Page 9 of A Helpin g Hand for the Village Nurse

‘I’m afraid mine would put you to sleep. I qualified as a nurse after I left college and I’ve worked as a nurse ever since. Married, house, one holiday abroad a year…all the usual stuff.’

‘And how is your other half finding Thimblebury so far?’

‘It’s just me. He died at the end of last year.’

Magnus looked so utterly mortified at her reply that Ottilie wanted to lean over the counter to hug him and tell him it was really fine and that she was really fine and there was no need to worry. But she could only give a tight smile. It wasn’t true. Perhaps she was on the right path to fine, but there was a way to go yet.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Of course you didn’t. Like we said, if you don’t ask, you don’t know. It was hard, but I’m getting better every day. That’s kind of what the move here is about. New start and all that.’

‘I can only imagine. I’d be inconsolable if anything happened to my Geoff. If there’s ever anything we can do to help, anything at all, you only need to ask.’

‘That’s so kind of you; thank you. And the same goes for you. If you need any help or advice and it’s out of surgery hours, please call at the cottage. I can’t promise to be as knowledgeable as Dr Cheadle, but if I can help I will. I’m really looking forward to getting involved in some of the village clubs too; it’ll be nice to get to know everyone.’

‘You might regret saying that,’ Magnus replied with a low chuckle.

‘I don’t think so. I have a very good feeling about Thimblebury already.’

CHAPTER FOUR

When Ottilie had said she fancied walking the long way home to explore the village, Magnus had burst out laughing.

‘There is no long way around Thimblebury! It’s so tiny; I’m not sure if that’s where the name comes from, but there’s definitely no more than a thimbleful of houses!’

‘Oh, it doesn’t look that small.’

‘Perhaps I make it sound worse than it is – Geoff always says so. Sometimes it feels it. Sometimes I long for a bit of culture and civilisation. That’s really why we started the film club. It’s about as close as we’re going to get to a cinema in Thimblebury and I used to love going to the cinema in Iceland.’

‘Well, I’m looking forward to getting to know what the village has to offer and definitely look forward to the film club.’

‘And we’ll be very happy to see you there.’

Ottilie had thanked him for his brief description of the village’s layout and, loaded with milk, cheese and a few other locally produced goodies, had left the shop determined to see for herself just how big her new home was.

Ottilie’s mum hadn’t been keen on the move for her daughter. While she understood Ottilie’s desire for a fresh start, and the attractions of the beautiful Lake District, she couldn’t fathom why Ottilie would choose such a small village. Yes, the perfect house had gone up for sale, and yes, there was a job there, ready and waiting, but surely Ottilie ought to be in one of the bigger towns like Keswick or Bowness where there would be more going on. Surely they had perfect houses and ready-made jobs in places like that, and surely Ottilie wouldn’t be so isolated living next to one of the big lakes in the more populated towns? If she was lonely without Josh, surely moving somewhere so small out in the sticks would make that worse, not better? And when it came down to it, Ottilie’s mum couldn’t see why her daughter had to move away from Manchester at all. There were plenty of suburbs and nearby villages where Ottilie could have that new start, all pretty, all with good houses and job prospects, and all within striking distance of Ottilie’s childhood home so that her mum didn’t have to go so far to visit.

Ottilie had tried to explain how hard it would be to live in the same house – even the same city – she’d lived in with Josh, working at the hospital where she’d been on shift the day he’d died, and how nervous knowing his attacker still walked the streets there made her, but her mum had been unconvinced. She’d fully admitted, however, that she’d wanted Ottilie to stay for selfish reasons, and Ottilie understood that too, but as soon as she’d seen the job in Thimblebury it had felt like the right job for her, and when she’d seen Wordsworth Cottage up for sale, it had looked so perfect that it had really felt as if the two opportunities combined was the universe trying to tell her something.

The early mist had lifted from the hollows and now the green slopes surrounding the village were drenched in sunlight, the light and shade trickling down tree-lined slopes and clumps of vibrant wildflowers and tall grasses making the scene like something out of an impressionist painting. Ottilie drank it in as she sat on a painted wooden bench that someone had placed on a quiet lane, very helpfully facing the hills as the perfect viewing point.

To her right was a swinging wooden sign proclaiming that the house behind it sold honey from their own hives, and to her left was an old red telephone box, still complete with a phone. Ottilie presumed it still worked or it wouldn’t be there, but she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen an old phone box that contained an actual phone. They stood in people’s gardens as ornaments or were used as tourist curiosities in the bigger cities, some had started to house emergency defibrillators (which, in her nursing capacity, she wholeheartedly approved of) and she’d even seen one or two repurposed into miniature libraries or honesty boxes selling home-grown vegetables…but a working phone? It had to be years, probably before Ottilie had become an adult. Who used such a thing nowadays? Even the old people she’d treated in Manchester had mobile phones. Everyone had mobile phones, didn’t they? But then she recalled Victor saying he didn’t. Although, she also recalled with a smile, according to him there were half a dozen of his old mobiles languishing at the bottom of slurry pits.

She’d been sitting for some five minutes or so, lost in her thoughts as she admired the scenery, when she noticed the old lady. She was hunched and her steps were slow, but somehow she didn’t look frail. If anything, she looked a little bit glamorous, with unexpectedly thick, dark hair cut short and neat, and bright inquisitive eyes. Her smock was a pretty checked fabric, layered over nylon trousers, and the wicker basket she carried looked heavy. Ottilie watched for a moment and wondered whether to ask if she needed help.

As her gaze fell on Ottilie, she gave a cheerful nod. ‘Good morning.’

‘Good morning!’ Ottilie nodded at the basket. ‘Looks heavy.’

‘Aye, it is.’

‘Do you have far to go? I could?—’

‘Not far.’ The lady stopped and held Ottilie in a keen gaze for a moment. ‘Mancunian?’

‘My accent is that strong?’ Ottilie asked with a smile.

‘No, but my grandson is living there so I recognise it well enough. So if you’re from Manchester and you’re sitting in Thimblebury with a bag full of shopping from Geoff’s, I’m assuming you’re the new nurse?’

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