her phone and found first that she had no messages and second that she had no signal at all; not a single bar.
“Perhaps that's for the best,” she thought. “It's another crutch that I don't need any more. What I do need is a glass of wine.”
The kindly landlord had lightly-stocked the refrigerator and had included a tasteful-looking bottle of white wine. No matter that it was still morning; she poured herself a glass and went out to sit on the swinging chair that she had spied at the bottom of the garden.
“Disgraceful behaviour,” she laughed.
Her nearest neighbour was a couple of minutes away in the modest house at the end of 'her' drive. She'd glimpsed it in the dark last night as she'd arrived in the taxi, but she could not see it from the cottage. In fact, turning in a circle, she was unable to see any other house within fifty metres. In London, she'd been surrounded by people, upstairs, downstairs and either side. Even in Mark's luxury apartment, she could hear their neighbours talking, laughing, arguing, making love: all things that she and Mark never did anymore.
“No more of that,” she said.
Here, she was surrounded by fields and trees. It was heaven.
She found that the grassy floor was uneven and so she downed her wine in one go to avoid the risk of spilling it.
“Oops,” she said.
The sun played hide and seek with the clouds. Each time Charlotte thought she might retreat indoors, the sun appeared again and blazed glorious light and heat down on her, warming her arms and legs. Her skin was already dark enough that she didn't normally use suntan lotion, but she thought that in the coming days it might be wise to invest in a bottle. Or two. Maybe, with a little effort, she'd find some handsome, young village boy to rub it into her back as well.
The thought was fleeting, but warming. She didn't want a relationship - she'd only just come out of one, was still coming out of one - but a distraction might have been nice. Someone to touch and to touch her. It had been a long time since she'd felt that. It would have been nice to have someone with whom to share the light, and the dark.
The only downside to her morning, the only true interruption to her peace, was her inability to stop herself checking her mobile phone.
Why hadn't Mark contacted her? Didn't he even care? It's no good escaping if the person you escape doesn't realise you left.
Dejected, she decided that the only way to break the loop was to force herself inside and to make one of two dreaded phone calls – soon as she gets a mobile signal, that is.
~~~
“Hi mum,” she said.
“You arrived safely then?” her mother said. Charlotte could tell that her eyebrows were arched. She hated it when she did that. “I was worried about you.”
“Yeah, I'm fine,” Charlotte said, wanting to cut to the chase, but her mother began asking about the cottage and the flight and whether or not she had money for food. “I'm fine, mum,” she said. “Really. I am. Have you heard from Mark?”
“Of course,” her mother said. “You?”
“No,” said Charlotte.
“He's obviously too upset to talk to you,” his mother told her. “He said that he sent you an email.”
“An email!?” Charlotte yelled.
“Well, you did leave him a note,” her mother said, siding with him as usual. “Mark tells me that you wrote it on the back of a shopping list!”