The map was not encouraging. She’d have to turn round and start again, more or less, and who knew how many more roads would be closed now? She decided to risk it and take the road that might close before she reached her turn-off.
The rain started to ease and eventually Helena realised it had stopped and that the sun was appearing through the clouds. Mist gathered about her, touched with gold.
Her hope that the road wouldn’t close before her turning increased as a car came towards her. But then it got narrower, becoming single track with passing places. She reckoned she had about half a mile to go before her turn-off when she went around a corner and found that the road was blocked.
She pulled her car off the road and got out. She stretched. Undid her plait, shook out her hair and considered her surroundings. It was blissfully quiet. The only things she could hear were birds singing and somewhere out of sight the sound of running water.
Just for a bit she allowed herself to rest and then she considered. She could turn round and go back – there was room – or she could abandon the car and walk.
She looked at her phone. No signal. So she got out the map and tried to work out roughly where she was in relation to her destination.
There was no quick solution, she just had to walk the next bit and hope it didn’t become impassable. What was really worrying her was getting away quickly if Jago didn’t want to see her. She didn’t fancy running; it would look desperate.
She put her water and sandwiches into her rucksack but left the rest of the food that Gilly had pressed on her. Then she put the map on top, just in case. She locked the car and set off up the road, past the barriers.
If she hadn’t been fretting about what her reception might be, or worried that she might get lost, she’d have enjoyed the walk. The world had a newly washed feel to it after all the rain and although it was muddy she was wearing sturdy trainers which were coping OK.
The scenery seemed to get lovelier with every step but the road got steeper and it seemed to take a long time before she reached the turn-off she was aiming for. She had bundled her hair on top of her head to keep it off her neck but there was still sweat running down her spine and the minimal amount of make-up she had put on that morning had long gone.
She had a drink and then set off again, acutely conscious of how far she’d have to walk back if she’d made a mistake – a mistake in her direction or a mistake in coming at all.
The road trailed through fields and small woods and the occasional cluster of farm buildings. It was lovely but it was long and Helena’s confidence wavered. Should she turn back now? She’d been going for nearly an hour. Say half an hour back to the car (it would be quicker going downhill), but it would still be at least two hours to get back to her mother’s house, probably three or four.
Then she heard a lark singing in one of the nearby fields. The sound of it soaring up and up and up filled her with hope. She would go on until she reached the address James had given her. She would face this dilemma head on.
She was seriously sweating, out of breath and tired when she finally looked up and saw a small cottage further up the lane. She knew it was the right one because it had Jago’s pickup parked outside it.
She was here; she had arrived. Now all she had to do was walk up to the front door and knock. But at that moment she would have preferred to walk over broken glass.
She decided to have a drink of water and then use a bit of it to wash her face. She went behind a tree, out of sight of the house, so she could prepare herself in private. When she was as clean as she could be given the small amount of water she had, she ate a sandwich. She chewed slowly to avoid indigestion, reluctant to admit to herself she was killing time, too scared to actually confront Jago now she was here.
She slid down so she was squatting, wishing the ground wasn’t so wet and she could sit, and rested under the tree for a while. Then her legs began to cramp and she straightened up again. She spent a few minutes shaking out her hair (very damp round her neckline) and retying the scarf holding it back.
She was just wondering what more she could do to use up time to put off the inevitable when she heard a voice.
‘Are you going to stay there all day or are you going to come in? I suggest you come in. It’s going to rain again.’
It was Jago.
Chapter Thirty
‘You managed to find me, then?’ Jago said.
‘Were you hiding?’
‘No. You’d better come in and meet Fred. I’ll make a cup of tea.’
His words were hospitable but his manner wasn’t. But as she didn’t have a choice, Helena walked up the path to the house and followed him to the threshold of the back door. There she stopped and started unlacing her trainers, which were caked with mud.
‘Don’t worry about that—’ Jago began and then saw just how dirty her shoes were. ‘OK, take them off. I’ll find you a pair of clean socks to wear on top of yours.’
‘My socks are soaking,’ she said, peeling one off.
‘Thick socks then.’
Helena removed the rest of her footwear and leaned against the doorjamb, taking in the view. A series of valleys, small woods and fields lay like a bumpy quilt before her, leading down to a thread of silver that was the river. The sun coming out after the rain caused mist to drift across the landscape like skeins of carded wool. She couldn’t help planning a wall hanging inspired by the spectacular scene – or maybe an actual quilt that could go on a bed or sofa.
She was summoned back to the present by Jago’s ‘Here!’ He was holding two pairs of socks, one pair of them extra thick, designed to go inside climbing boots or wellies. It took a few moments to get the thinner pair on over her damp feet but when she had the second pair on she had hope that her feet would one day be warm again.
‘Come in. I’ll get the fire going. It’s not that cold but Fred needs to be kept warm,’ said Jago.
The thought of a fire encouraged Helena to go into the house.
Jago was in the kitchen, a lean-to attached to the back of the property: a cottage, one room deep, that smelt of damp and slightly rotting vegetables. There was a small piece of land outside the kitchen window and then there was the hill. ‘Go through into the front room. Fred is there.’
‘Is there a bathroom of any kind I could use? I need to get the mud off my hands.’ She was expecting to be shown to an outdoor privy. It was that sort of house.
‘Oh! Of course, sorry.’ He indicated a door just off the kitchen. ‘It’s in there. Not very salubrious, I’m afraid, but it has running water.’
There was an ancient lavatory with an overhead cistern and a cracked handbasin, both of which were fairly stained but, because of the broken window, the little room didn’t smell. She felt a lot better when she came out.
‘Right,’ said Jago, who had obviously been waiting for her. ‘I’ll introduce you to Fred.’
Although he was making all the right gestures, Jago’s manner was making Helena feel unwelcome and if she had had her car outside she would have got into it and driven away. But she didn’t have that choice.
Jago ushered her into the front room, which was small but had the most amazing view. An old man was sitting in an armchair there; next to him was a small table covered with invalid paraphernalia. Going on what she could see, Fred was in need of quite a lot of support. ‘Fred? This is Helena. Helena? This is Fred. Right, I’ll make tea.’