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By Belinda

At dinner on the eve of the wedding, my friend Ingrid leaned over and pointed out an animated, slim, woman with short blond hair who was laughing as she talked to someone. "That's Ank, whose guest house you'll be staying in," she said. 

As the celebratory meal wound down, she introduced us to Ank, and Cors her husband; tall, trim and grey haired, a retired veterinary surgeon. After brief "hello's!" we prepared to follow them to their home, a little out of town.

It was already late evening and dark when we got there, and Ank showed us to the guest house on their property, a short distance from their bungalow. 

On the door of the guest house, or "cabin," as they called it, hung a sign that said, "Mi Casa Es Tu Casa," "my home is your home," in Spanish. That turned out to be an indication of the warm hospitality that awaited us.

Ank quickly showed us around the two bedroomed guest house that contained everything we could possibly need. In the kitchen she opened the fridge, which was stocked with a big wedge of Gouda cheese, some grapes, preserves, bread, butter, eggs and cold meats. We were overwhelmed by her kindness. She showed us how everything worked and then bade us goodnight. The wedding was the next day, and after the festivities of the evening, we were all ready for bed.  

We began settling into our rooms and I had just gone back into the kitchen when Mum came out of her bedroom to look around again at our beautiful surroundings. She came towards the kitchen, but didn't notice a step down from the level of the bedrooms. To my horror she missed her footing and fell down, with a cry, onto the hard ceramic floor.

I felt sick as I saw that the fragile flesh on her right forearm, on which she had somehow landed, had been gashed open. It was nasty, although Mum was being brave. I used a towel to gently staunch the bleeding and helped Mum up and onto a chair. I was sure that it would need stitches but I had no idea how to get to the nearest hospital. There was nothing for it but to run over to the house for help.

Ank and Cors looked bewildered to see me at their front door, so soon after saying goodnight, but Cors quickly came with me and examined Mum's arm. He felt that the best thing to do was to dress the wound, which he did, carefully and skillfully, using a special antiseptic solution from Russia. 

At 1.00 a.m. we finally settled down for the night! Mum immediately fell into a deep sleep, aided by exhaustion and the shock of the fall. I lay awake longer, worried about her poor arm, sure that she would need to go to the hospital in the morning, but grateful that at least for the night she was okay.

To be continued...


Susan said…
"At least for the night she was okay..."

For someone who HATES being left hanging off a cliff (and has me pretty much trained not to do that to you), you're sure getting really good at doing it yourself!

And even though I already know some of the next chapter, I am - as always - waiting with bated breath for the next instalment. I hope you're not so busy this week and you can write the rest of the story a little faster than you have been... No pressure! :)
Belinda said…
Hi Susan,
I am about to write some more of the story. I'm enjoying writing it and so glad that you enjoy reading.

Yes, I DO hate being left hanging--ha ha! Sorry, I truly didn't do it to be annoying. :)
I'm behind so I get to go right to the next post, hurray!
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