She had to go out shopping, stupid things like dishwasher tabs, tissues and loo-paper but on to better things like pink or white wine. The beer reserve was fine. But then……
Since she lived on her own in an isolated place – trees her only friends and neighbours within shouting distance – she was careful about locking up when leaving the house.
The Son-in-Law (best one EVER) had kindly put bolts on the inside of the front door because she had learned that, even if locked on the inside, it could be unlocked from the outside.
So she was careful to put the bolts on before going to bed. But, after bolting the front door, for going shopping she had to use another door that gave on to the outside, either the kitchen door into the conservatory or the sitting room door that led to the terrace.
The kitchen door key was a bit cumbersome but the key could be cleverly left in plant pot that had a plant in it. The terrace door key could be hung from the car key which already also boasted a front door key.
Shopping that day was very tiresome. It was hot, there were too many people in the bank, same story at the baker’s where there was a queue of six people, four of them outside in the heat. The dry cleaner was the only satisfactory contact, very brief polite exchanges verbal and pecuniary.
Eventually, after an uneventful stop at the hardware store, she decided to go home via the dumpsters at Tamarelle where she could unload the yellow rubbish and the bottles because she would be on the right side of the road.
She also decided to do a 4km detour to the Spar shop at Mensignac for the pink wine and bread, also fresh vegetables. No way would she go into St Astier’s only supermarket, which had better remain nameless, for she was somewhat agoraphobic.
The Mensignac trip was a success and she turned to go home, mentally worrying that she had done 18kms A/R to St Astier and another 8 A/R to Mensignac. Audi was flashing lights at her, demanding fuel and a service.
Once safely through the gates of home, she collected a shopping bag and went to the front door, pushed the handle with her elbow. It would not give. Mild panic as she was not sure which door had been her exit. Not the kitchen door it seemed, nor the sitting room door. Panic set in when she found the dining room was also locked.
She emptied her hand-bag onto the terrace table – no visible key. Two sets of car keys but no door keys. Neither of her mobile phones either, not the French one, nor the English. The mind raced with wild plans of breaking glass, wondering what the children would say, how could she explain this to her friends….
As a last hop she went to try her bedroom door which also gave onto the terrace. It had a mosquito screen and was NOT LOCKED!
Some minutes later, after a restorative glass of pink from an open bottle, she went to the front door to go to the car and unload more. It was not bolted. She had let herself panic because it was stiff, had not even thought to TRY the front door key….