Page 99 of Secret Paths

Twice.

This is not because I am avoiding thinking about Peter.

Obviously.

It is because the drawer contained outdated hand cream, three loose buttons and a charger for a phone I have not owned since 2018. Any sensible person would have addressed that eventually.

After the second reorganisation, I put on my boots and leave the house.

The air has the damp softness that comes after rain, and St Claire smells of wet stone, cut grass and somebody’s wood burner starting too early in the day. I walk without deciding where I am going, which is how I end up on the path behind the church, heading towards the old mill.

It is quiet here. A few birds in the hedges. Water moving somewhere beyond the trees. No Peter. No Alexandra. No chef with opinions about my cooking.

Turns out, peace and quiet are considerably less useful when your own brain is the problem.

That’s the problem with having my surgery closed on Mondays. Too much time for my mind to go off and conjure up all sorts of memories.

I keep thinking about Peter standing in my bedroom doorway, trying to make his face behave.

Maybe we should tell Alexandra.

Not an accusation. Not even a demand. Just a sentence with more hope in it than I had expected and more disappointment afterwards than I wanted to see.

I walk faster.

The path curves past the old stone wall where the moss grows thick between the cracks. Ahead, by the bench under the sycamore, Mrs Higgins sits with Bernard collapsed at her feet in a patch of weak sunlight.

He is not lying beside the bench.

He is occupying the path.

All of it.

Mrs Higgins sees me coming and lifts one gloved hand. “Afternoon, Doctor.”

“Afternoon.” I slow as Bernard opens one eye and does not otherwise acknowledge my presence. “Is he all right?”

“He has discovered sunshine.”

“Dangerous.”

“Very. We may be here until Tuesday.”

Bernard sighs through his nose and stretches one paw without moving the rest of his body.

“Has he walked far?” I ask.

“From the cottage to here.”

“That is not far.”

“Do tell him. He believes he has crossed the Alps.”

Bernard closes his eye again, apparently satisfied that his suffering has been recognised.

Mrs Higgins pats the empty space beside her. “Sit a minute, love. Unless you are on a mission.”

“No mission.”