The Mini-Break. Maddie Please

this point she was certainly not lying on the sofa being creative and taking inspiration from the glorious countryside outside our windows. And she had been forcibly reminded that while I am a fun companion and have a certain amount of superficial medical knowledge gleaned from my foray into hospital romances, I’m a rubbish nurse. The idea that we might go home was beginning to appeal to both of us.

      I pulled out my mobile and waved it at her.

      ‘The house phone doesn’t work and there’s no phone signal, remember?’ I said.

      Jassy whimpered under her blanket. ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Positive. I even went to the top of the mountain yesterday to check, not even one bar of reception at the moment.’

      Thinking more clearly, it wasn’t a mountain, more of a hill. But you see I wasn’t used to that either. Where I lived was all lifts, escalators and flat pavements.

      ‘What are we going to do?’

      ‘I could go for help?’ I said doubtfully.

      I looked out of the window at the dark afternoon and the rain lashing against the windows. There was a sudden ghostly howling noise in the hallway and Jassy hid her face in her hands.

      ‘What the hell was that?’ she whimpered at last. ‘Go and look. Quick!’

      Great. So now not only was I driver, cook, nurse and bottle washer but also Security apparently. I didn’t want to go out onto the cold, flagstoned hall any more than Jassy did, but as I hesitated she rubbed her injured knee and gave me a pitiful look.

      I wrapped my throw more tightly around my shoulders, picked up the nearest solid object for protection and peered out into the hallway.

      ‘I’ve got a gun,’ I shouted bravely and waved my weapon above my head. I swiftly realised the wind must have changed direction and it was now wailing through the letterbox. Which was just as well because I wouldn’t do much damage to an intruder with a Limoges ceramic banana.

      After Jassy stopped howling with laughter we had a quick discussion about what would be the best thing to do and I stuffed the letterbox with a tea towel. It wasn’t as though we were going to be receiving any post, was it?

      ‘While you’re out there, can you bring another bottle of wine?’ Jassy shouted from her cosy nest on the sofa. Somehow she managed to sound imperious and feeble at the same time.

      *

      Two days later I was progressing quite well with my latest novel, but Jassy was moaning that working with a pen and paper was akin to medieval torture and we were down to our last six bottles of wine. Okay, we still had some gin and some weird green liqueur. We’d bought it in France years ago because it had a rather suggestive-shaped bottle, but we’d never opened it. At this rate we would have to. I bet it was horrible too; one of those really sweet, yucky drinks that needs to be camouflaged with five other ingredients to make a cocktail with a stupid name that is embarrassing to order. Like Big Dick or A Bonk Please.

      I was looking out of the window at the rain, wondering if my latest heroine would be better off a tragic widow rather than a dumped bride. I kept changing my mind. I wondered what Benedict was doing and how he was coping without me. I bet he hadn’t remembered to put the recycling out.

      It was so incredibly quiet that I think we could have heard our hair growing if Jassy had turned the radio off.

      I heard his tractor coming up the lane a long time before I saw him. I sat up in my chair, like a dog hearing the rattle of a biscuit tin and, realising what it was, I made a dash for the door.

      I stood in the middle of the lane, waving my arms above my head, almost weeping with relief at the thought of speaking to someone other than Jassy.

      He slowed to a muddy halt, opened the tractor door and shouted down from the height of his seat.

      ‘Are you okay?’

      ‘Yes, yes, no actually,’ I gabbled. It was still raining and in seconds my newly washed hair was plastered to my head, not an attractive look and he – the tractor person – was rather eye-catching.

      ‘Do you need help?’ he said, and he climbed down from his cab. My first close-up view was of his Hunter wellington boots, which were reassuringly large.

      Did I need help? Well yes I did. He looked a capable sort too, and very tall, at least six feet four I would guess, and wrapped up in a big waxed jacket. He was rather broad, with bright blue eyes in a tanned face, actually quite yummy under different circumstances.

      ‘Yes,’ I shouted, ‘yes I do!’ By now I was so excited I was hopping from foot to foot.

      ‘Well?’ He raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to go on.

      ‘Have you got a charging cable for a MacBook Air?’

      He looked puzzled.

      ‘A what?’

      ‘It’s my sister. Jassy. Her laptop has run out of charge and she’s forgotten …’

      My voice tailed off as I realised the idiocy of my question. Of course he didn’t have a bloody charging cable for my sister’s laptop. I’d be surprised if he’d ever heard of a MacBook Air or broadband or electricity for that matter.

      He grinned at me, a big sort of Olympic-standard grin that would have been lovely if it hadn’t been directed towards my daftness.

      ‘Have you tried putting a new elastic band in it?’ he said.

      I stopped to process this idea with my mouth open and then realised he was almost laughing at me.

      ‘No, but thank you for the suggestion,’ I said with more than a touch of acidity, wiping the rain out of my eyes. This was perhaps a mistake as I had been messing about with flicky eyeliner that morning; anything to postpone the evil hour when I would have to get on with some writing.

      ‘Well, have you considered putting some shoes on?’ he said.

      We both looked down at my feet, which were encased in blue cashmere socks and mud. I’d been so keen to dash out and stop him I’d forgotten about putting on wellingtons.

      ‘I came over because my mother said she saw lights on the other day. Wanted to make sure there weren’t squatters or burglars. You’re not from round here are you?’ he said, and now he really was laughing.

      ‘No, I’m not,’ I said, almost tearful. ‘I’m from a place with proper roads and shops and phone reception. I need to somehow get in touch with a garage or the AA so they can fix my flat tyre and my sister and I can get back home!’

      ‘Got a puncture, have you?’ he said.

       No, I just let the air out of my tyre for the fun of it.

      I took a deep breath. ‘Yes, I have.’

       It’s the only thing keeping me here in this bloody place.

      ‘Well, perhaps I could help?’ he said.

      ‘What? What? Really?’ I spluttered, my heart lifting.

      ‘Have you got a spare tyre?’

      I had no idea. How should I know?

      Surely they had to give you a spare tyre when you bought a car? Wasn’t it the law? But if he wanted to know where it was I was scuppered. I’d only had the car for three months. I didn’t actually know how to open the bonnet either.

      ‘Of course,’ I said at last, in a confident voice.

      The rain was now lashing down and my feet were frozen. It was getting dark too, which made the whole thing even more depressing.

      ‘I’ll pop back then,’ he said and he climbed back into his tractor.

      He started up the engine with a throaty roar, turned round in a nearby gateway and drove back the way he had come, leaving