Chapter 37

We're back in the village, and it is unbelievable how often we have to stop because some idiotic villager wants to talk to Louisa. It is also unbelievable that they obviously all have the same questions. I don't know if they compiled a catalogue of questions or if their inbred brains just work in the same mysterious ways.

I am almost tempted to suggest writing all the answers on a huge board.

Yes, James has grown a lot.

Yes, Louisa is happy to be back.

Yes, we are still together.

Yes, we are still living in London.

Yes, Louisa has heard about the school.

Yes, it is horrible that the school will be closing down.

Yes, Louisa has talked to the board of governors.

Yes, we will move down here to save the school if possible.

No, I won't be the local GP again (not if I can help it).

No, we have no plans where to live yet.

Yes, we will all be coming back to Portwenn.

I can't stand all this silly small talk anymore, but Louisa keeps chatting away happily, giving the same answers over and over again to everyone who wants to hear them. It seems the whole village falls into that category.

I tried to signal to Louisa that I'd prefer to reduce the amount of stops and even tried to ignore the next good friend of my partner and push past her, but Louisa just warned me not to be unsociable.

Now, however, James is getting more and more tired and at least that seems to shorten Louisa's stops. I am eternally grateful to my son that he can enhance our exit.

Nevertheless, Louisa can't help to give a short introduction of our family history to our son while passing the old places.

She tells him about the school where she used to work and where she will work again. James shows little interest.

Then we walk further up the hill and pass White Rose Cottage.Louisa stops in front of the house. She fingers for my hand and our hands interlock. She gives mine a little squeeze. James moans "Not again."

"Well," Louisa still looks at the entrance, "this really is a special place." Then she turns towards me. "A very special place to all of us."

I look at her and know she is right. If I had ever felt at home anywhere, then it was here, undisturbed from the outside world in general or intruding patients in particular. It was here that I had found rest. It was here that we were as close as we have ever been.

Louisa sighs. "If I just had known…"

"Known what?" I ask.

"That we were coming."

"Uhm…eh…right."

"I mean, I could have brought the keys."

"Keys?"

"Yeah, my tenants have just moved out. The agent has sent me their keys and urged me to check the property in case of some damage. Then the insurance need to know soon. It seems, I would have had to come here after all. I just didn't…"

She looks at me and I do understand. I nod and Louisa leaves the sentence unfinished.

"Next time." I say.

"Lots of next times." Louisa smiles at me.

"Uhum. Do you think they changed it a lot?"

"Can't be more than new wallpapers and such. Otherwise they would have had to get my permission."

"Probably." I sigh. Sure, the red wallpapers would probably be gone by now.

"Can we go now?" James is getting impatient. Memory lane is definitely not his area yet.

"We're going. Sure."

"No," Louisa smiles, "we're just coming back." Then she takes James by the hand and we're heading forwards towards the way to the car park.

Just a moment later Louisa's mood is dampened again. She has spotted the 'For sale' sign dangling in front of the next cottage.

"Mrs. Averill's cottage is for sale." Louisa states. "Such a shame."

"She's probably dead." I remember her unhealthy life with lots of polynuclear aromatic hydrocarbons and close proximity to a tuberculose cat.

"You're mean." Louisa contradicts me. "I think I've heard she's at High Trees now. Too much work looking after herself, especially as she's on her own. Such a shame."

"Perfectly sensible."

"Yes, I know. I just mean…" Louisa sighs. "Probably some Londoner will grab it and then there's another local owner gone and some posh weekender or summer visitor has taken over another cottage here."

"Maybe one Londoner will buy it." I say. "Let's get to the farm."

To be continued…