Limberlost

When the vet was happy with her work she stood up and lowered the hoof to the ground. She coaxed the mare into taking a gentle step forward. Once the horse was steady, she patted its neck and returned her chisel, screwdriver, cloth and bottle of iodine to the shed.

Ned waited for the vet to remember he was there. When she gave no sign of it, he spoke up.

‘Is that it?’

‘She’ll need a few weeks of rest.’

‘Will she live?’

The mare had begun grazing on the nearby grass. The vet rubbed her hands on her trousers. ‘She will unless you kill her.’

He ate dinner in one of their houses, asked the right questions, spoke a little about what it was like to grow fruit in the southern hemisphere.

[...]

In the morning he thanked them again over a hot breakfast, and left. But once he was off the property, he pulled over. He had no destination. The orchardists back home hadn’t known how long it would take him to learn and master the new technology, so his flight was still days away. He pulled out the map the rental company had given him. Dragged his eyes across Britain’s pale shape. Didn’t want to go to any of the cities any more than he wanted to visit the cities of the antipodes, where crowds pressed him, the volume of life felt heavy, and not being able to see the horizon meant he could never settle. He kept looking. Didn’t see the point in going to a beach. Thought of going to see the Roman ruins, the old wall they’d stapled across the island. Felt attracted to the age of it, the massive stretch of time separating his own life from theirs. While searching for Hadrian’s name, he saw the Lake District. Studied the map’s key. Saw that he wasn’t far away.