Page 67 of A Helpin g Hand for the Village Nurse

‘I can’t believe you drove all the way up from Manchester to bring these,’ she said as she followed him down the path – more like a muddy stream right now. The water feature in her garden was probably about the driest bit.

‘Neither can I,’ he said. ‘I’m missing a match for this.’

As he turned to her, she detected a hidden smile.

‘Who’s playing?’

‘United.’

‘Ah, not missing much then.’

His smile grew, clear and warm. Ottilie liked it. Perhaps it had something to do with him feeling like her saviour, but the idea had come from nowhere – she more than liked it. It might not be such a hardship to see a lot more of it.

‘City fan then?’

‘Of course.’

‘Right. Is that only since they got good, or were you there for all the years of rubbish?’

‘It’s a family thing – it’s in our DNA, so I can’t help it.’

‘Like an inherited illness, you mean?’

‘Oi!’

For the first time that day Ottilie smiled. It was almost like her muscles had forgotten how, because it felt stiff and wrong, but it was there all the same.

The bags were heavy and Ottilie’s feet were cold from hours inside wellies surrounded by water, but doing something useful made her feel brighter. Heath’s company was helping too. Since their first meeting she hadn’t known what to make of him – and she still didn’t – but she felt as if she was starting to get some answers. He was a man who clearly answered a call for help. He was a hard worker and he put others first, and he would do anything for his gran, including driving from Manchester to the Lake District and missing a football match to help a woman he didn’t really know, just because Flo had asked him to.

He’d gone to the trouble of borrowing a van and sourcing sandbags too at very short notice. She had to be impressed and a little touched by all that. Whatever else she discovered him to be, he seemed like a good man. She was getting attuned to his sense of humour too. She’d assumed he didn’t have one until now, but today, as they worked together with the goal of securing her house, she realised that wasn’t the case. He had a sense of humour; it just took work to understand. It was dry, like Flo’s, and sometimes it was easy to miss when a comment was said with seriousness or when it was said as a joke.

They piled their defences high at both the front and back door, and there were some left over that Heath used to stopper sections where he thought water might creep back in again, such as low air bricks. By the time they were done, twilight was moving in.

‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Ottilie said.

‘What about inside?’ Heath asked.

‘I suppose I’d better start trying to bail it out. At least now I can do that with some hope that it might actually stay out. And I think the levels have been dropping anyway over the last few hours.’

‘What about the pump from Daffodil Farm?’

Ottilie shook her head. ‘I don’t think it’s fair to ask Victor to bring it at this hour. He’s been up and down all day as it is, helping everyone else. I’ll do what I can myself and then perhaps ask him tomorrow if I still need it.’

Heath looked past her into the hallway of Wordsworth Cottage. ‘There’s no way you can clear all that yourself tonight. I’ll give you a hand.’

‘You’ve done enough. I couldn’t?—’

‘The longer it sits, the worse the damage will be. I know you think you can’t, but you’re going to have to swallow your pride. It makes no sense to send me away – we’ve already got this far; what’s the point in any of this’ – he kicked a sandbag – ‘if you’re going to leave the inside under water? We might as well not have bothered.’

Ottilie couldn’t argue with his logic, but it wasn’t in her nature to take advantage of people’s kindness, and she said so.

‘It’s hardly taking advantage,’ he said tersely. ‘I offered. And besides’ – he paused, looking embarrassed – ‘I think I owe you the favour.’

‘You don’t owe me anything – you’ve done more than enough.’

‘All right then, perhaps favour is the wrong word. It’s more…’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what the word is. I only know I got you wrong and I feel bad about it.’

‘That’s all forgotten – you don’t need to worry about it.’

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