Page 61 of A Helpin g Hand for the Village Nurse

‘No, only twice as far as I can remember. I mean, we lose the electricity on occasion, like everywhere, but it’s never normally for this long. You can stay over if you want to, you know. It’s no bother, and I imagine it’s a bit scary sitting in your house alone with all this going on.’

‘I haven’t brought anything with me.’

‘We’ve got a spare toothbrush and you can borrow some of my pyjamas if you like. It’s really no hassle.’

It was tempting, and although Ottilie didn’t want to impose on Stacey, certain that she was only offering out of courtesy, it would be good to know that there was someone in the house with her. It had been so long since she’d gone to bed feeling anything other than lonely she’d almost forgotten what it was like to feel safe, to know that support and company was on hand.

‘Honestly,’ Stacey said, seeming to read her thoughts. ‘It’ll be company for me as well as you. I’m more than happy to sit up and chat a while anyway, and it’s likely to rain for the rest of the night so you’ll only be getting wet again on the way back to your place.’

Ottilie nodded. ‘That sounds nice. As long as it’s not putting you out.’

‘Not one bit.’ Stacey smiled. ‘It’ll make a nice change from flicking through the channels on the telly. And an actual conversation with an interested person and not the top of someone’s head while they look at their phone – how can I say no to that?’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

It was only an old sofa bed, with springs where they shouldn’t be, worn in places and creaking even over the roar of the wind outside every time Ottilie turned over, and yet Ottilie had slept better than she’d imagined she would. There was plenty to keep her awake – not least the worry about her house, and yet she’d managed to drop off at some point. When Stacey came downstairs and woke her, the living room was in bright daylight.

Ottilie pushed herself up and looked up at the clock over the mantelpiece. ‘I should get back – need to get my stuff for work.’

‘I can run you over if you want to stay for breakfast.’

‘That’s really kind of you, but I think I’d like to go and check the house over before I do anything else. I can get breakfast at work between patients. Is the power back?’

Stacey flicked a switch, filling the room with yellow light. ‘Looks like it.’

‘That’s one good thing, but now I’m hoping I didn’t leave anything daft plugged in overnight – I did rush out in a bit of a panic.’

Ottilie collected her clothes from where she’d left them on a nearby chair and hurried to the bathroom to wash and get changed. Chloe’s bedroom door was closed, and Ottilie supposed she must still be sleeping – if she had no reason to get up this early, she wouldn’t either. But then she heard Chloe’s voice. It was muffled, so Ottilie couldn’t tell what she was saying, but she sounded angry.

None of her business, she reminded herself, though her interest was piqued. Who could have upset her that much? Perhaps the father of her child? Stacey was under the impression he’d done a disappearing act, but perhaps Chloe had tracked him down and for whatever reason wasn’t telling Stacey that? It was pure conjecture, but for someone who loved people as much as Ottilie did, the notion was one that would probably bother her all day.

As soon as she’d closed Stacey’s garden gate behind her and started to walk away from the house, Ottilie knew something was wrong. The ground was sodden, a layer of surface water that didn’t seem to have drained away swirling around her boots. And as she made her way down the lane, past the fallen tree, into the subtle hollow where Wordsworth Cottage was nestled, it got deeper.

Ottilie’s blood seemed to turn to concrete. The water was up to her ankles now, and she wasn’t even at the bottom of a dip that she’d never really taken much notice of before. It hadn’t seemed to matter – not while the weather had been kind and clement – but as she went further and further, dread in her heart, it suddenly mattered very much.

As her own cottage came into sight the water was above her ankles, and at the gate it was lapping around her calves. Fighting back tears, she waded through it to her front door.

The unthinkable had happened, the thing that Victor had warned her about but that everyone else had assured her wouldn’t. The water was in her hallway, in her living room, in her kitchen…brown and silty, swirling around the ground floor in eddies that carried her belongings on them like a ship broken up on a stormy sea. Her breath caught at the sight of a wedding photo she’d had on the hearth, the wooden frame acting as a float, her and Josh smiling up from it as it drifted past her legs. Ottilie stared, standing like a statue in the water, unable to process what she was seeing, even less able to act. Numb, she backed out of the house again, shutting the door as if she could shut away the damage.

When she heard her name being called she could barely focus enough to respond, still staring at the house, her brain refusing to function.

‘Ottilie!’

Eventually, she turned to see Magnus and Geoff hurrying towards her, both in wellington boots and raincoats – though the rain had stopped. Magnus looked as if he was more likely to burst into tears than Ottilie right now – it was certainly going to be a close-run thing.

‘Oh!’ he said, his gaze going to her waterlogged garden. ‘I’m so sorry!’

‘You didn’t do it,’ Ottilie said in a dull voice.

‘But I told you not to worry! I thought?—’

Geoff put an arm around him and pulled him close. ‘It’s not your fault, love. It’s nobody’s fault; nobody could have seen it coming.’

‘Victor did,’ Ottilie said.

At this Magnus did start to cry. ‘I feel so responsible!’

‘We’ll help you to put it right,’ Geoff said to Ottilie. ‘What can we do? And you have insurance, right? You can call them first of all, and then we’ll see about getting the water out.’

---