A welcoming way

I AM very happy with the sign. The yellow E at the end is a bit squashed in, but not to worry. Peter would have been proud of what I’d made, if not a little surprised.

Anything to do with paints and woodwork was always his domain.

My older sister, Sylvia, paid one of her rare visits to Riverside Cottage as soon as she heard the devastating news about my husband.

As always, she held strong opinions about how my future life should be run.

Sylvia told me I had to sell up and move “nearer real civilisation”.

“Alison,” she said, “you can’t live out here by yourself. There’s no neighbours, no shops. And no hospital. What if something happens to you?

“What if someone tries to break in and you’re so isolated?” she added.

I listened to her views and reflected on them.

Ironically, when she said that I couldn’t live a life in complete isolation, I actually made my mind up.

“Isolated,” I repeated. “That’s why I’m staying put. I don’t need anyone else.”

As I heard my own words, I could feel a shadow of doubt.

“I love the garden. It’s going to be my new focus,” I told her. “There’s the river and footpath at the bottom.

“And there’s always people walking past, doing that Cleveland Way thing.”

I gave her a gentle hug.

“I’m not leaving. I can’t.”

As the weeks passed by, I settled into new routines and kept myself busy – mainly in the garden.

I decided that I should secure a new lock on the gate.

Now that I was alone, I needed to be more careful.

It probably didn’t need a new lock, as the catch was so rusted over it would take a professional safe cracker to get through.

For a few days, the smell of newly applied creosote permeated the air.

I quite liked the sensation. It reminded me of the past.

One morning, when I was snaking the hose towards the tubs of spruces, a young couple called over and asked me for directions to the Blacksmith’s Arms.

We faced each other across the fence and got talking.

Initially they moaned about the muddy track and heavy boots.

Then they spoke about the 109-mile route they were doing, complained about the shortage of coffee stops, their huge backpacks and the unpredictable English weather.

“We’ve been lucky so far.” The lady laughed. “The rain jackets have made their way down to the bottom of the rucksacks, but they’re never too far away.”