‘Thank you.’ Pippa hadn’t even thought of buying a waterproof before arriving in Hartfell and hoped her lightweight running jacket would be enough to protect her from the worst of the weather.
The riverside path from the village was one she hadn’t explored yet and it was lovely, treelined and rocky as it rose above the houses. Even low clouds skimming the fell couldn’t dent the glorious view of misty meadows dotted with cows further down. It was a more expansive scene than she’d usually draw but the desire to capture something of it came again, freeing her mind from her real mission here. Maryam and Audrey were at the front, chatting with Hazel as they set off at a good pace. Despite her running, the gradient had Pippa puffing before too long and Rose was keeping her company.
‘Okay?’
‘Yes, thanks,’ Pippa said wryly as she unzipped her coat, hands briefly on her knees. ‘I thought I was fitter than this but it’s level at home. That’s my excuse, anyway.’
‘I was going to say you’ll get used to it, but of course you might not if you’re going home soon.’ Rose flashed her a glance. ‘Sorry, that wasn’t me prying, by the way. Just an observation.’
‘So how long have you been doing this?’ Pippa took the opportunity of a pause for a quick drink as well.
‘About a year. At first I went out on my own, once Alfie had got on the school bus. But he’s always up early now because he has his own animals to feed so he doesn’t need me to check on him. I mentioned it to Maryam when we were having coffee, she told Audrey and then we were a group. We all love it, and we always go out, rain or shine. There’s just something about being outdoors that I find necessary.’ Rose threw Pippa a smile as they resumed walking. ‘Sorry, blathering on as usual. James says I’m like a dog with a bone once I get going, but I’m so lucky to live and work here.’
‘I can totally see the appeal. I run at home but it’s nothing like this. Mostly I’m dodging vehicles, other people and litter, half the time I don’t even notice what’s around me. But these views are incredible.’
‘So it’s all about the run?’
‘I suppose it is.’ Pippa had given up wearing her Fitbit for now as she couldn’t access the app as often as she usually would. She ran for exercise and some time alone, a need to pound problems into the pavement, not for connection or a sense of space widening her mind. She imagined running back in London again, the return to cool drizzly autumn mornings; the lunchtime dash at work when it was too dark to run first thing.
‘Harriet mentioned you’re an artist. She said that you’re brilliant but don’t show your work.’
‘She did?’ Pippa hadn’t imagined Harriet discussing her in anything other than dismissive terms. A rush of gratitude for the compliment was swiftly followed by the familiar squeeze of anxiety at the thought of anyone seeing the sketches and watercolours she produced. ‘I teach art but drawing and painting is something I do just for me, a hobby.’ That was usually enough to dissuade any further interest.
‘Harriet told us that you painted a mural in her bedroom, and she’s never redecorated because she loves it so much.’
‘Oh.’ Pippa gulped, tilting her head to flip her own hood up, hoping Rose hadn’t noticed her face.
As a little girl Harriet had adored fairies and Pippa had created an enchanted woodland on the wall behind her bed; tall trees topped with blushing blossom and butterflies, fairies prancing over a carpet of colourful flowers. Pinks, purples and mauves swaying through the grass, a secret fairy house hidden in a corner. It had been a labour of love and a joy to create, and Harriet used to say it was like falling asleep in a secret glade watched over by a fairy kingdom. It made Pippa’s heart happy to hear that Harriet still loved it, even though she was way too old for fairies. But then, she mused, maybe you should never be too old for enchantment.
Hazel fell into step with her, chatting about the village and London. They soon discovered a mutual love of musical theatre and Hazel was enthusiastic about an upcoming visit to family in the south and seeing three shows. She had to make the best of her time away, she explained, with her husband having Parkinson’s disease and her youngest daughter coming up to take care of him.
Pippa learned that Hazel had lived in the village for fifty years and she enquired about Ivy. She was thrilled to learn that Edmund, the local historian Daphne had mentioned, was Hazel’s next-door neighbour. She suggested that Pippa call round so she could introduce them, and in the meantime would look through her own family photos to see if anything popped up. Pippa thanked her, delighted to be making progress with her tentative search into the past.
They reached the spot where the river tumbled down rocks from the high fell and widened into a pool, clear and inviting. She’d never swum in the wild before, except in the sea on holiday, and watched Audrey and Hazel shrugging off layers until they were left in their swimming costumes before wading in. Maryam was taking photos of a plant with her phone and Rose settled on the bank with Pippa, who was wishing she’d brought a swimsuit and joined in; the two women were floating in the water, and it looked blissful.
It was enlightening to walk without expectation or set a pace to measure on an app, to feel the rain on her face, make conversation or stay silent, the village specks of stone beneath them. She could see Home Farm from here too, and somewhere down there Harriet would be waking up and rushing off to take care of the animals she was coming to love.
And Gil. He was there too, squashed into that caravan in the yard and maybe making plans for his own future, plans that would take him away from Hartfell and home when the practice closed. The feeling of guilt, every time she thought of it, was becoming all too familiar.
The walk down was easier, and Kenny was ready with coffee and muffins, which they enjoyed on a table outside. Pippa thanked everyone, feeling lighter as she returned to the house, not yet ready to commence battle with Gil or Harriet – she was too relaxed and at ease for that.
She had a quick breakfast and an equally fast shower, and when she let herself into the vets, discovered that Harriet had texted to say Dorothy had invited her for lunch and not to expect her back until later. Oh, and did Pippa mind if she went bowling with Alfie tonight? It was all arranged, and she’d be back by ten. Pippa replied to say it was fine. If Rose was okay with it then Pippa was too, and there was no sense in spoiling Harriet’s fun just yet.
Pippa and Gil had eased into coffee-making terms when they were in the practice, polite with each other now. She’d made his one morning, simply unable to make herself coffee and exclude him. Since then, whoever was in first would switch on the machine and make coffee for the other. He still hadn’t appeared by the time she settled in reception and was looking over his list of consultations. Someone had already called wanting their vomiting dog to be seen as soon as possible, and she’d slotted them in the only appointment available.
When he arrived just before his first patient, he was shivering and with a hacking cough. He caught her look of alarm and shook his head, searching for a tissue to blow his nose. Pippa stood up and kept her distance as she proffered the box kept for clients.
‘Thanks. It’s not Covid, by the way. I’ve taken two tests over the past twenty-four hours and they’re all negative. I’m fine.’
‘Right.’ Clearly he wasn’t. ‘But even if it’s not Covid, you look dreadful, and I can’t imagine clients wanting you anywhere near them.’
‘What else am I supposed to do?’ Any further protest was lost in another bout of coughing and Pippa was on her feet.
‘Go back to bed,’ she told him firmly. ‘You can’t possibly see patients like that, and no one will thank you for passing it on, whatever it is. I’ll call Angie.’
Angie was the head receptionist at the practice in town and she’d helped Pippa out more than once with queries. She was capable and calm, and Pippa was certain she’d help if she could.
‘And say what?’ Gil sneezed and even Lola looked worried, barking in alarm.
