I knew I had to start sorting things out so first I contacted my landlord and terminated my lease. I should call Miles and explain that Lucy wrote the latest article, and that she’d probably be happy to keep going if he asked her. I should call my parents and tell them I planned to stay at Charlie’s farmhouse for a while. And once I’d done all that, I should probably think about what the hell I was going to do with the rest of my life.
Instead, I did something that felt even more revolutionary. I donned my coat, hat and the sturdiest boots I could find in my bags. I opened the front door, breathed in a huge, crisp lungful of January air and stepped into the winter sunshine.
Without allowing myself to think too hard about it, I strolled across the gravel yard to a gate leading into some sort of garden beyond. Ensuring the gate was closed behind me, I followed a track into a field of scrubby grass peppered with short, twisty-looking trees, their bare branches like bony fingers stretching out against the sharp chill. I had to duck my head a few times, to avoid some of the thickest boughs, keeping one eye up while the other watched for the tendrils of bramble snaking across the earth and the clumps of nettles. My hunch that this was some sort of orchard was confirmed when I stepped in a rotten apple, and suddenly started spotting them everywhere. Apples, and what appeared to have been plums – or more likely damsons, I supposed.
I flicked through my memories for mentions of an orchard in Charlie’s many conversations about the farm, soon recollecting stories about picnics under the trees, how her job had been to carefully wrap the picked fruit in newspaper, layering it in crates to store during the winter. Maybe she’d strung up a hammock and used to read here?
However, like the rest of the farm, this was nothing like her stories. While winter may have been partly responsible for the orchard being so austere, devoid of any life save the sleeping trees, the silence here seemed deeper than merely the seasonal lull. Like a long-forgotten enchanted wood, with the echoes of past pleasures frozen in time. I half expected to stumble across a statue of Mr Tumnus hiding in amongst the trunks. Only, instead what I found as I wound through the undergrowth, boots squelching into the mud, was the bees.
Or, more precisely, two figures covered from head to toe in beekeeping gear. Either that or there’d been a serious radioactive leak no one had bothered to mention.
No – definitely bees. I quickly spied a row of hives lined up a couple of metres from the far fence, and to my horror, one of the safe and securely dressed beekeepers was in the process of lifting the lid off one of them. I couldn’t decide whether to move closer so that they spotted me in time, or turn and flee. I assumed bees could catch me up in seconds, so I plumped for yelling and waving my arms instead.
‘Hello!’
Great. They clearly couldn’t hear me while enveloped in their nice, safe, sting-preventing suits. I darted a few steps closer, pausing a few metres away as I dodged the handful of bees now buzzing around. ‘Hello!’ I cried, louder this time, before swiftly retreating again.
Both figures jerked their heads towards me, the one holding the lid scanning around before finding me lurking beside a clump of brown bracken, as if that could protect me from a swarm of angry insects. They hurriedly placed the lid back on the hive, before both of the beekeepers pulled back their hoods.
I recognised the person by the hive as the doctor, Ziva.
‘Why, hello, stranger,’ she beamed, before a bee to her left caught her attention. She pointed her finger at it. ‘Come on, then, Derek, back into the warm you go. And you, Damian! Stop bothering our visitor and get inside!’ She waited a moment, scanning around for any other escapees. ‘There you are, Dylan, don’t think I didn’t see you there, hovering about! And you, Douglas, Dougie and Dougal! Queen Delilah will be worrying about you! In you go!’
And to my amazement, most of them did buzz their way back to a small hole in the hive box and disappear back inside.
‘Well, then.’ Ziva stuck gloved hands on her hips. ‘You’re looking much improved! This is Eleanor, who I told you about,’ she informed the other woman, who was much younger, with a cloud of dark, corkscrew curls. Behind her huge tortoiseshell glasses I could see Ziva’s kind brown eyes, which along with her slender frame led me to guess correctly that they were mother and daughter.
‘Eleanor, this is Becky, my youngest. She’s helping me heft the hives.’
‘Right. Hi.’
‘Having recently chucked in a highly successful career in pharmaceutical sales on a whim and a prayer, she’s otherwise rattling around the village getting up to mischief wherever she can find it.’
‘Mum!’ Becky groaned. ‘I’m thirty-three, not thirteen.’
‘Either way, you need something to occupy that vivacious brain of yours. Maybe making a new friend would be the first step.’
‘Ungh.’ Becky smacked one glove over her face. ‘I’m so sorry about my mother. The way she talks, you’d think I was the embarrassing one.’
We both stood there, feeling the self-consciousness of two girls on the first day of school wondering if they’d found a friend.
‘Well, Becky? Why don’t you tell her about the bees?’
Becky pushed her glasses up her nose. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, mother. No normal person is interested in hearing about the bees. Especially in this weather. Eleanor, I’m so sorry, please don’t let us keep you.’
‘Oh, don’t be such an apiary snoot!’ Ziva exclaimed, as if bewildered at the very thought I might not be wandering through life bursting with bee questions. ‘I’m sure there are plenty of things she’d like to know, aren’t there?’
‘Um, yes. Of course…’
‘Well? Ask away, dear! Oh, for goodness’ sake, David, it’s not warm enough to be out and about yet!’
Ummmm… ‘Do you give all the bees names?’
Becky broke into a grin, her handsome features suddenly adjusting to fit her face perfectly. ‘These are all the D boys, because they’re in hive D, with Queen Delilah.’
