The Slow Lane Walkers Club

Rosa Temple

• Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
• Year: 2022
• Print ISBN: 9781398509061
• eBook ISBN: 9781398509078
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Caribbean Literature
• Index: Literature

A feel-good tale of unlikely friendship, community and learning to live life in the slow lane, perfect for fans of Clare Pooley and Hazel Prior Daniel isn't used to living life in the slow lane. So when he finds himself unexpectedly jobless and back in his old Cornish hometown, he can't sit still. Hazel used to be adventurous too. But now widowed and in her eighties, she barely leaves the house. When she sees an advert for Daniel's new walking club, she grabs at the chance of some excitement. Daniel's heart sinks when he sees that the only person who's turned up for his walking club is the crazy old lady from two doors down. But what he doesn't expect is to discover that Hazel is one of the most fascinating people he's ever met... A gorgeous, warm and uplifting story about friendship, community, adventure and the joy of walking.

1

The train came to a stop at the station. As the doors hissed open, Daniel felt his shoulders sag. He peeled his body from the seat and gathered up his luggage. He had everything he owned with him crammed into an oversized rucksack and two large holdalls. Then there was the long case carrying his walking poles which bashed and banged until he could free everything from the train and dump it onto the platform. With all of his possessions on the ground at his feet, he looked up at the sign: Bodmin Parkway Station. Though it had never been his plan, Daniel was well and truly back in Cornwall. The other passengers for this station had dodged around him and his baggage. Places to go, people to see. But Daniel was in no hurry. When the guard at the gate looked at him curiously, Daniel decided to heap his rucksack onto his back, pull his case of walking poles over his shoulder and then stoop to pick up the two bulging holdalls. As he lifted himself to standing, his mobile buzzed with a notification. It was probably his sister, Annabelle, saying she was waiting in the car, so he ignored it and exited the station.

Daniel had slept for most of the train journey from Gatwick Airport to Bodmin. The team of tour guides he’d worked with for the last five years had given him the biggest and noisiest send-off of his life the night before his flight. He was sure he’d enjoyed himself at Bar Casa Mia, though most of the evening’s events were hazy. The following morning his tour guide friends, dressed in their walking clothes, hiking boots and backpacks, had waved him off as his taxi sped away to Catania Fontanarossa Airport. From there, the journey to Cornwall had gone by in a blur.

Outside Bodmin Parkway, Daniel watched as people hopped into taxis at the rank, or were picked up by friends or relatives. He hoped his sister would have realized he was bringing home all of his worldly goods and would arrive in her four-by-four. But there was no sign of her, or a Range Rover come to that, so he dropped all the baggage he’d so carefully loaded onto his person and pulled out his phone. There was a message from Annabelle:

So sorry D. Rasmus has bucket stuck on head. On way to A&E. Key under the blue flower pot. See you later. A x

A careful negotiation of Daniel’s luggage into the boot of a taxi followed until, finally, he was on his way to his childhood village.

Daniel sat in the back seat of the taxi and rolled the window down. Fields and farmland swept past him along the Bodmin Bypass; vast verdant fields bordered by dark green hedges and brown furrowed land lay on either side of the A30. He sipped in the familiar Cornish breeze, which went some way to soothing the effects of his last night in Sicily.

‘Holiday, is it?’ The taxi driver was male, dumpy, with a thick neck. He glanced at Daniel through his rear view mirror.

‘Er, no. Family reasons.’

‘Must be a long stay.’ Daniel furrowed his brow at the driver’s reflection. ‘All the luggage?’

‘Oh, yes, of course. Yes, I’ll be here a while.’

Daniel twitched in his seat. A sinking feeling rose from the pit of his stomach as it always did when the word ‘family’ came up in conversation. He thought back to a strained family meal, ten years ago. Daniel sat across from his father at the dining table, their faces aimed at each other like pistols at dawn. A heavy brandy glass sat nervously close to the edge of the pine table when the confrontation began. Daniel had shouted that he didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps and should never have allowed himself to be forced into taking the engineering degree. His father, fist thumping the table, had called his son a complete failure. Daniel hated university. He hated his father and their provincial life and once he’d taken his exams he would leave Cornwall and never return. His father had swung his hand and said good riddance. The brandy glass had smashed on the stone floor and Daniel’s mother had rushed to gather the shards of glass. The family had shattered that evening and though she was able to collect together each piece of the broken brandy glass, Daniel’s mother had never tried to bring the family back together.

