The Chateau of Happily-Ever-Afters: a laugh-out-loud romcom!

‘It’s so peaceful here.’ Julian breathes in again and exhales slowly, and I do the same, trying to breathe in some of the French countryside and block out the man beside me, even though he hasn’t really done anything wrong. Yet.

‘I live in the centre of Glasgow,’ he continues. ‘You can’t go five minutes without a siren or a police helicopter or someone yelling at someone else.’

‘Same,’ I mutter.

‘Where are you?’

‘Outskirts of London, on a road with the nearest takeaway to a nightclub that chucks out at three a.m.’

‘Oh, I bet that’s fun,’ he says with a laugh.

‘Supremely.’

He glances over at me. ‘Ever been to Normandy before?’

‘No. You?’

‘Nope. I work in Paris sometimes but it’s busy there. It’s nothing like this.’

I work in Paris sometimes. I want to mutter it under my breath. Posh git.

He looks at me with that smirk again and I swear he knows what I’m thinking. Instead of saying anything, he walks down the steps and I follow him, annoyed at myself for following him. I want to go in the opposite direction and be brave enough to look around on my own, but it didn’t exactly end well last night, and there’s a lot of land behind the château. Having someone around, even him, makes it seem less imposing somehow.

‘We have a moat,’ I say, rushing to catch up with him.

‘Have you won any prizes for your powers of observation lately?’

‘Ha ha ha,’ I say, just to let him know how utterly hilarious I think he is.

He lets out a genuine laugh. ‘Yeah, I’ve got to admit the moat is impressive. It’s a shame it’s not cleaner. Can you imagine how awesome it’d be to literally swim around the house?’

‘I don’t want find out. I think there’s enough things already swimming around in there.’

‘What, like fish? Don’t tell me you’re scared of them too?’

‘I’m not scared of… there are fish in there?’

‘Yeah, I saw them last night. Maybe you were too busy rushing inside to start treasure hunting to notice them.’

‘I wasn’t…’ Oh, what’s the point? He’s never going to believe I shut him out for any other reason than to get a head start on the non-existent treasure, and why does it matter if he does anyway? Give it a few days and I’m sure he’ll have turned the place upside down, discovered for himself that dead rats are the most exciting things hidden in these walls, and gone on his merry way back home, leaving me to enjoy my holiday in peace.

At the back of the château is a huge area that was probably a lawn once but now bears a resemblance to the Little Shop of Horrors. ‘If there’s not something in there shouting “Feed me, Seymour” I’ll be surprised.’

He turns round and smiles at me. ‘That’s one of my favourite movies.’

‘Mine too.’ I meet his eyes and feel myself smiling involuntarily, remembering the classic old film about the man-eating Venus Flytrap. I realise what I’m doing and give myself a good shake. ‘I mean, yeah, alien plants are about what I’d expect from your level of intelligence.’

He gives me a look but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. I can’t insult him for liking a film I’ve seen at least twenty times.

The bridge across the moat at the back of the château is nothing more than a footpath through the water that looks like it’s sunk over the years.

‘Look.’ Julian crouches down on the edge of it, the wide expanse of his back in front of me as his shoulders flex in a not completely unattractive way. I force myself to look into the water where he’s pointing and not at his tanned skin. He wants me to look at him – why else would he take his shirt off? – and I’m not giving Loophole-git McNephew what he wants. Ever.

In front of us, two large fish are near the surface.

‘They’re catfish,’ he says, sounding delighted. ‘Feel free to put your hand in. It’s not like those whiskers will give you a nasty sting or anything.’

The fish shoot away when his shadow falls across the water and he makes a noise of disappointment. ‘We’ll have to buy some fish food for them – poor wee things are probably starving.’

Of course he’s going to feed something that wants to sting me. It reminds me of how hungry I am. I’m about to admit this but quickly think better of it. I can’t let him know he was right. Again.

Outside of the main garden area, there’s so much greenery that I wouldn’t know where to start. Weeds and bramble bushes stretch out for miles. It looks like there might’ve been paths between them once, but they’ve long since disappeared into the undergrowth. You can imagine people setting out to explore it and never being seen again. It’s the kind of sight that makes me want to run back inside and not come out. At least inside you can get around without being attacked by angry-looking plants and whatever might be living in them, even if there are a few creaky floorboards and crumbling walls.

Julian is looking around in awe. ‘We’ve got our own orchard.’

‘How can you tell?’ I squint in the direction he’s pointing. ‘There’s just a load of green things.’

‘Otherwise known as trees.’

‘Oh, ha ha. I meant the brambles and grassy stuff that’s taller than me.’

He laughs. ‘They’re called weeds, Wendy. They tend to happen when a garden isn’t maintained for twenty years.’

‘This isn’t a garden. A garden is a little square of lawn with some flowers around the edges. This is Day of the Triffids, this is.’

He looks at me but his sunglasses hide most of his face. ‘Call me presumptuous, but you’re not big on the outdoors, are you?’

‘I like the outdoors just fine,’ I mutter. ‘As long as it stays out and I stay in.’

‘How can anyone not like the outdoors?’ He takes a deep breath in again. ‘All that sunshine and fresh air.’

‘The vague smell of cowpats, the wet grass that’s soaked right through my shoes… and there’s a daddy longlegs crawling up my trousers.’ My voice gets higher as I bend down to slap it away. What is it with the French insect population attaching itself to my body today?

‘You don’t get places like this at home. Not where I live in the city, anyway. They’ve tried, but even the parks are surrounded by gridlocked traffic and angry people.’ He sighs happily. ‘Now this, this is the proper outdoors.’

‘Says the man whose hair looks like it will melt in direct sunlight.’

‘Gotta love hair insults coming from the girl with hair that looks like you borrowed it from a recycled mop.’

I pull it back and try to smooth it down. ‘I was stuck in a wall all night!’

‘I slept in my car!’

‘You’re really pernickety about that, aren’t you?’

‘It’s an uncomfortable car and I’d already spent twelve hours driving it to get here yesterday.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s not made for comfort, is it? It’s made to show off how small your willy is.’ I feel a little spike of guilt as I say it. I’m being horrible to him. I’m not usually this unkind to complete strangers, even if he is one of the more irritating strangers I’ve met lately.