Page 78 of A Helpin g Hand for the Village Nurse

‘He’s used to hard work – it’s nothing to him. He works hard and sleeps well with a good honest day behind him – that’s what his dad always taught him to do and that’s what he taught our girls too. That’s the farming life and he wouldn’t have it any other way.’

Ottilie noticed that Corrine wasn’t sitting down with her. Instead, she was back and forth tidying the kitchen.

‘You’re not eating?’ she asked.

Corrine gave her hand a vague wave. ‘Not hungry.’

‘Have you eaten?’ Ottilie asked more deliberately.

‘Yes, yes…’

Corrine turned on the hot-water tap, but she didn’t look round as she gave her reply, and Ottilie knew from long experience of dealing with patients that she was lying. She hadn’t eaten and she had no intention of doing so. Her treatment hadn’t yet started and so she hadn’t lost her appetite through that – more likely she was worried.

‘You know you really need to keep your strength up,’ Ottilie said.

‘I am.’

‘How come I don’t believe you?’

At this Corrine turned to her.

‘Are you stressing?’ Ottilie pressed. ‘Because it’s perfectly normal to feel stressed about what you’re going through. And if you want to talk it through, well… you have a captive audience right here. You might as well make use of me, because I’m not going anywhere and I owe you big time anyway.’

Corrine turned off the tap and sat at the table, her shoulders slumping. ‘I know there’s nothing to worry about – it’s been caught early and a little bit of surgery to remove it will see me right – but I can’t help but think about what Victor would do if…’

Corrine’s eyes misted. She sniffed loudly and shook her head. ‘Ignore me,’ she said. ‘I’m overthinking it. I know it’s going to be fine.’

‘It’s natural to have morbid thoughts at a time like this,’ Ottilie said gently. ‘You’re being faced with your mortality, and though we all think about that from time to time, it’s not often it’s spelled out so graphically to us. Let’s face it, you have a disease that could kill you. It won’t, because as you say we’ve caught it early, but the fact remains that it could, and so you’re bound to see beyond the immediate situation and sometimes dwell on the worst-case scenario, the what ifs. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. And you’re bound to worry that it might go wrong, and that you might still end up leaving loved ones behind. Don’t apologise for thinking any of that – it’s normal and understandable.’

‘Well,’ Corrine said briskly, ‘that’s all very well, but there are people a lot worse off than me.’

‘Also true, but it’s all relative, isn’t it? There are also lots of people better off and some the same. It doesn’t make any difference – your fears are your fears and your feelings are your feelings and comparing them to anyone else’s achieves nothing in the end. If they matter to you, if they affect you, then they matter, regardless of whether you’re worse or better off than anyone else.’

Corrine gave a wan smile. ‘I get the feeling you’ve given that speech a few times before.’

‘Not really. And I’m not talking as a nurse now but as your friend.’

Corrine stood up and went to the sink again, turning her back on Ottilie as she plunged her hands into the washing-up water. ‘Eat up,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion. ‘You must be starving.’

Ottilie wondered whether to go and give Corrine a hug but decided against it. Sometimes it was hard to call; some liked to be left alone to compose themselves; others welcomed the contact. Ottilie wasn’t sure which camp Corrine might fall into, but knowing that she was a very practical farmer’s wife, perhaps she was one of the former and perhaps she’d be best left to sort herself out. Ottilie had let her know that a sympathetic ear was always on hand should Corrine need it, and hopefully that was enough.

It felt as if she’d no sooner fallen asleep than Ottilie woke to the alarm the following morning. Corrine had been right: after supper and a hot bath, Ottilie had been exhausted, falling into bed and nodding straight off. If this was the farmer’s way – a good honest sleep from a good honest day’s work, Ottilie had to say she was a fan. There were no jumbled dreams as there so often were normally, no restless tossing and turning, only blissful oblivion. And even though the alarm had gone off far too early for her liking, she’d felt refreshed once she’d woken.

Corrine had been quiet as she’d made breakfast and then afterwards, as she sent Ottilie and Victor off in the tractor for another day working on Wordsworth Cottage. Ottilie wondered how much that had to do with their conversation the previous evening and couldn’t decide whether it was a good thing or not. She hoped she was OK. She’d never had an illness that was even vaguely life-threatening – though she’d nursed plenty who had – and so she couldn’t imagine what Corrine might be thinking and feeling about it, but she did know that whether she admitted it or not, Corrine needed a good support network around her if she was going to get through this – not only physically but mentally as well. Ottilie was determined she was going to be a part of that support network – under the current circumstances it was the least she could do to repay her and Victor’s kindness.

‘Decent turnout again,’ Victor said as he killed the tractor engine outside Ottilie’s house. ‘That’s good – if we make as much progress as we did yesterday, we’ll have you back in your home in no time.’

‘Shame.’ Ottilie smiled. ‘I was just getting used to being looked after by you and Corrine.’

‘You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.’

‘Ah, you say that, but we’ll see how you feel this time next year when I’m still there, living like a slovenly teenager in your spare room.’

Victor chuckled as he hopped down from the cab. Ottilie followed him, taking far more care. Her gaze went over the assembled volunteers. Everyone save Fliss’s husband, Charles, had come back – even, Ottilie noted, her pulse imperceptibly quickening, Heath.

‘Ready for more of the same, boss?’ Magnus grinned.

‘I can’t believe you all came back,’ Ottilie said.

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