Page 3 of A Helpin g Hand for the Village Nurse

Without another word, she raced from the ward. She could have phoned ahead, got the whole picture, but by the time she’d got through various members of staff to find out what was going on, it would be quicker to take the stairs that led from her ward to that department and see for herself.

She was shaking as she swiped her card to access the doors that separated her section of the hospital from the outpatient department. She had nothing to go on, no information, no reason to be afraid, and yet she was. Something in her heart told her to expect the worst.

CHAPTER TWO

As Ottilie drove over a pothole, the entire contents of her car boot rattled. Many of her most treasured possessions were in there – she’d decided to take them herself rather than trust them to the removal van. They seemed very conscientious, but you never knew. The way the whole lot had just been thrown into the air as she’d taken flight over a bump she hadn’t seen until it was too late, she wondered now if that had been the wisest course.

The roads leading to the tiny Lake District village of Thimblebury were undoubtedly some of the most beautiful she’d ever driven, embraced by mist-wreathed hills and dizzying valleys of emerald green with the white dots of sheep clinging to their sides, but they were some of the most alarming too. They turned and twisted and narrowed into blind bends, or disappeared into dark tunnels of trees, and the potholes were something else. People complained about the roads back in Manchester, the rainy vista she’d left a couple of hours before, but they were nothing like this. It was lucky the views more than made up for some of the more…rustic surfaces.

Another jolt was met with another crash from the boot. Ottilie grimaced and hoped that the tinkling sound she was convinced she’d heard wasn’t her great-grandma’s china tea service. It had survived the Blitz and several house moves before it had been passed down, and Ottilie didn’t want to end up as the weak link in the chain. She tried not to recall how she’d hoped to pass it down herself some day, because that would mean recognising that she was childless and likely to remain that way now that Josh was gone, and so she turned up the radio to block the thoughts out.

She’d had six months to get used to her new status as widow. The word seemed old-fashioned and fusty whenever she thought of it, the preserve of old ladies, not someone like her. And yet, here she was, a widow, leaving her old life behind, searching for hope, clinging on to any tiny grain she could find.

Life without Josh had been unthinkable in the early days and weeks. Not just unthinkable, but not even real. She’d refused to believe he was gone. It was strange – in her job she’d seen more bereavement, more grieving and desolation than she could bring to mind, and she’d supported those families with sympathy and pity, yet she’d never really been able to imagine what it might be like. She couldn’t have known how it would tear open a wound in her soul that felt as if it would never heal, how it would force a chasm between a new reality and a past she wasn’t willing to let go of that might never be bridged. Every day that passed blurred the edges of the event a little, but that only made her want to fight harder to keep them sharp. She wanted to heal – so desperately sick of feeling bereft – and yet she couldn’t let go of her grief, because it meant letting go of Josh and she would never do that.

It had happened so quickly and violently too, and in her more lucid moments she wondered whether that was part of the problem. Perhaps if there had been a creeping illness, a slow decline, some kind of warning, she’d have been prepared. But there hadn’t. One minute he was on duty, fit and strong, looking forward to their wedding anniversary celebrations, as she was, and the next he was dead. Her Josh, her life, her light, the only man she’d ever loved – gone.

It had been a scuffle with a suspect gone wrong – someone had attacked him but they hadn’t meant to kill him – at least, that was the official line – and that almost made it worse. It seemed like such a cruel twist, such a senseless end to a situation Josh had dealt with dozens of times before. She’d always had the vague, overarching worries that many other police wives had, but she’d never given them any serious consideration. Josh had always seemed so sensible, so instinctive, so good at his job that he could deal with anything. She’d never imagined for one second she’d be here, driving to a new life without him.

Glancing at the route on her phone screen, she held back a frown. The village ought to have been in sight by now, but she couldn’t see any houses.

The road followed a gentle bend, and as Ottilie rounded it, she saw a man ahead, up on a grass verge. Dressed in green wellies and a fleece, it looked as if he was mending some fencing. Ottilie slowed as she drew closer then stopped and wound the window down. He looked around, a vague expression of surprise, his movements slow and measured. Ottilie would have had him at around his mid-seventies, maybe older, but although he was slow, she felt that the pace came from a place of care rather than ill health. In fact, judging by the tall-handled mallet he was wielding, he was still as strong as a man decades younger.

‘Sorry to bother you,’ she called across, choosing to kill the engine so she could hear his reply better.

‘No bother.’ The man’s face crinkled into a smile. Ottilie decided that it would have been a handsome smile once, and it was quite winning, even now. ‘You’re lost?’

‘A bit. I suppose you must get a lot of that round here, eh?’

He leaned on the handle of his mallet and regarded her keenly. ‘From time to time. Big towns are easy enough to find, tiny villages not so much. So where are you after?’

‘Thimblebury. My directions say it’s close, but I’m wondering if I’ve somehow missed it.’

‘You’ve not missed it – it’s over yonder. Road dips into a valley ahead. Thimblebury’s there, nice and safe – at least it was last time I looked.’ His gaze was keener still, and he seemed to study her intently. ‘What do you want in Thimblebury?’

‘I’m moving there. Do you know it well?’

She wanted to ask if it was a nice place to live, if she’d be happy – because many times over the past six months she’d felt as if she’d never be happy again – if she’d be welcomed, but perhaps that wasn’t helpful in the current situation. If the answers to any of those questions were negative, it was a bit too late now. The house she’d shared with Josh in Manchester was gone, so there was no turning back.

‘Ah!’ He looked suddenly pleased with himself. ‘I’ll bet you’re the new nurse.’

‘I am,’ Ottilie said, sensing a longer chat and getting out of the car to see him better. ‘I’m Ottilie. How did you know?’

‘Oh, there’s been a bit of talk about who it might be. Gwen has been gone a couple of weeks; folks are impatient for someone new to take the job on. They’ll be happy to see you. I’m Victor – pleased to meet you.’

‘So you live in Thimblebury, Victor?’

‘Not quite. My farm is on the hill. Close enough to be included when it suits though.’

‘You’ve got a farm? I saw some sheep a way back – are they yours?’

‘No, not mine. They’ll belong to Hilltop. Used to keep sheep, but these days I have alpaca.’

Ottilie blinked. ‘Alpaca? Sorry but I was not expecting that! Where are they?’ She glanced up at the slopes behind him.

‘They’re fastened in for the time being, until I get this fence sorted.’

‘So they’re good business? I mean, better than sheep? Do you get more wool or something? Sorry but I know literally nothing about farming.’

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