Page 25 of Love Will Save the Day
Chapter Seventeen
Ugh. I appear to have woken up with a full on cold. Snotty nose, watery eyes, sore throat and sneezes – the works. Nooooo. Stupid snow angel boomerang session. I have a fully booked day of clients today too! I hate to let them down, but it would be totally unprofessional to turn up to their houses sputtering my germs all over them while they do their squats. Also, I can barely lift my aching head up from the pillow.
Groaning, I sit up in the bed and feel grateful once again that I’m in this lovely room, in a lovely house. Being sick at my old studio without any heating, with the mice judging me for using toilet roll to blow my nose. I shudder at the thought. I pick up my phone and with a great deal of effort and a million apologies, I call up each of the clients I have booked in over the next few days, letting them know that we’ll have to re-arrange on account of my snotfest. Most of them are understanding and wish me well although a couple who were booked in for this afternoon are pissed off at the short notice and tell me so, which I totally get. I offer them each two free sessions to make up for the lack of a heads up and that seems to smooth things over.
After a long and very hot shower, I wrap my head in a towel and my body in a dressing gown and head down stairs to make myself a hot drink. My teeth chatter and my hands tremble as I do so. Ugh, I feel utterly rubbish. Downstairs Henry is dressed to go out in his cashmere coat and sipping an espresso. He looks the picture of health even though he was actually lying in the snow last night rather than just standing there taking endless boomerangs.
He goggles at me, a panicked look on his face. ‘Oh my goodness. What’s wrong? Are you alright?’
Do I look that unwell? Eek. ‘I think I have a cold,’ I say, holding a tissue up to my nose. ‘A couple of days of rest should fix it. I don’t get unwell a lot so I’m sure it won’t last long.’
‘You poor thing! What are you doing out of bed?’
‘I wanted a warm drink,’ I say, ‘and some painkillers.’
I sort of expect Henry to rush me up back to the bedroom with the offer of making me a warm drink and finding some painkillers for me, but instead he sort of backs away from me as if I am a zombie. Ooh. Maybe this is the thing that will get him to stop fancying me? I groan and push my hair back from my head. ‘There is just endless snot.’ I say in a pitiful voice. Henry takes another step backwards and does a slight heave which he tries to disguise because he is so polite. ‘I can sometimes taste it in my throat.’
‘I… I have a meeting I have to get to… With my manager,’ he says, skirting around the edge of the room towards the door. ‘Take care, Bess. Best wishes!’ And without another look back he’s left the house.
‘No attempt to kiss me today, Henry?’ I say to myself as I put the kettle on. We’re making progress. Pretty soon he’ll be over me and, when he finds out about my lie, his heart will be protected.
I’m sitting in the bed and watching YouTube videos about people having transformations of mind, body and spirit through the power of personal training. Their stories are touching and I find myself weeping with joy at the happy pride on the faces of these people who are becoming the best they can be. And then I feel sadness that I have to be stuck here in bed instead of out in the world doing what I do best. I’m not much of a crier, but I reckon the copious amounts of Day Nurse, is making me a little more sensitive than usual.
There’s a gentle knock on the bedroom door. Has Henry returned early? I prepare to do an extra loud sniff.
‘Come in!’ I call out, my voice croaky and snuffled.
The door swings open and Auguste steps in tentatively. He’s holding two steaming mugs.
‘Henry messaged me and said you are very sick. May I sit?’ Auguste asks, nodding towards the end of my bed, seemingly calm in the face of my spluttering and sneezing.
‘Are you sure you want to get so close?’ I say with a grimace.
‘Oh, I have an excellent immune system,’ Auguste tells me a proud lift in his chin. ‘I am stronger than a cow.’
‘As strong as an ox?’
‘What?’
I shake my head, giggling a little. ‘Nothing.’
Auguste hands me one of the mugs. ‘This is what Mama always gave me when I was sick as a child.’
I take a futile sniff of the golden liquid in the mug. ‘What is it? My sense of smell has vacated the premises.’
‘It is chicken soup with spice. All of the spices. It is probably a good job you cannot taste it. It is not the most delicate of flavourings, but the heat will clear your nose and make you furiously perspire.’
My eyes widen. I’m not sure I want to furiously perspire.
‘It will help, trust me,’ Auguste urges.
‘Thank you,’ I say taking a sip of the broth, my eyes immediately watering as the spice hits me. I cannot taste the flavour of it, but my tongue is well aware of the heat. My cheeks flush. ‘Wow. Thatisspicy! Thank you. You didn’t have to.’
‘I know this. I am just being your friend.’
Auguste takes a sip of his hot drink which I’m guessing is not the same brutally spicy soup he has given me.
‘You’re my friend?’ I smile, before quickly pressing a tissue on my nose to muffle a mighty sneeze.
