Ben
I phoned the vet and the receptionist said I could take the cat + kittens to the rescue place. But I don’t like to move them. They might be upset. There are two tabbies and a black one. I’ve called the mum Mrs Fluffy. The kittens are Buster (Keaton) Buzz (Lightyear) and Darth (Vader). Fluffy doesn’t seem to like cat food, so I gave her some chicken I found in the freezer. And one of the old cot blankets I found in the airing cupboard in case they get cold. *sad face emoji*
Me
You’re getting a bit attached aren’t you? I warned you not to.
Anna has entered us for a karaoke competition.
Ben
*smiley face emoji* Hilarious.
Aha! So Ben could deal with things without my interference after all, that was a very positive sign.
* * *
I’d done a lot of traipsing about over the last few days, and annoyingly I had forgotten to bring my Fitbit, otherwise I was sure it would have buzzed approvingly at my daily step count.
I would have liked that, I thought regretfully. It would almost have been like a little reward for it, for the many days when it had shyly flashed a little light to suggest I should move more or reminded me of what I could be doing rather than sitting on the sofa watching repeats ofThe Repair Shop.
On at least two occasions recently, when I had been reaching for the biscuit tin, it had buzzed on my wrist and reminded me I still needed over four thousand steps to reach my daily target. It was as though there was a tiny human inside it with a camera, watching me, shaking its head and criticising. Just holding its breath, waiting for me to put some salt and vinegar crisps in my trolley at the supermarket, or fire some squirty cream into my mouth by the open fridge door, which had been known.
On one occasion I had actually apologised to my Fitbit for my slothful ways, but after the squirty cream incident I had shouted ‘Mind your own damn business’ at it. Perhaps that was why I had left it behind.
Outside, the early evening air was warm and the noise from the alley below a muted hum of people wandering about, occasionally laughing and generally having a pleasant time. We would be joining them soon, to go out for another evening eating unfamiliar food and drinking local wine.
I gave a huge sigh, and having tried and failed to remember the words to ‘I Will Survive’, I was asleep in minutes.
* * *
The following day, Harriet woke up with a painful and swollen knee. It was obvious that there was no way she could be out and about again, wandering around the streets and clocking up the miles as we had done over the last few days.
‘I did tell you,’ she said, understandably grumpy. ‘I’m okay usually, but I think we have overdone it this week. I need a day’s holiday from this holiday.’
She had taken the last of her anti-inflammatories, put on one of her support bandages and taken painkillers, and having hobbled down to breakfast, she made it perfectly clear that she intended having a day of rest. The problem was we had to leave our rooms by midday, and our new room at Hôtel Mer Bleue wouldn’t be available until four o’clock.
We lingered as long as possible over breakfast, but even we couldn’t spin it out more than a couple of hours. Then after a slow walk along the alley and past a church and a few tourist shops selling luminous sweets and numerous sorts of nougat, we had to go back to our rooms and pack our bags.
Following more complaints from Harriet about her sore knee, Anna volunteered rather eagerly to go back out to find apharmacie, to discover what potions, creams and rubs they might have to ease the situation. She returned after an hour with several shopping bags full of things. Perhaps I should have gone with her instead of just giving her a phrase book.
She had bought a tube of something that smelled like a gym changing room, so in a way that was positive, but also some aloe vera moisturiser which she said she would use if Harriet didn’t want it, a tub of children’s vapour rub and some anti-inflammatories which were so massive that Harriet doubted any human could ever swallow them and asked if they were they meant for horses.
I read the leaflet and explained that the French sometimes like to take their medication by an alternative route rather than just swallowing them. We stared at the capsules in wonder for a while, and then Anna did a vague explanatory pantomime at which point Harriet voiced a full-on refusal to contemplate such a procedure. There was also a tube of haemorrhoid cream. Neither Harriet nor I could understand why on earth Anna had bought it, and neither could she.
‘I thought it was something like Voltarol. The tube looks the same. And it was in the bargain basket, 50 per cent off. But I’ve heard it’s supposed to be very good for wrinkles,’ she said at last.
‘I bow to your superior wisdom,’ Harriet said, ‘butt face.’
Anna looked annoyed. ‘I was only trying to help, and the pharmacist spoke so quickly I didn’t really understand what she was saying. I did my best.’
‘I think this one expired three months ago,’ I said, reading the end of the tube in question.
‘Gosh, I wonder what would happen if anyone used it? Anywhere?’ Harriet wondered.
‘It doesn’t bear thinking about,’ I said, dropping it into the wastepaper bin. ‘Let’s not risk it.’
Eventually we strapped up Harriet’s knee and made her comfortable in a chair in the reception hall, while we finished clearing our rooms and brought all our luggage downstairs. By then it was nearly midday.