The taxi driver drove past the nature reserve, a small village with a close-knit infrastructure and past signposts to place names that sounded odd to Daniel now. He was drawing nearer to the town of Padstow where his sister Annabelle had moved to when she’d married Scott. Annabelle, unlike Daniel, had only moved a ten-minute drive away from their home village of Trevone.

Since his departure Daniel and Annabelle had remained in constant contact. Annabelle was the one who had reported to Daniel the cracks as they’d begun to appear in their parents’ marriage. So he wasn’t surprised, years later, when the divorce was announced or when his father remarried. On his rare and fleeting visits home after the divorce, Daniel had sensed some worrying changes in his mother. She’d become distant, disengaged. But he hadn’t anticipated her locking up the house and leaving the village on what seemed like a constant quest to ‘find herself’. She’d sent messages to the siblings, though they’d become fewer and further between, saying she was meditating in Tibet or kayaking in Canadian lakes.

Annabelle’s calls to Daniel had intensified over recent years as if his mobile was the Bat Phone and Metropolis needed his help to save them from peril. According to his sister, Daniel should be thinking about his future and not throwing away a good education on a dead-end job. She’d sent photographs of her children, the sea, the countryside, all in a bid to make her brother see what he was missing and come home. In return, he’d sent pictures of rocky grey and black mountain trails, and of ash clouds above the active Mount Etna, burning amber into a black sky. He’d sent a picture of the first time his best friend, Doc, threw up because of altitude sickness. It was clear to Daniel that Annabelle missed him, possibly more than she missed their parents, but he had made excuse after excuse for not visiting home. He was loving life in Sicily; he felt independent and free.

The driver turned onto a single track lane. The traditional hedges of Cornish stone and overhanging shrubs closed in on him, and the knot in Daniel’s stomach tightened. He was close to his destination: his grandmother’s house. His grandmother, who had been the last member of the family to remain in Trevone, had passed away quietly in her sleep. Daniel had made a brief visit to the village for her funeral, but just days after he’d arrived back in Sicily, Annabelle called to say that their grandmother had left her house to them both. It had come as a huge surprise to Daniel and Annabelle. Since she was their maternal grandmother, neither could understand why they had inherited the house instead of their mother. His mother acted as if she were just as confused as they were and clearly didn’t want to discuss it further. She had left the country very quickly after the will had been read and hadn’t been in touch again with either him or Annabelle.

Annabelle, even more desperate for Daniel to return to Cornwall, needed him to help her sort the house out and decide what they should do with it. The timing was awful. Daniel had managed to arrange a few days off work for the funeral but coming home indefinitely to help Annabelle was a sure way of being fired. The busy season for tours was fast approaching. The company he worked for had a waiting list of guides who could take his place in an instant, and though he’d been there five years, experience had shown him there was no loyalty to staff. To say he was dispensable was an understatement. The walking guide jobs were popular for young people from all around the world. In fact, it was a go-to job for people wanting to see the world, just as Daniel had in his early twenties. Age had been Annabelle’s trump card for getting Daniel to commit to coming home.

‘Daniel,’ she had said, ‘you’re well over the average age of walking guides in that company. You’re thirty years old. You’ll wake up one morning and wonder why you ever took a degree and how walking up and down a volcano every day is going to secure you a decent future.’

It was true. The people he’d started out with had moved on eventually. Daniel was one of the ‘old ones’ and he found it more difficult to relate to some of the newer guides who seemed to get younger with every new intake. He didn’t want to tell Annabelle she was right and that he knew how insecure the job and his future were. He resented the fact that he couldn’t leave on his own terms, that Annabelle was calling the shots.

Closer to the village, the houses were dotted along the network of roads off the main road through Trevone, their white walls gleaming on this bright but crisp spring morning. So peaceful, his childhood home, so quiet, not another soul in sight and no other cars around. Daniel had liked the tranquillity at one time but he wasn’t so sure he could survive a small village now.

