New Dreams for the Village Nurse (The Village Nurse #2)

Chapter One

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 walked the 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 stage in 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 as they 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 the final 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.

The walk back to the surgery took less than ten minutes.

Lavender, their receptionist, looked up from her computer. ‘Some woman’s been on the phone asking about you.’

‘Oh…’ Ottilie shrugged off her coat. She noted her next couple of patients waiting in the seating area. ‘Who was it?’

‘Didn’t give her name. Sorry, Ottilie.’

‘What did she want?’

‘Didn’t want to leave a message either.’

‘Right…a patient maybe? Might have been something a bit personal they didn’t want to discuss with anyone else.’

‘Could have been. It was a bit weird, though. I can’t think of a regular patient who wouldn’t want to at least say who’d called or leave a number for you to call back.’

‘So she didn’t leave a number?’

Lavender shook her head and Ottilie shrugged. It was strange, but she was too busy to worry about it now. If it was important she supposed they’d call back. More likely, it was some sneaky sales rep from a drug company or medical supplier she didn’t currently order from trying to get in to see her through the back door. She certainly couldn’t think of any other reason for the secrecy. Thimblebury surgery already had their approved suppliers, but that never stopped new ones from trying to steal the business.

Ottilie went round to the back of the reception desk and looked over Lavender’s shoulder. ‘Who’s first?’

‘Mrs Icke.’

Ottilie could sense Lavender’s mental eye-roll because she was feeling it too. Mrs Icke was one of her more cantankerous patients. She had a condition that Ottilie liked to call selective deafness – she pretended not to hear things when it suited her, usually when she was being told something she didn’t like.

Lavender opened her desk drawer and pulled out a chocolate bar. ‘Here,’ she said, passing it to Ottilie. ‘Picked you up a treat to soften the blow. If you’re very good, I’ll bring you a cup of tea to go with it.’

Ottilie grinned as she took the bar. ‘My favourite. You know you’re the best receptionist there’s ever been, don’t you?’

‘I try,’ Lavender said with a grin of her own. ‘We’ve got to get through the working day somehow, right?’

As Ottilie started for her room, she noticed Mrs Icke getting up to follow her without waiting to be asked and stifled a sigh of resignation. Lavender looked ready to say something but Ottilie shook her head. It wasn’t worth bothering, and she was more or less ready anyway. For now, at least, her tea and chocolate would have to wait.

Fliss was already in the kitchen at lunchtime heating some leftover stew at the stove. Ottilie could smell the rich sauce on the air. The surgery team always ate together in the hour they closed the doors to patients – it was an old-fashioned practice in some ways, but one Fliss was insistent on. She said it fostered a sense of belonging amongst her staff and that it was a well-needed daily recharge, and Ottilie had never seen any reason to argue with that.

‘I’ve made enough for all of us,’ Fliss said. ‘Lavender’s got bread.’

‘Sounds lovely.’ Ottilie sat down with a weary sigh. ‘I’ve got some cream cake in the fridge if we can fit it in afterwards.’

‘I might be tempted to skip the stew then,’ Fliss said with a light laugh. ‘How was Mrs Icke today?’

‘She was the usual Mrs Icke. Thank goodness there’s only one of her.’

‘Everything else has been all right then?’

‘Yes, pretty much standard.’

Lavender came in with a set of keys. ‘All locked up. That smells amazing.’

‘One of Charles’s recipes,’ Fliss said. ‘The secret’s in the wine.’

Lavender sat down next to Ottilie. ‘Do you two put wine in everything?’

‘Do you know…?’ Fliss replied as she turned off the stove. ‘I do think we might. It would explain how we get through so much of it.’

‘You get through so much of it because you drink so much,’ Lavender said briskly. ‘Don’t forget I’ve been round your house and seen you both in action.’

‘Which house?’ Fliss asked vaguely. ‘Mine or Charles’s?’

Ottilie laughed. ‘Does it matter? Whichever you’re at, you’re just as bad.’

Lavender accepted a bowl of stew. ‘I’ll never get used to the fact that you two don’t live together. After all, you’ve been married for donkey’s.’

‘God, we could never do that!’ Fliss put a bowl in front of Ottilie. It was thick and rich, with generous chunks of potato and beef. ‘I keep telling you, I think every married couple ought to live apart. It makes for a far better marriage. We’ve both always hated the idea of living in each other’s pockets.’

Ottilie could think of many good reasons why most married couples took the more traditional route when it came to living arrangements – namely the cost of running two houses – but she didn’t say so. Fliss and Charles had their ways, and clearly it suited them. In fact, Ottilie would have been pushed to name a happier couple, so perhaps there was something in it. Not that she’d have dreamed of such an arrangement with Josh, the husband she’d lost sixteen months previously. She tried not to dwell on that now, though. There would be quieter moments, private moments to remember and be sad. This wasn’t one of them.

