Page 60 of A Helpin g Hand for the Village Nurse

‘Great. See you then.’

Ottilie could hear the rushing currents of the nearby river even from here, though it was too dark to see it. There were closer houses than Wordsworth Cottage, but it sounded so much more aggressive than it usually did, and Ottilie couldn’t help but wonder if her home might still be in danger, despite Magnus’s efforts to reassure her earlier. The rain was heavier than ever – though the thunder and lightning seemed to have calmed, which was a relief.

The wind had done some damage – in her path were smashed roof tiles, ripped-off branches and bits of fence panel, and an entire tree lying across the road at one point. Not a very big one, granted, but big enough to cause a problem for anyone who might need to pass and, with the lack of street lighting, practically invisible until you were right on top of it. Lower-lying sections of road were already waterlogged too, huge puddles that more than once she almost landed in. Ottilie picked her way around the fallen tree and wondered who she could call to make it safe. Perhaps when she got to Stacey’s house they could google the most appropriate organisation and let them know.

Passing Flo’s house, she wondered whether to call and see how she was doing. But as she drew closer, she saw the light from some flickering candles in one of the upstairs windows and wondered if Flo had done what she’d considered doing and gone to bed to hunker down until this was all over. If that was the case and she might be sleeping, then she didn’t want to wake her. Ottilie had to wonder if that would have been best after all, and whether she was a bit crazy walking out in this, but the die was cast and so she marched on, the wind whipping around her and rain stinging her skin as it slapped her face.

Stacey’s living room was bathed in warm, low light. Ottilie had hung her wet coat on a peg by the front door and taken off her boots, and even though it was summer, she was chilled from her pummelling by the wind and rain.

‘You look like a drowned rat,’ Stacey said. ‘If I’d realised how bad the rain was, I’d have come for you in the car.’

‘You wouldn’t have got through,’ Ottilie said, taking Stacey’s offer of a seat on the sofa. ‘There’s a tree blocking the road. We probably ought to call someone about that. Not sure who.’

‘Me neither. I bet there’s an emergency helpline somewhere. We’ll have a look while I make us a drink. Do you need a towel?’

‘I might feel a bit warmer once I’m dry,’ Ottilie admitted.

‘You can borrow my hairdryer if…ah…’ Stacey started to laugh. ‘No electricity. Maybe not the hairdryer then.’

‘You don’t realise how much you rely on it every day without thinking about it until it’s not there, do you?’

‘I’m sure we can say that about a lot of things. Travel back in time – no thank you, not even to marry a handsome prince. I like my mod cons.’

Stacey disappeared and came back a few moments later with a fluffy towel. ‘Here you go. I’ll bring some drinks through. Had to boil some water on the hob in a pan, so not sure how nice it will be.’

‘It’s warm, that’s the main thing.’ Ottilie smiled, grateful for the drink and the towel and a house with light, but more than anything, grateful for company. She could face this now; here with Stacey the storm didn’t seem nearly so threatening. ‘Where’s Chloe?’

‘Upstairs. Moping probably.’

‘She’s struggling a bit?’ Ottilie asked, following Stacey into a kitchen lit by solar lights that had been brought in from the garden. It was still quite dim, but she could make out the mugs sitting on the worktop and the pan on the stove, steam wreathing from it as the water came to a boil. The air felt clearer in here – Ottilie had been struck immediately by the smell in the living room of different scented candles all clashing with one another.

‘She’ll come round,’ Stacey said mildly. ‘She just doesn’t want to admit to herself that this baby is coming. She’s in for a shock when she goes into labour, but she won’t have any real discussion about what we’re going to do and what to expect. She won’t even do antenatal classes. I can’t say I blame her, but as my mum used to say, if you’re old enough to do the dance, got to expect the bunions when it’s over.’

Ottilie burst into laughter. ‘I’ve never heard that saying!’

‘Well, that was my mum for you. Had her own unique take on the world. Half the stuff she said only made sense to her.’

‘Oh, I think that makes sense; I’ve just never heard it before. So you don’t have your mum now?’

Stacey shook her head. ‘There are times when I bloody well wish I did, though. I miss her every day.’

‘Yeah, I know how that feels.’

Stacey glanced up, her expression one of profound sympathy as she poured water from the pan into the mugs. ‘Must have been hard.’

‘Losing Josh? It was. Still is. It feels as if it gets further away – the event itself – but it never seems to get any easier, like people keep telling me it will.’

‘The people who tell you that are often the people who’ve never experienced it. And even if they have, your loss is your loss, and it’s not like theirs. Nobody grieves in exactly the same way as someone else – at least, I don’t think they do.’

‘I think you might be right.’

‘There are some blankets in the chest in the living room if you’re still cold.’

‘I’m feeling a bit better now,’ Ottilie said as she wrapped her hands around the mug Stacey had given her. ‘I wonder how long this power is going to be out.’

‘I don’t think a tiny place like Thimblebury is a massive priority to get back on. Could be hours, could be the rest of the night maybe. I don’t suppose the electricity company wants to send workers out to repair in weather like this. Perhaps if it’s out in one of the bigger towns as well they might – more people to complain about it if they don’t.’

‘Does it happen often?’

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