Page 1 of New Dreams for the Village Nurse
CHAPTER ONE
It was close to a year since Ottilie Oakcroft had first arrived in the quaint and picture-postcard-pretty Lake District village of Thimblebury. She’d arrived full of sadness, but even then she’d fallen in love with it so quickly she’d hardly noticed it happen. She loved the people, the ramshackle collection of lovely cottages, the history, the beauty of the surrounding countryside and the new life it had given her. And she loved her job, caring for its residents, best of all. Caring was something she’d always felt born to, a calling she’d never been able to ignore, and never had she felt more valued for this than she did in her new home.
Mostly Ottilie worked from the tiny office that doubled as her treatment room at Thimblebury’s only surgery, but sometimes a patient would need a house call. Their GP, Fliss Cheadle, often complained that she didn’t have time for them, but Ottilie secretly liked to go out on visits to patients, if only because she got to breathe in the fresh, clean air of the hills that surrounded the village, and remind herself of how lucky she was to live in the most beautiful place on earth.
Today was one of those days. Her house call was so close by she hadn’t bothered getting into her car. Instead, she’d walkedthe lanes of the village while a sweet breeze set the trees swaying gently. Over the hills, the racing clouds cast shadows that changed the light; the emerging sun making them emerald one moment and disappearing behind the clouds to turn them black the next. She’d been greeted warmly by every local she’d encountered. They all knew her now – she was like the newest member of a vast, ungainly, slightly dysfunctional but ultimately wonderful family. Though she’d never have imagined her current love for the village even a year ago, now she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
‘There… that’s healing nicely.’
Ottilie had just finished inspecting Mrs Smith’s burned hand and was applying new dressings.
‘Thank you.’ The old lady beamed gratefully. ‘It’s been a right nuisance.’
‘I should imagine so,’ Ottilie said as she fastened the bandage and began to put away her equipment. ‘But I don’t think it will be long before you’ll be able to take off the dressing and wash it again. Far be it for me to tell you how to cook, but maybe you’ll think twice before you get that old chip pan out now. Get yourself a nice air fryer or something – something a lot safer – please.’
‘Oh, but they don’t taste the same. I’ve always done them in a chip pan. You can’t beat home-made chips in a chip pan.’
‘I bet you could at least get one with a proper lid? I’ll tell you what – I’ll ask around to see if anyone can spare one for you.’
‘I’d rather keep my old one. It’s the first time I’ve ever burned myself on it.’
‘Yes, it might have been, but you did it in style. It’s lucky the oil didn’t catch more than your hand when you spilled it.’
Ottilie studied the old lady thoughtfully for a moment. Tact was needed here. Her patient was close to ninety. Sprightly, yes, and still sharp, but it was obvious she was getting to the stagein her life where she wasn’t quite as fast as she used to be, nor as strong. Ottilie suspected the old lady had dropped the pan because it had been too heavy for her. And she’d been lucky that the only real damage had been done to her hand.
At the end of the day, however, Ottilie could only give her opinion on whether Mrs Smith ought to be wheeling out that antiquated deep-fat fryer every time she wanted chips; she couldn’t stop her from using it. All the same, she made a resolution to track down something safer and more modern and to drop it in anyway in the hope she might be able to persuade her patient to swap.
‘I know chips aren’t very good for me,’ Mrs Smith continued, ‘but at my age, I don’t see the point in stopping eating them.’
Ottilie smiled. ‘They’re only bad for you when you decide to throw them and the oil you fried them in all over your kitchen and yourself. Just promise you’ll be more careful from now on, and I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t have the odd plate of chips if you want them. You know you could come to the community kitchen and get a dinner from time to time. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there. We’d do chips if you asked us nicely, and it’s nice to have someone else cook for you on occasion, isn’t it?’
‘Oh no, I don’t go. It’s for people who’ve got no money, isn’t it? Well, I’m not rich, but I have enough for what I need.’
‘It’s for anyone who wants to drop in, really. I think you’d enjoy it. Why don’t you come down later? I’ll be doing a shift in the kitchens tonight, and it would be lovely to see you there.’
‘Are you? I didn’t know you volunteered there.’
‘When I can. I don’t always have as much time as I’d like, but I try to do a bit.’
Ottilie wasn’t exaggerating. She spared time as often as she could to the meals-for-residents scheme that provided weekly get-togethers for those who were alone or unable to eat as well asthey ought to. Once a week, the village hall would be filled with trestle tables, laughter, conversation and good food, and anyone who needed it was welcome, but that wasn’t the only project she was involved in. It was fast becoming a running gag with Heath – the man who’d shown her that second chances at love did happen; the one person who wasn’t part of the village who she dearly wished was – that he’d have to make an appointment with her PA to see her before long.
There was the mum and baby group – ostensibly handed over to her friend Stacey once off the ground, but Ottilie couldn’t resist getting stuck in whenever she had a spare moment. And there was another loneliness project, inspired by Flo, Heath’s grandmother, and one of her elderly patients whom she’d grown close to and who would never have admitted to being lonely but often was. Ottilie had organised a buddy system so that village volunteers were allocated someone vulnerable or lonely to befriend and visit. And all those things were without the extra mile she went for her patients, like Darryl and his mum Ann at Hilltop Farm, where she called every morning before work to make sure he’d taken his insulin.
Then there was her membership of Thimblebury’s film club and (newly in a bid to push her boundaries) the wild swimming group that went out to splash about one morning a month at one of the local lakes.
She barely had time to draw breath, but it was a long time since she’d been this happy. She felt she owed Thimblebury so much that it was only right and fair she did what she could to make it a better place, to make others as happy as being a part of the village had made her.
‘Right…’ Ottilie fastened her bag and got up. ‘I’ll pop back next week. You’ve got a hospital appointment lined up to see the specialist at the burns unit too? It’ll be up to them to give you thefinal all-clear, but I can’t see why they’d be unhappy with your progress.’
Mrs Smith nodded. ‘Yes, the letter is somewhere. Thank you, Nurse.’
‘And don’t forget, we’d love to see you at the kitchen tonight.’
‘I’ll think on it.’
Ottilie bid her a last goodbye, strongly suspecting that Mrs Smith had already decided she wasn’t going to be at the community kitchen that evening. It was her choice, of course, and Ottilie understood how pride stopped some people from seeking out the things that would make their life easier and more fulfilled, even if it sometimes frustrated her that those same people could be so much better off if they swallowed their pride and took advantage of them.
Stepping out onto the lane again, she drew in a lungful of sweet air. There were green buds on the trees in people’s front gardens, and the sight reminded her that spring was just about upon them.
