Conrad Walker left his house in Watermillock, to head off for his morning swim across Lake Ullswater: an activity he’d been doing for fifty-three years. He’d only missed the ritual on a handful of occasions that he could recollect. One was because of the biggest storm in living memory. The wind and rain had battered the steamers and caused thousands of pounds worth of damage. Conrad had been fifteen years old. His mother hadn’t allowed him near the She turned to face Colinake on that day, but he’d climbed out of his bedroom window anyway, to walk down to the shore and watch the fierce anger of the tempestuous water.
Nugget padded on ahead of him. She was his third Collie, and all three of them had swum the lake with him every day until, one by one, they could no longer manage it. He didn’t go as far as he used to, but it was far enough for him and Nugget. The July sun shone in a clear, piercing sky, and Conrad figured the lake might be twenty degrees today, on its surface at least. The road was quiet, as it always was at this hour. He’d parked in one of the bays scattered along the lake’s shore, and he opened the back to throw in his towel and pull on a pair of loose trousers and a jumper. Nugget waited faithfully by his side, knowing that her turn would come; she’d get a rub and a treat, and she looked up expectantly. When that was done, she jumped in to the passenger seat. Conrad could have walked but that wasn’t the point. It was a daily ritual, and for the last nine years, after his swim, his next stop was to visit his wife and bid her good morning. He’d take his flask with him and have a cup of tea.
Driving up the hill, the small village was quiet, with the farmers having left for the day, and the tourists still in bed. Nugget let her tongue soak up the rushing air from the Land Rover’s open windows for the short journey to the church.
He parked opposite the Victorian version of the consecrated site, built of red sandstone and slate, to replace the dilapidated Tudor structure. The church stood proudly watching over the lake beyond, and Conrad came here often to absorb the stillness of her grounds. In the summer, there were huge, shady canopies under which to sit; in the winter, there were sheltered benches to spend time upon, contemplating anything that took his fancy. He rarely saw anyone else, except the reverend, if he was up at this hour.
Nugget jumped out of the Land Rover, and ran straight over the road to the gate.
Conrad paused. In all her eleven years, she’d never done that. Every morning, she jumped out of the passenger seat and waited at his heel until he signalled for her to cross the road. Conrad looked at the seat, wondering if she was losing her ability to hold on. He looked for a stain but there was none.
He shrugged and closed the door; he never locked it. He was perplexed and tutted; he liked routine. He looked both ways up and down the lane, then crossed to where Nugget was sitting. She stood up and began to bark, turning round and round as if she’d sniffed a trail.
‘You seen a squirrel, Nugget?’ he asked. He opened the gate and the dog shot off into the churchyard, with Conrad following, shaking his head. She must be chasing something, he thought. The barking got louder and Conrad chuckled; those damned cheeky rodents, they tease her so. He spotted a fat grey sat at the top of a branch, goading the canine, as it devoured nuts and cared nothing for the chaos it was causing to Conrad’s morning. He followed the barking; it was in the same direction as Ada’s gravestone anyhow. He had commissioned a bench to be placed in front of her, so he could stay as long as he wished without stiffening up. In colder months, he brought a blanket and a flask of tea.
He continued around the church to where he thought the barking was coming from and he thought that it might be under the massive old oak that stood majestically to the east of the church entrance, guarding the graveyard. It had been just as big when he was a young lad, singing in the choir, and his father had said that it was more than five hundred years old. Conrad half expected Reverend Neil to come out, asking what all the fuss was about, but then he remembered that Neil was away in Whitehaven on some Diocesan conference. He wasn’t a bad egg, the reverend; they’d had worse. He was a decent chap who always had time for his flock; not that Conrad counted himself as one of the flock, not since Ada had died.
He shielded his eyes against the sun, which rose quickly at this time of year. It shone a deep orange and made him squint. It was going to be another belter of a day. He shouted the dog’s name over again; he’d never known Nugget to be so disobedient. Her barks grew louder, and Conrad was sure now that it was coming from the oak tree.
He took two more steps but then stopped. Nugget’s barking rang in his ears and Conrad swayed slightly. He rubbed his eyes and took another step, and then he was sure. He held onto the dry stone wall, and his eyes continued around the churchyard to see if anyone else was about. He was alone. Well, sort of. The flask slipped from his grasp and he covered his mouth.
Nugget was standing over the body of a lady, but the lady wasn’t moving. She was still. Conrad started to panic and his first thought was to go back to his car for a coat to put over the poor woman, who was completely naked. He tried not to look at her and he thought how awful it would be if she realised that a stranger had seen her that way.
But all the way back to the car, he knew.
He knew because of Ada. He knew because of the flies.
But he got the coat anyway.
Half way back to the church with his coat, with Nugget still going crazy, he tutted and went back to the car for his mobile phone, which he never used but his daughter had bought for him. He had no idea if it had any juice in it, as he rarely charged the bloody thing.
He dialled 999.
When he got back to the body, he threw the coat over her, and pulled Nugget away. He made a decision, and turned back towards her and knelt down. He touched her skin and pulled away.
He knew she was dead.
Conrad said a prayer, not because he was religious, or because he believed in God, but more to give the woman some dignity, and to allow her soul to rest in peace.
When the ambulance arrived, he was sat on Ada’s bench, under an apple tree, holding a hot cup of tea from his flask. Nugget sat faithfully at his side, and the only sound was of insects buzzing, and distant twittering birds feeding their young.