Feeling returned to my fingers as Bertie’s tight grip loosened. ‘Pizza?’
‘Yes, and if you get in quick, you can choose your own topping.’
Bertie looked at me and I nodded to show him it was OK. ‘Who’s Patrick?’ I asked, as I followed Harry into the room.
‘The loveliest man you’ll ever meet,’ said Harry.
‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’ A pink-cheeked man with a shock of white hair and a wide smile filled the doorway between the dining room and kitchen. The floral apron he wore made him look simultaneously ridiculous and non-threatening. ‘Pat,’ he said, stepping forward. ‘Very pleased to meet you.’
‘Liv,’ I said, taking his offered hand. ‘And this is Bertie.’
Pat crouched down, his knees clicking as he did. He held out a hand to Bertie. ‘Pleased to meet you, young man.’
Bertie grinned. ‘I’m not a young man. I’m a boy.’
‘Really? But I thought you must be at least twelve years old.’
‘I’m eight. Eight and a half.’
‘Oh dear, I’m losing my touch with ages. It’s been too many years since I was in a classroom. Now, Mr Eight-and-a-half, would you like to help me make some pizzas?’
Bertie nodded, and the unlikely pair disappeared into the kitchen.
‘Pat was headmaster at the local school for years,’ Harry explained. ‘His former pupils come up here to visit him all the time. Some of them are now grandparents, if you can believe it.’
‘Grandparents? How old is Pat?’
‘Eighty-five.’
‘Eighty-five? I thought he was around sixty.’
‘He’s a member of the local ramblers, the bowls club, tennis club, and goes ballroom dancing every Thursday. It’s all that exercise that keeps him young.’
‘How long has he lived here?’
‘Ever since his wife died six years ago. He started fading away, and the community rallied around and persuaded him to move in here. He’s been a godsend, and not just for his cooking skills. After selling his house in the village, he used the proceeds to fund our development of cabins by the lake.’
‘Wow.’
‘Exactly.’
Two middle-aged ladies dressed in fleeces, Gore-Tex trousers and hiking boots walked in and sat down at the table.
‘Liv, this is Christine and Elaine. They’re staying with us for a month, give or take.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Liv. It was Elaine who dragged me here. I lost my husband several months ago, and she forced me here to walk through my grief. You won’t see much of us. Elaine forces me out onto the moor most mornings at the crack of dawn, and by the evening it’s all I can do to keep my eyes open.’
‘It’s working though, isn’t it?’ asked Elaine, squeezing her friend’s hand.
‘Yes,’ said Christine. ‘Slowly but surely, those blisters take my mind off my other problems.’ The two women giggled, reminding me of little girls.
‘How long have you been friends?’
‘Forty years, give or take. Christine saw me through when I lost my Roger, so it’s only right I do the same for her.’
‘What brings you here, Liv?’
‘It’s a long story.’