‘Actually,’ Fliss said, ‘we’ve booked a lovely trip with some vouchers my sister-in-law gave us. A winery tour in Sussex.’

‘Oh, don’t tell me you’re actually taking time off!’ Ottilie said with a laugh.

‘I know, insane, isn’t it?’ Fliss replied. ‘Even I need the odd weekend.’

‘So we’ll be getting emergency cover?’ Lavender asked.

‘Yes, but it won’t be for a few months yet, so I wouldn’t worry about it.’

Lavender slurped at her stew and made a face of appreciation. ‘I can’t remember the last time you went on holiday.’

‘Neither can I,’ Fliss agreed, ‘though it’s hardly a holiday. We are both looking forward to it, though. A bit of quality time together and all that.’

Ottilie grinned. ‘Plus wine.’

‘Yes, my one true love,’ Fliss replied. ‘And Charles isn’t too bad either!’

As they all laughed, the sound of the phone ringing in the reception reached them. Ottilie shot a questioning look at Lavender, but Fliss intervened.

‘Everyone knows not to phone at this time of the day, so if it’s a patient they’ll call back, or they can press the button and go to the emergency line.’

Ottilie enjoyed their lunches but she’d never been comfortable with that arrangement. However, it did seem to have worked for the surgery over the years, so she didn’t argue. Instead, she went back to one of the best beef stews she’d ever eaten and thought no more about it.

There’d been time for a quick drink and a change of clothes at home that evening, and then Ottilie had headed straight back out to the community kitchen to help with the cooking. It was yet more work, but she’d been looking forward to it all day. There was a camaraderie, a sense of pulling together and of doing good that was addictive – not to mention how much she enjoyed simply socialising with the other volunteers.

Ottilie was the last to arrive and work had already begun. Her friend, Stacey, tossed an apron over to her as she walked into the kitchen.

‘Come on, slacker. I’ve peeled half a sack of carrots already and you’ve only just waltzed in.’

Ottilie grinned. ‘Sorry, boss.’

Everyone else greeted her with a little more decorum, but no less warmly.

The kitchen was part of the village hall and fitted with steel units and white tiles. It was too small for so many of them, but they always managed well enough. The important thing about this venue was that the hall where the dining tables were being set up by Magnus and Geoff from the village shop and post office was big enough to comfortably seat their regulars and anyone else who might want to stop by. Everyone was always welcome and nobody was turned away, no matter how full or busy they got. It was a philosophy of friendship and nobody was judged for using the service.

Working tonight was Janet – the founder and organiser of the kitchen – along with Stacey, Ottilie’s new best friend, Magnus and Geoff setting up the dining room and Heath’s grandma, Flo. Ottilie and Heath had got together four months previously – a romance that very nearly didn’t happen, but one that Ottilie was happy to report, after many setbacks, did. Happy because she was in love when she never imagined a second chance at something this good could be out there. When she’d lost her husband, Josh, she’d felt as if her life was over. But then she’d come to Thimblebury and she’d met Flo, and through Flo she’d met Heath, and suddenly she’d had happiness and hope again.

‘Where do you want me?’ she asked Janet as she tied her apron.

‘I know it’s a horrible job, but I don’t suppose you could cut some onions?’

Ottilie nodded and went to get the sack. ‘I’ve got plenty of tissues in my bag at least.’

‘Put a spoon in your mouth,’ Flo called over.

Ottilie stared at her as she came back to her workstation and hunted in the drawer for a knife.

‘It stops you from crying,’ Flo said.

‘Don’t fall for that,’ Stacey called over. ‘She tried to tell me that once – it didn’t work. I think it might have made things worse, actually. And all I could taste all night was rusty spoon.’

‘It does work!’ Flo shot back. ‘My old mum swore by it. She never cried once cutting an onion.’

Stacey wagged a carrot at her. ‘I don’t know about your old mum, but it certainly didn’t do me any good. I mean, a spoon in your mouth? How’s that meant to work? It makes absolutely no sense.’

‘You don’t need to know how it works. Plenty of things work even if you don’t know how.’

Ottilie decided the best course of action was to humour her. She’d seen what a riled Flo could look like before and she wasn’t about to wind her up now, even if Stacey delighted in it. And so she pulled out a teaspoon and held it up.

‘Will this one be all right?’

Flo nodded. ‘You’ll see.’

