‘What’s Picklewick like?’
‘Pretty, quiet, lots of fields around.’
‘It sounds lovely.’
‘It is. I’m not sure I’d want to live there if it wasn’t for the girls, though.’
‘Still, it’s a fresh start, isn’t it?’ Enka helped herself to another Fig Roll and dunked it in her tea. ‘You’ll soon make new friends.’ She arched a heavily pencilled eyebrow and added, ‘Manfriends.’
‘I don’t think so. Not at my age.’
‘You’re never too old for a bit of how’s-your-father,’ Enka cackled. ‘It puts a spring in your step.’
‘I’ve got enough spring, thank you. Any more and I might as well have pogo sticks strapped to my legs.’ Beth paused, her mug halfway to her mouth. ‘You don’t see many pogo sticks, these days, do you?’
‘You don’t see many eligible men either – they’re either serial bachelors or they’re widowers and are looking for someone to wash their smalls.’
Beth chortled. ‘You can say that again. I wouldn’t have another man if you paid me.’ The last one had left her with four kids, but at least he’d had the decency to pop his clogs before the divorce had gone through. Good riddance to bad rubbish, she always said.
But despite Enka’s lamentations of there being no eligible men out there, it didn’t stop Enka from looking. Beth was going to miss her friend’s stories of her disastrous dates. They always made her chuckle. Where Enka found them was a mystery; Beth hadn’t had a sniff of a date in years. Mind you, she didn’t want to. At her age she was well past all that nonsense.
Love and romance were for the young – and they were welcome to it.
Drip, drip, drip… The damned noise was driving Walter insane. Every time it rained, it was like being tortured by the KGB. Itwas getting to the point where he began to dread seeing dark clouds gathering, and last night they’d gathered in abundance. Thankfully, the rain had held off until he’d managed to drop off to sleep, but when he’d woken in the middle of the night to use the loo, the incessant dripping had kept him awake.
The rain had stopped at around the same time as the sun had come up, but Walter knew that the dripping would continue for a while yet. Which was why he was at this moment trying to wrestle a set of ladders into position against the back wall of the cottage.
First, he would clear out the guttering, then he would scrape the moss away, before wrapping duct tape around the join between the two lengths.
As he shuffled the ladder slightly to the right, a dripper landed on one of the metal rings and splashed into his face. Walter wiped it away with his sleeve, muttering to himself. At his feet, Peg whined anxiously.
‘Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten breakfast. We’ll have tea and toast in a bit. I want to get this sorted first.’
The dog hung back warily, staying a safe distance from the ladder, and her brown eyes gazed worriedly at him. She disliked any change to her routine – unless that change involved a nice walk or an outing in the car. She had enjoyed the walk up to Maisie and Adam’s place the other day, but like him, she’d been knackered afterwards. And, like him, the dog wasn’t getting any younger.
With the ladder now in position, Walter gave it a little shake. It seemed steady enough. He wasn’t keen on ladders, but this wasn’t his first jaunt up one. He had done all his own repairs around the farm, apart from when the farmhouse had needed anew roof. About forty years ago, that had been, and he’d left it to a team of roofers because they knew what they were doing better than him. He was pleased that the roof was still going strong. Dulcie would probably get another forty years out of it before it needed replacing.
Taking a deep breath, Walter slid the roll of duct tape over his arm, and with a final check to make sure the ladder’s base was level, he began to climb.
He had got about halfway up when his foot slipped, and Walter had a split second to lament the fact that he’d forgotten to change out of his slippers before he hit the ground with a sickening crack.
Walter wondered if he’d fallen asleep in front of the telly again as he struggled to open his eyes.
‘Dad, can you hear me?’
Bloody hell, it was bright. Walter squinted, blinking as his eyes watered. Then he realised where he was, and as his memory came flooding back, his wince was equal parts pain and embarrassment.
Otto was peering at him anxiously. Walter struggled to sit up, but Otto put a hand on his shoulder.
‘Do you know where you are?’ his son asked.
‘Of course I bloody know. I’m in hospital. I’ve broken my leg, not lost my marbles.’
‘Just checking.’
‘What time is it?’
‘Why, have you got somewhere you need to be?’
