7
Across the rest of the weekend and the start of the following week, all I could think about was moving home. The idea still scared me but I felt lighter having made the decision. Well, almost made it. There was one more thing I wanted to do – have a proper walk around Willowdale during daylight hours and see what my gut told me then. It was Georgia’s birthday on Thursday and we were going out for the evening. Although she’d be at work during the day, she’d already said I was welcome to drive over earlier and work from her house if that was more convenient for me. It would give me the perfect opportunity to take that walk without telling anyone.
I drove over to Willowdale after lunch and parked on the road between the community centre and The Hardy Herdwick – the village pub and our destination for Georgia’s birthday night out. It was cool but thankfully not freezing like it had been last week. The sun was low in the pale blue cloud-free sky and dazzling me so I needed my sunglasses on. My eyes had always been really sensitive to the sun and Georgia used to tease me for being a poser wearing shades in winter but I could barely keep my eyes open without them.
I followed the path to the village centre where it curved round to the right with Lakeside Inn on one side and the giant willow tree on the other. As I passed Derwent Rise, I spotted Dad’s car on the drive and wondered if I should drop in to say hello. They were taking Georgia out for a birthday meal on Saturday so wouldn’t be joining us at the pub tonight. I probably should make an effort to see them but, if I popped in, I’d do it on the way back.
My walk continued past the marina and out of the village. Derwent Water was on my left but I wouldn’t be able to see it again until some way past Willowdale Hall. Trees of various species, some deciduous and others evergreen, flanked me on either side of the road. Shafts of gentle light filtered between the branches and a light wind teased the ends of my hair.
With every step, I felt lighter, more relaxed. How many times must I have walked along here over the years? Whether I was walking to the lakeside, hiking up Cat Bells or doing a full circuit of Derwent Water, there was one stop I always made – Willowdale Hall. The manor house itself was set so far back from the gates that it couldn’t be seen from the road. As a young girl, I’d often pressed my head against the railings, willing the trees to temporarily turn invisible so I could see the beautiful building beyond them.
Reaching Willowdale Hall, I couldn’t resist pressing my face against the gates once more. The wrought iron felt icy cold against my cheeks, making me gasp, so I didn’t stay there for long. I continued further along the track past the estate grounds. Derwent Water came into view again and I followed a track down to one of several wooden jetties around the lake.
There was nobody on the jetty or the pebble beach beside it so I picked up a stone and attempted to skim it, only managing a pathetic two bounces. Flynn and Noah had been the experts, always winding each other up about who was the best. I smiled as I recalled the pair of them on this very beach. The water had been really calm and Noah – age twelve or thirteen at the time – had managed an impressive twelve bounces. When it was Flynn’s turn, Noah was determined not to be beaten and had tried every trick he could think of to distract his dad – fake-sneezing loudly, tickling his ears with a twig he’d found on the ground and even hurling a dead slug at him. I’d completely forgotten about that until now.
I skimmed another stone – three bounces this time – then hugged my arms across my chest. I’d fled to escape the bad memories but doing so had taken me away from the happy memories like this. This was how I wanted to remember my son – fun-loving, mischievous and loving life. This was where I needed to be.
* * *
When I walked back through Willowdale, there was no car on the drive at Derwent Rise. Dad never put the car in the garage so its absence meant nobody was home. Probably just as well because it felt right for Georgia to be the first person I told about my decision to return.
I managed ninety minutes of work at Georgia’s before she arrived back from work.
‘Happy birthday!’ I cried, jumping up to give her a hug.
She opened up her gift – a handbag she’d fallen in love with on a visit to Newcastle last year but which she’d refused to treat herself to, saying it was too expensive. She hugged it to her chest, beaming at me.
‘I can’t believe you went back for it! Thank you so much.’
‘You loved it so I was always going to get you it. So, how was the library?’
‘Busy. We’ve started running Story Craft on a Thursday afternoon where we read babies and toddlers a picture book and they create some of the characters or scenes from the story using painted hands and feet.’
‘Sounds messy.’
‘It is, but it’s fun and the stories are always so heartwarming. I love children’s books.’
‘You loveallbooks.’
Our parents had been voracious readers so books had always been a big thing in our family. While Georgia took after Mum in devouring fiction, I followed in Dad’s footsteps with a love of non-fiction, especially anything historical. From being a little girl, Georgia had wanted to work in a library. We’d visited the one in Keswick every Saturday where she took forever to select her books. Some of the librarians let her stamp the return date on the books she borrowed and she still maintained that the best Christmas present she’d ever been given was a set of library cards and a stamp. In her teens, she’d developed a particular interest in rare and first editions and now, alongside her library role, she was the book expert at Darrowby’s.
‘So, are you excited about the quiz tonight?’ Georgia asked, tucking her dark hair behind her ears as she peeked into the slow cooker which had been teasing me with the delicious aroma of honey and garlic chicken.
‘Erm…’
She laughed. ‘Daft question for someone who hates quizzes.’
‘It’s not that I hate them. I’m just no good at them. I know a considerable amount about a few niche subjects which don’t typically come up on quizzes.’
‘You’ve got some music and film knowledge.’
‘Somebeing the operative word. Mid-eighties to early-noughties, if that. But I promise to try my best and not let you down.’
‘You could never let me down,’ she said, her expression serious, and then she laughed once more. ‘That’s Mark’s job. That man has an uncanny ability to present wrong answers with such conviction that nobody likes to challenge him. Right, I’m off upstairs to get showered before he gets home.’
She left the kitchen and I returned to my laptop to sneak in another thirty minutes of work before I got changed.
* * *