Whether it was purely a placebo or whether Flo’s strange and archaic remedy actually worked, Ottilie couldn’t say, but as she began to chop, sucking on the spoon as she went, her eyes didn’t even so much as water. The downside to Flo’s less than scientific triumph was that it also prevented her from joining in the gossip. She’d just decided that she’d rather cry and be able to chat than persevere with the spoon when the door to the community centre’s kitchen opened and Heath looked round it, chestnut hair curled at his collar where it was getting a little longer than usual and his soft brown eyes full of mischief.

‘This is where you’re hiding, is it?’

‘I’m not exactly hiding,’ Flo said, and Ottilie had to hold in her laughter again, because she was fairly sure Heath was talking to her. They’d arranged to meet later that evening, but perhaps he’d found himself at a loose end and decided to come over early.

‘Hello, Gran,’ he said, going over and giving her the sweetest kiss on the cheek.

Ottilie watched, smiling, tummy doing cartwheels of anticipation. She was hoping her kiss would be rather less sweet and a bit more spicy, but that would have to wait because as much as she craved it, she wasn’t going to embarrass everyone else in the room with such a display.

Four months had gone by since they’d sort of unofficially got together. They’d taken it slowly – Heath certain that was what she’d needed and Ottilie sure of the same for him, an unspoken agreement by them both. Slow and steady, and slowly and surely, Ottilie was falling for him.

Things had been tentative at first – though she’d had no doubts about Heath, she’d had doubts about her own emotional state – but there were signs that things were growing more serious. Ottilie had tried not to think about that too much because if she gave herself a moment to consider it, she might frighten herself away. She’d given her heart completely once before and had lost everything. Lightning couldn’t strike twice like that, she told herself, and to find otherwise would be more than she could bear.

Thimblebury now felt like home too, properly and forever. While Heath was still living in Manchester, Ottilie had no pull to the city she’d once called home. Everything and everyone – other than Heath, but he drove over often enough – she needed and wanted was here.

‘Go on,’ Flo said, waving Heath away and going back to her tea. ‘I know you’re not here to see me.’

‘Of course I am,’ he replied gallantly. ‘The fact that I get to see Ottilie is a bonus.’

‘Gawd.’ Flo shook her head impatiently. ‘You must think I fell off a Christmas tree. I think it’s more likely the other way round.’

‘If it is, you only have yourself to blame. You did try to get us together after all.’

‘I did no such thing!’

Ottilie and Heath exchanged a grin. Flo could deny it until the alpaca of Daffodil Farm came home, but they knew the truth. She had been matchmaking, and she’d done a terrible job of hiding it. And she hadn’t been the only one, as Ottilie was forcibly reminded when the name of one of the other matchmaking culprits was shouted out.

‘Magnus!’ Janet called through the kitchen doors into the main hall. ‘How’s it going out there? Are you and Geoff nearly done?’

‘Nearly!’ Magnus called back.

Flo looked at Heath. ‘As you’re here, you could give them a hand.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘Why are you here, anyway?’

‘We’ve got plans,’ he replied, looking at Ottilie.

‘Not for ages,’ Ottilie reminded him. ‘I did say I had to do a couple of hours here first. In fact, as I recall, I said I wouldn’t be able to spare much time tonight at all…’

‘I know, but can I help it if I want to see you whenever I can?’

‘Be still my heart,’ Stacey cut in from across the room. ‘Please, God, or Cupid or St Valentine or whoever, please find me a man who will drive all the way from Manchester just to watch me cut onions while I suck on a spoon.’

Heath grinned. ‘So Gran’s got you doing the old spoon thing?’

‘Oi!’ Flo huffed. ‘Even Ottilie has admitted that it works!’

‘She’d never dare say anything else to you, Gran.’

Just then Magnus put his head around the door. ‘All done in here. Geoff and I will head home if you don’t need anything else. We’ll pop back later to help clean up.’

While Janet thanked him, Ottilie turned back to Heath.

‘Looks like that’s you off the hook then. As you’re here, we ought to find something for you to do.’ She nodded at a hook on the back of the kitchen door. ‘There’s a spare apron. Make yourself useful – there’s peas to shell.’

‘That’s served you right,’ Flo shouted over.

‘It did backfire a bit.’ Heath grinned and went to get the apron. ‘But I suppose I walked right into it.’

‘That you did,’ Flo replied.

Ottilie showed Heath where the bags of peas were. They were both smiling. Ottilie’s face ached from it, but she couldn’t stop. She was also pleased to see Heath getting stuck in. Since they’d got together, he’d been supportive of her community projects but he’d always shied away from getting involved. Ottilie understood – he was busy and he didn’t live locally, so it was more difficult for him to get there – but it was nice to see it now. She was aware of him as he stood at her side, and it was so distracting she could barely concentrate on her onions. But that was lovely too. Right about now, life was as perfect as it had been for a long time.