They were on the summit of Scafell Pike. It was their tenth Wainwright in three weeks.
Wastwater shimmered to the south west, and it snaked round to the left and disappeared into the distance. In the opposite direction, Great Gable stood tall and commanding, the most reliable of them all: its inoffensive dome giving it the air of a teddy bear’s belly. To the south east, they could even make out Windermere.
Kelly sat very still and turned her face to the autumn sun. It was her highest and longest climb since the summer and she felt good. She felt strong. The doctors had told her to listen to her body, and that she’d know when she was ready. Johnny sat next to her but didn’t speak. He looked southwards to see if he could make out Coniston Old Man. Kelly looked at him. Josie was coming to stay, and she was nervous. They were only sharing dinner together, Kelly wouldn’t stay. Neither had suggested it.
Kelly was ravenous and rooted about in her back pack for something to eat. She pulled out a foil parcel and unwrapped it. She’d brought a hoisin duck wrap and she devoured it. She glugged at a bottle of water and got her breath back. She’d lost some fitness but it would come back soon enough.
‘Ready? I could sit here all day, but I said I’d be there at three,’ Johnny said.
‘I know. Yes, I’m ready. I’ll swing by about six, yes?’ Johnny nodded. She could tell he was nervous too, and it touched her.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘Actually brilliant. It wasn’t easy but I got up.’
‘Impressive.’
They descended easily and stopped to take in the best views that they’d missed on the way up, either due to Kelly trying to keep pace, or simply because they’d had their backs to them. They snapped photos on their phones and stopped for water.
‘Do you want to go straight home?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m going to the hospital to see Mum.’
It took less than an hour to descend and it was strange being back at sea level. It was like being in a parallel universe for a moment, stopped in perfection. Only those who knew the Lakes understood. Johnny drove her home and she showered quickly. Her house was almost decorated, and she had sofas, over one of which she threw her coat.
Afterwards, she picked through her mail and put on some music. The terrace was still warm despite being October.
Kelly noticed an envelope that looked private. Her address was printed but there were no official markings on it. She decided to open it first: the other stuff was just bills and adverts. Something different was exciting. She rarely received anything interesting through the post. The last surprise she’d had like this was a hand written letter from her sister. Nikki found it easier to thank her this way, although Kelly didn’t want thanking. What she did wasn’t an act of bravery or courage, it was just instinct. The card sat on the window sill in the kitchen and Kelly re-read it occasionally. Nikki had spent two months in hospital.
Even now, when she was in the Penrith and Lakes hospital, Kelly couldn’t entirely settle around the nurses. And if the truth be known, the nurses found it difficult to settle around her: she was a constant reminder of the shame Amy Richmond had brought on their profession.
The Trust had introduced new measures to vet staff, and CCTV had been installed inside drug stores and private rooms. Some thought it an invasion of privacy, but others – like Kelly – believed that if they’d had it before, they might be able to prove that Catherine Tring had been helped on her way to a death even the palliative team didn’t expect so soon.
She looked at the envelope in her hands and opened it.
It contained a folded piece of paper and Kelly knew that it was handwritten. She opened it and her hands began to shake. It had been sent from Broadmoor in Berkshire.
It read, ‘Dear Kelly, I do hope you are well, I think of you often. How is your mother? I always liked her. I’ve sent you one of my favourite poems…’
Kelly dropped the letter. She’d seen the handwriting a thousand times before.