Before Lauren went freelance, she’d worked as a product designer at a manufacturing firm. The long hours and stress of the office environment meant that, for a long time, she wasn’t looking after herself properly. Then her mother died suddenly, and instead of taking a break, she worked even harder to keep her mind occupied. The depression, when it finally hit, floored her completely. Some days she hadn’t been able to lift her head from the pillow, and just the thought of having to get out of bed made her cry herself back into an exhausted sleep. It had taken a lot to drag herself out of that pit. A lot of antidepressants, a lot of therapy. She’d left the medication behind, now, despite everyone telling her she shouldn’t, and she self-medicated with fresh air, good food and exercise. It worked, for her. Each time she stepped out of the door and started to walk, she could feel the darkness lift, as if a layer of it were being physically removed from her body.

After her recovery, she didn’t want to return to the office that had made her so ill. It was three years now, since she’d decided to go it alone with her garden fountain business. Patrick had been worried that she might get lonely, working on her own all day. Lauren hadn’t shared his concern for a single moment; the flexibility and the solitude suited her. She’d loved working from home out of her little studio, building up her client base of garden centres and private projects. Being her own boss meant that she had total artistic freedom, but it also meant she could take off into the countryside whenever she wished, which was almost every single day. It wasn’t only about the exercise; the valleys, woods and rivers often provided inspiration for her flow-form fountain sculptures. She would take her sketchbook just in case she saw a useful natural shape or a leaf formation that she might copy in clay, cast and reproduce in concrete. Patrick was completely right about the daily walks. Her old life had been punctuated by them, enhanced by them, restored by them. But things were different now. All the things were different. For thirty-one days, her boots had stood unused on the shoe rack by the back door.

“I think I might wait a week or two more, before I take them out. They’re so little, and they might get too hot in this weather.”

Patrick sighed.

The worst of the heat had passed, leaving scorched, parched earth and an indefinite hosepipe ban. There’d been no rain yet, but the last few days a fresh breeze had been blowing up the valleys. Really, the weather was perfect, like living in the Mediterranean. So inviting. But no, she shouldn’t go out. Just in case.