Beth knew Maisie was right. Walter worshipped that dog. ‘Go on then,’ she said. ‘I’ll take her down the lane for a stroll.’
‘Thanks, Mum. It means I can get on with soap making.’ She looked hopeful. ‘You could always give me a hand with that, if you like?’
‘No thanks! I’ll stick to taking Peg for a walk.’
Beth called the dog to her and had just turned away when Maisie asked, ‘What have you got against Walter, anyway?’
Beth didn’t answer, because she didn’t honestly know.
Beth looked at the pained expression on Walter’s face as he thanked her for taking Peg for a walk.
‘You’re welcome,’ she said sweetly. ‘Peg’s a poppet.’ Unlike her owner, she thought, but didn’t say.
‘How far did you go?’
‘Only down the lane and back.’ Beth helped herself to the mashed potato she had cooked for everyone’s tea. And by ‘everyone’ she meant herself, Dulcie and Walter, because Otto was at the restaurant. If he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t have allowed her anywhere near the stove.
Beth had enjoyed feeling useful though, and seeing the way Dulcie and Walter were devouring their food, she assumed she hadn’t done too bad a job. It was rather tasty, she thought; gravy made with the juice from the sausages and from frying onionswas a taste sensation. She’d added a bit of swede to the mash, and was serving carrots and peas with it.
‘I bumped into Lena. She was asking after you, Walter. She says to tell you that Amos will pop up to see you in a couple of days.’ Beth had met Lena, Amos’s other half, a couple of times and liked her immensely. It would be nice to have another woman of roughly the same age around, and Beth was hoping that Lena would carry through her suggestion of, ‘You must pop in for a coffee when you’re settled.’ She fully intended to throw herself into village life and make as many friends as she could.
Walter muttered, ‘I don’t want him to see me like this.’
‘Like what?’ Beth asked. She genuinely wanted to know. People broke bones every day – what was so special about Walter’s broken leg?
‘Helpless,’ Walter replied.
‘Hopeless, more like,’ Beth muttered under her breath, earning herself a sharp look from her daughter.
‘You’re not helpless,’ Dulcie said in a no-nonsense tone.
‘What do you call it then?’
‘A little less able than usual.’
Walter snorted. ‘A lot less.’
‘You managed to get out of the chair by yourself a couple of times this afternoon, and you’re walking so much better on your crutches.’
‘I still can’t get upstairs by myself,’ he grumbled. ‘I want my own bed. I don’t like sleeping downstairs; it’s not natural.’
‘It’s unavoidable,’ Dulcie soothed. ‘And it’ll only be for a few weeks.’
‘I bet I could manage my own stairs. They’re nowhere near as steep as yours. I’d be able to have a bath, too.’
Dulcie put her knife and fork down and looked him square in the eye. ‘Walter, you can’t go home just yet. You know that.’
‘I bet I could.’
‘You couldn’t even make yourself some toast this morning,’ she pointed out.
This is like being at Wimbledon, Beth thought. She’d never been and didn’t want to, but she’d seen enough clips on the telly of people swivelling their heads from side to side as they followed the ball, and Beth was doing the same thing. She wondered who would win. Her money was on Dulcie, if only because Walter would need a lift to his cottage: he would never make it down the hill on his own.
A wicked thought entered her head. Perhaps she could offer to take him home? Then she hurriedly dismissed it. Dulcie would never forgive her, and neither would Otto. Besides, if anything bad were to happen to Walter because he’d returned home before he was able to look after himself properly, she wouldn’t forgive herself either. He might be a royal pain in the backside, but she didn’t want any harm to come to him.
Walter growled, ‘She—’ He jabbed his fork in Beth’s direction, and Beth flinched. ‘Didn’t give me the opportunity to find out.’
‘Have a go now, why don’t you?’ Beth glared at him.
