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“Nah, go to Eileen’s, get what you need on account. We’ll pay her Friday.”
“What happens Friday?”
He waves my question away, and I don’t push it. But I have no intention of relying on whatever money he might get on Friday. I stuff my wallet into my coat pocket, making sure he doesn’t see, and give him a quick kiss on his cheek before setting out.
After the musty, smoky house, the fresh air is so clean, it’s pure crystal. A light breeze strokes my skin like a gentle hand. God, how I’ve missed the smells of La Canette. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, pure clear air with a faint smell of cedar, a soft smell of grass and the even more distant smell of the sea. I walk with my eyes closed like I used to when I was little, feeling my way by the air on my skin, in my nose, the winter sunlight on my right cheek.
My feet slide suddenly, and I open my eyes.
Wet slippery mud around a puddle of rainwater. Quickly, I jump backwards and collide with someone.
“Careful—” a male voice calls out, and I turn in time to see a man knocked sideways towards the same large puddle. In the way disasters always unfold in slow motion, I watch helplessly as his feet scrabble for purchase, slide from under him, flinging him backwards to land on his back in the puddle.
A duty-free bag full of papers flies from his hand and lands hard on the lane. It’s one of those rope-handled recycled paper bags, it splits open, and the contents spill out not on the dry stone but in the puddle. Papers, files, and a milk carton, all slowly sink.
“Shit. I’m so sorry.” Far too late, I offer him a hand to help him up. His clothes stream with dirty water. “Shit, I’m really sorry.”
He tries to shake the worst of the mud off his coat and a mobile phone slides out of his pocket and falls into the water.
“Shit.”
“So, you keep saying.” He almost smiles. “I think we can both agree this is a shitty situation.”
He plunges a hand into the icy water, and I see him flinch at the cold, but he continues to rummage around until he finally brings out a muddy iPhone. He shakes it a bit and water leaks from the plastic case.
“I really am sorry. I’ll pay—”
“It’s not your fault, it’s just an accident. And it might not have happened if I’d been looking where I was walking.
“Why weren’t you looking?”
His face twists with wry embarrassment. “I had my eyes closed for a minute.”
“To smell the cold air?” The words come out of my mouth before I have a chance to inspect them for signs of lunacy.
Fortunately, the man doesn’t seem to have noticed; he shrugs off his coat and shakes the worst of the water off it while I try to collect his papers. Together we manage to rescue almost everything, and he piles it into the bag. He has to hold the split side to stop everything spilling out again, then tucks it under his arm.
If this were a movie, he would now remove his wet shirt and reveal a tall dark and sexy figure.
When he eventually stands up, he is not dark, but definitely tall and… I think handsome, beneath the mud. He takes off his glasses and tries to wipe them on his shirt. “So, why were you smelling the cold air?”
Rats!
“Not quite smelling it…” I search for an intelligent explanation, “It’s just the air is – I mean it’s a different kind of cold, like…glass.”
His eyes narrow at me, so I hurry to explain. “I mean it’s very clear, and sharp, and light.”
“Like glass…” he says closing his eyes and taking a couple of experimental sniffs.
“Clear.” He says.
I can’t help smiling that he gets it. “And a bit green.”
Now this definitely makes me sound insane.
His eyes open and focus on me. Yes, he thinks I’m crazy. “Just the …” I wave at the trees.
“You can smell colours?” A small smile tugs the corner of his mouth.
