out there and I am getting more and more dehydrated. However, the lady’s face says it all. There is no getting around her. This is not a local corner store in Wales.
‘You have no money, then put back.’
‘Oh, no, I’m so desperate for a cuppa.’
I have no choice but to pick up the items and turn around, until the man behind me speaks.
‘Put ’em back down. I’ll pay. We can’t have a Brit not having her morning cuppa, now, can we?’
His broad Manchester accent is such a welcome sound and I quickly realise that he is definitely not French.
‘I promise to pay you back,’ I smile.
‘Don’t worry about it. My treat, mate. Just pay it forward and do a good deed for someone else one day.’