‘It’s a beautiful place, Trevone,’ said the taxi driver. ‘You have it all. Countryside, beaches, fresh air.’

Daniel gave him a thin smile. He could hear gulls overhead and he could smell the sea. He remembered chilly autumn afternoons cycling home from school along the very road he was on and the lazy summer days on the beach with his school friends. But immediately he recollected the volatile relationship with his father as a young adult and shuddered. Not once in the ten years he’d been away did he envisage coming back indefinitely to a little village of white houses and grey slate roofs.

Daniel tried to blink away the past, block out the bad feeling and focus on the good times he’d had in Sicily. The great friends he’d made there, not to mention his job; five years of guiding tourists and adventuring around Mount Etna, one of the most thrilling landscapes he’d known. But before he could call to mind one of the many mountain walks, climbs, Jeep tours, or the way the cold weather sneaked up on you when you’d set off on a tour in just a T-shirt and sunglasses, the taxi pulled up outside his grandmother’s house.

Tall and sturdy, very much like his grandmother, the house stood on a hill looking down to a crossroads where two tiny white houses bowed to the imposing Cornish stonework of Gran’s house. Daniel helped the driver empty the boot of his luggage, and glanced down the hill. In the front garden of one of the houses, whose front door was painted bright red, was an elderly woman. She leaned on her walking stick while she watered her roses. She wore a coral-coloured tracksuit. Daniel couldn’t help but notice the vibrancy of her clothing and her smiling face. Her afro hair was clipped short and speckled with a generous helping of silver fractal curls.

‘Someone you know?’ asked the driver as Daniel paid him.

‘What? No. I don’t think so.’

‘Well, she’s waving in this direction and she’s not waving to me.’ The driver, back in his seat, nodded to Daniel. ‘Have a good one.’

As the taxi pulled away, Daniel paused to see the woman in her garden, waving her stick towards him as if she were trying to flag down a jet coming in for landing. Daniel, tired and irritable, gave her a quick nod and a half wave before going in search of the keys to his grandmother’s house. Correction. His and Annabelle’s house.

The blue plant pot Annabelle had mentioned in her text was filled with a large gardenia shrub and sat behind two terracotta pots with leafy geranium plants waiting to bloom later that spring in pink and scarlet. The leaves from the plant pots by the front door shrugged off the assault made on them by the walking poles Daniel clumsily shoved into the hallway. Next came his rucksack and holdalls, which he dumped by the mat just inside the door. As he did so he heard a cat mew and felt it whiz past his legs. He looked down but all he saw of it was a black fluffy tail disappearing into the kitchen. Great. Not only was he on house clearing duty, he also had a cat to look after.

Daniel looked around the hallway and spotted a picture on the wall of him and Annabelle as children. He was sat on his grandmother’s lap with a big grin on his face, Annabelle standing beside them in a short yellow dress. His grandmother had placed a hand across Daniel’s abdomen and he looked poised to wriggle off. As he stared at the old photograph, Daniel was gripped by a pang of guilt – he’d inherited her house but he knew so little about his grandmother. Annabelle had stayed in touch with her and he wished now that he had too. Maybe he’d have better memories of her to call upon; most of his were confused and unreliable.

His mother had taken Daniel and Annabelle on visits to see his grandparents quite regularly when they were very young. He had the impression that his mother had been overly keen to please Gran. She’d scrubbed Daniel’s round face and dirty hands in case Gran complained about how she was bringing up her children, as he recalled. An impending visit to Gran had filled him with a sense of foreboding, not only because it meant having to be clean, it also meant having to be quiet, not speaking until he got a nod from his mother. His grandfather, or Gramps, was different, though. He’d grab Daniel and Annabelle’s little hands and take them to have adventures in the garden. Sometimes they’d be at sea, fighting off sea monsters, other times he’d have them help with the gardening. Gramps had always made sure they kept away from Gran’s vegetable patch and they had to steer clear of the herb garden, too. He recalled the quiet lunches spent in his grandmother’s dining room and he couldn’t remember ever seeing her happy.