‘Right.’ Well, that made perfect sense now.
‘Are you collecting honey?’
‘Nah, not this time of year. We’re hefting the hives, like Mum said. Checking the boys still have enough food to last until spring. The D boys are a bit light, so we’re going to treat them to a slab of fondant icing as a top-up. Do you want to stay and watch?’
‘No!’ I replied, forcefully enough to replace Becky’s grin with a look of surprise. ‘I mean, I would, another time, but I’m a bit nervous of getting stung. I wouldn’t want to do the wrong thing and make them angry.’
By a bit nervous I meant extremely anxious, but I didn’t want to seem rude and upset the D boys.
‘I’ll let you get on. But, um, Becky, I mean, if you wanted and if you’ve not got much on at the moment, then, well, I’ll be staying at the farm for a little while longer so if you were at a loose end one afternoon then you could, well…’ For goodness’ sake, Eleanor! I sounded like I was asking her out on a date. Why were words so much easier when you could write them down? ‘Anyway, what I mean to say is feel free to come over for a cup of tea anytime. Or coffee, if you don’t like tea. Or water. A drink! Any drink… well, obviously not any drink…’
Phew. I could feel myself sinking deeper into the mud.
‘A cup of tea would be lovely! Thanks so much for asking! I will do that. Probably a day when Mum’s busy so she doesn’t tag along and spoil it.’
Ziva had the gall to look affronted. ‘As if. I have my own friends, thank you very much.’
‘What, Damian and Duke and Demetrius?’ Becky smirked, making it impossible not to smile back.
‘Do be quiet, poor Eleanor will be thinking we’re completely batty, and when you come knocking for that drink she’ll pretend to be out and then where will you be? Back to being a Noreen No Mates!’
‘Well, I’d better get on and leave you to it,’ I interrupted, my face having grown so stiff with the cold I sounded like I’d just had dental surgery. ‘Really nice to meet you, Becky.’
I turned and hurried away before they could open the hive again.
‘I met Ziva and her daughter today,’ I told Daniel, later that evening after he’d put Hope to bed, then picked up a pizza from the takeaway in the village. We were eating at the kitchen table, which felt slightly awkwardly on the brink of date-like, but the only other option was me on the sofa in the study while he sat at his desk, and that was weirder. I’d had a peek in the other downstairs rooms while Hope had been in the bath – in addition to the shower room there was a spacious living room, formal dining room and rickety conservatory. There was also a utility room off the kitchen, with a door leading to the cellar. The bones of the house were stunning. The problem was they lay beneath layers of dust, grime, chipped paint, peeling wallpaper, general neglect and universal ugliness. What a total waste. I couldn’t help thinking that Charlie would be distraught, even as she’d understand and offer her brother nothing but sympathy and encouragement. Or maybe she’d send a trusted friend along to help, and she only had one of those.
‘Becky?’ Daniel nodded around his mouthful of pizza. ‘Ziva mentioned she’d left her job, was around a lot more. You know, in passing, once or twice,’ he added, eyes sparkling. ‘Just in case I was interested.’
Oho! ‘And are you?’ I asked coyly, hiding behind a sip of raspberry lemonade.
‘I am not. Everyone knows that Becky Adams has been in love with the same man since primary school. And it’s not me.’
‘So who is it, then? Does he know?’ Now this was interesting. And if everyone knew, it wasn’t even gossiping.
‘Luke Winter. He’s heard the banter, but doesn’t really believe it. Brushes it off as a childhood crush. Becky’s intimidatingly successful, has spent the past few years jetting around the world with her job. She was one of the popular kids at school. Popular because she worked hard to make sure that people genuinely liked her, not because they were scared of her not liking them. She was always looking out for everyone, especially those who didn’t quite fit in. She could throw a wicked spin ball, too.’
‘Sounds like Luke doesn’t know what he’s missing.’ I helped myself to another slice of garlic bread. Nora Sharp would have given this grease-riddled feast a 0.5 out of ten, pronouncing that the rats wouldn’t bother scavenging it out of the bin. Eleanor Sharpley, after a day of positively frenetic activity compared to the recent slump-fest, declared it perfectly delicious.
Daniel shrugged. ‘He works as a tradesman, has never lived anywhere but Ferrington. Spends every Friday night with a pie and a pint at the Boatman and isn’t interested in anything different. Rumour has it he won six figures on the lottery a couple of years ago and apart from buying a couple of tools and a new fishing rod, he gave the whole lot away. He’s not exactly… your typical ladies’ man. But he was the first person I called when Charlie went missing, and he was the last one to stop looking. It’s obvious to everyone but Luke why Becky’s smitten.’
‘Why doesn’t Ziva steamroller them together?’
‘Oh, because Luke grew up on the New Side of the river.’ Daniel offered me the last piece of pizza. I wrestled with being polite, but instead picked up a knife and indicated that we’d share it.
‘What does where he grew up have to do with anything?’ I asked, deliciously stuffed to the brim. Was the New Side of the river some sort of local double entendre?
‘Round here, which side of the Maddon you grew up on means everything.’
‘So, what side are we?’ I asked, baffled, but before Daniel could answer the whiffles and squeaks that had been intermittently emanating from the baby monitor crescendoed into poignant cries, and Daniel went to investigate, leaving me wondering if every baby that cried in the night sounded like their world had come crashing down, or just those who’d lost their mother.