Daniel looked closer at the photograph of him and his sister with Gran and noticed how brightly he and Annabelle smiled and how serious Gran looked. If Gran had ever given him sweets or cuddles, the sort of thing you’d expect from your grandmother, he couldn’t remember them. He stared hard at the photo, at his grandmother’s hands around his podgy middle. In his mind her hands had felt cool and quite rough as though she’d laboured hard her whole life, but as far as he knew Gran and Gramps had always lived in this house. Their small garden couldn’t have caused the calluses and bumps on her palms. The guilty feeling tightened around him. Maybe he should have talked to Gran more, visited more often as he got older. He wished he’d known about the inheritance before she passed because he would have loved to have thanked her for his share.

In the kitchen was a basket of Annabelle’s famous chocolate cookies. He grabbed one and took a big bite out of it. The cat looked up at him and mewed loudly.

‘Forget it, mate, this lot is for me. Perks of having to come back to the UK under duress.’ And indefinitely, he thought, again. Daniel sighed and demolished another cookie in two bites.

Having second thoughts about being so stingy to Gran’s cat, he poured some milk into a saucer and left the cat lapping it up while he walked around the downstairs rooms. The house had seemed huge as a child but now he was six foot three the ceilings weren’t nearly as high and the rooms not as spacious as he remembered. He noted the only two family photos on the wall in the living room, another of him and Annabelle in primary school uniform and a black and white wedding photo, presumably of his grandparents. There were none at all of his parents anywhere. Tiny, dusty figurines lined the shelves and the few house plants on the window sills and side tables hadn’t been kept up.

Back in the kitchen he made a mug of tea and launched an attack on the chocolate cookies which had looked like an Instagram post, stacked in neat rows on a checked tea towel. Thank goodness Annabelle cooked as if she were expecting a coach tour to drop by. As he looked around the kitchen he remembered Gran telling him not to run through it, his grandfather winking at him and his mother not saying an awful lot. Without realizing it he had devoured the whole basket of cookies and after sloshing them down with a second mug of tea his energy reserves began to fail him. He yawned deeply as the damage of the farewell party from the night before took its toll. In the living room, he sank into his grandmother’s floral sofa and drifted into a deep sleep.

Hours later, Daniel woke to the sound of something clattering onto the wooden floor in the hallway and a child zooming past the living room door making the engine sound of an aeroplane. In his sleep he’d been listening to the booming bass from the speakers in Bar Casa Mia and the unleashed laughter of his friends as they danced and drank. He stood on a wooden table telling everyone, at the top of his voice, how much he loved them and that they could come to Cornwall to stay any time.

His sister’s voice calling his name shattered any chance he had of returning to the dream.

‘Daniel! What the hell? Why would you leave your bags by the door? I nearly killed myself.’

He rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. In front of him was the small child with the pounding feet and aeroplane sound effects for a voice. He stared at Daniel with big green eyes, his face stained with vanilla ice cream.

‘Hey, Rasmus.’ Daniel attempted to ruffle his nephew’s hair but the child darted out of reach and went to stand behind his mother.

‘So you made it,’ Annabelle said, hobbling towards him with open arms and a child clinging to her right thigh. ‘It’s lovely to see you. You look so tanned.’

Daniel got up from the sofa to hug his sister. She was shorter than he was, had been since he turned eleven and Annabelle was fourteen. They had been mistaken for twins up until that point, both with th...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Chapter 1
• Chapter 2
• Chapter 3
• Chapter 4
• Chapter 5
• Chapter 6
• Chapter 7
• Chapter 8
• Chapter 9
• Chapter 10
• Chapter 11
• Chapter 12
• Chapter 13
• Chapter 14
• Chapter 15
• Chapter 16
• Chapter 17
• Chapter 18
• Chapter 19
• Chapter 20
• Chapter 21
• Chapter 22
• Chapter 23
• Chapter 24
• Chapter 25
• Chapter 26
• Chapter 27
• Chapter 28
• Chapter 29
• Chapter 30
• Chapter 31
• Chapter 32
• Chapter 33
• Chapter 34
• Chapter 35
• Chapter 36
• Chapter 37
• Chapter 38
• Chapter 39
• Chapter 40
• Chapter 41
• Chapter 42
• Chapter 43
• Chapter 44
• Chapter 45
• Chapter 46
• Chapter 47
• About the Author
• Copyright