By Friday, my heart rate had almost returned to normal. Brenda had spoken to my parents, my old boss and to Lucy, currently safe and sound in a resort in the Alps. She had apparently been appalled and concerned, promising to be vigilant and immediately inform Brenda if she spotted anything that might be related to what had happened.
‘She said that since taking Nora in a new direction, the trolls have largely lost interest, so it will be a lot easier to spot if the Bee Murderer tries to make contact.’
‘Okay.’ I pressed my phone tight to my ear, just in case Daniel could hear the other end of the phone from the study.
‘She also said to tell you that she hopes you’re keeping safe, and to send her love.’
‘Thank you.’ Despite our awkward ending, I felt a rush of relief that Lucy was safe, and even more so that she seemed to have veered away from the Even Nastier Nora.
Brenda had not much else to add. ‘I’m following up with the Alamis, but it seems Layla’s parents have left the country, and it’ll take a while to locate the wider family. I’ve got another officer looking into the bee theft, and contacting the parcel delivery company, but again there’s not a lot to go on. Be reassured, though, that I’ve dealt with plenty worse in Ferrington over the years, and none of it came to anything. Try not to worry, leave it to the experts.’
Her calm demeanour helped settle my nerves down another notch. I spent an afternoon tidying up the garden with Becky, and even managed to stop looking over my shoulder every two minutes, instead allowing myself to enjoy the spring flowers peeping out from amongst the weeds. We saw rabbits hopping through the meadow beyond the fence, and a family of ducks sailed along our stretch of the river.
Recent events had dragged my mind back to my life in London, to the constant nag of inadequacy and discomfort and the never-ending need to cram my life so full it would smother the self-loathing.
My world had been filled with the illusion of glamour. I’d had parties and clothes, notoriety and enough money to enjoy it, but it had all counted for nothing, because this was what I had needed all along: to sit with a friend and share a pot of tea, the birds singing, sheep bleating in the distance, and to savour the satisfaction of taking something neglected and shambolic and setting about restoring it to something beautiful.
I didn’t know if it would ever be enough, these small attempts to counteract the damage I’d caused but I would pledge myself to keep trying, and that was the best I could do.
It was five o’clock, and a distinct nip had settled in the air when we decided to down tools for the week. Luke was also finishing up. We went to inspect the progress and found him packing up the last of his equipment. We now had the bare bones of a bathroom and two single bedrooms. On Monday, the shower and other fittings would arrive, and we would be able to start painting the bedrooms.
‘Wow, you’ve done loads!’ Becky said from where she stood by the window. Given that she was contained in a small room with Luke, her voice was impressively close to normal frequency. ‘You must be ready for the weekend.’
‘Yep.’ Luke nodded as he checked through his toolbox.
‘Any plans?’
‘Heading to the Boatman.’
‘I’ve always wanted to try the pie at the Boatman. Alice says they’re amazing.’
‘They’re not bad.’ Luke clicked the toolbox shut.
‘Like, with a pint.’
Luke did one last visual sweep of the bathroom. It was a good job he scanned straight past Becky because she looked about ready to melt in a pile of molten mortification.
‘They probably go really well together.’
‘It’s a classic combination.’ Luke picked up his toolbox and walked the three steps to the doorway, where I stepped back to allow him past.
‘I heard they do an offer. On Fridays?’
He twisted back to face Becky, one eyebrow raised, the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. ‘I’ll save you a seat.’
And then Luke Winter swung down the stairs and into his van before Becky had time to collapse into the space where the toilet was supposed to be.
In between jumping at every sudden noise, thrashing about in my duvet all night and going over increasingly disturbing scenarios involving the bee killer’s return, I did my best to spend the weekend immersed in weeding, and talking to Alice about her plans for the Rebuilding Committee meeting on Sunday evening. Daniel was trying to pretend he was totally chilled out about his girlfriend being on the receiving end of multiple sinister messages from someone who had broken into his orchard and stolen a hive of bees, but he always seemed to coincidentally be drifting about wherever I found myself to be. At one point I had to turn around and tell him that I was going to the toilet and really didn’t need a chaperone.
On Sunday, once Alice arrived, we spent an hour sorting out the barn before the meeting was due to start. This meant dragging in whatever makeshift seating we could find – a few garden chairs, followed by some crates, boxes and a couple of logs. We had no idea who – if anyone – would come, but both Alice and Ziva had been working hard at promoting the message on each side, and we were buzzing with anticipation that we were on the brink of seeing Ferrington history in the making.
A few minutes before seven the first few people began to arrive, with a fairly even mix of wariness and enthusiasm, and by five past it was standing room only. As expected, the Old and New Sides had naturally drifted to different halves of the barn, and so the first thing Alice did was instruct everyone to find someone from the opposite side to them and say hello.
‘That’ll wheedle out the troublemakers,’ she whispered, eyes scrutinising the stilted interactions now taking place.
Once she’d called everyone to order and gone through some ground rules, most of which involved trying to prevent violence from breaking out, the first item on the agenda was to agree the purpose of the committee.
Alice nodded at the manager from the Old Side off-licence, who was waving his hand in the air.
‘Can you state your name and then make your point, please?’
‘DJ Vapes.’ He paused, glancing around to absorb the room’s admiration for his cool name before realising that it didn’t exist, and hastily carrying on. ‘Er, isn’t the purpose to rebuild the bridge? I thought that was obvious,’ he said, revealing a remarkable change of heart since he’d thrown Alice out of his shop.
‘Surely that’s only part of it?’ Ziva replied. ‘There’s no point rebuilding the bridge if the village is still divided.’
This elicited a murmur of approval.
‘Well, yeah, but we have to start somewhere,’ DJ Vapes said. ‘You can’t just tell people to get over it, forgive and forget and that’s that. We need a project like the bridge to get people working together again.’
‘We aren’t planning on building the bridge with our own bare hands!’ another man said.
‘Why not?’ an older teenager called, huddled at the back with a small group of similar aged boys. ‘Save us some money.’
‘Raising the money, applying for planning permission or whatever else needs doing, that’ll be where we work together,’ Ziva said.
‘How about a massive party on the bridge once it’s finished?’ a younger woman suggested, bouncing a baby on her hip.
Lots of people liked that idea, throwing out suggestions for local businesses to provide food and drink, and entertainment, maybe even to make it an annual event.
‘Okay, that’s all fantastic, just what we’re looking for,’ Alice yelled above the growing enthusiasm. ‘But we’ve got a long way to go before we can start thinking about that. I’d like to invite Malcolm Blackthorn, chair of the Ferrington Parish Council, to come and fill us in on some details.’
‘The Parish Council?’ several people asked, faces scrunched up in confusion. ‘Since when did we have one of those?’
‘Since the 1894 Local Government Act!’ Malcolm retorted, coming to stand beside Alice at the front of the barn.
‘Well, of course we wouldn’t know anything about it, if it’s run by Old Siders!’ a man who had ambled in ten minutes late snarked.
‘Jase!’ Alice warned. Jase opened his mouth and raised his hands in a ‘who, me?’ gesture. Despite the straggly nondescript hair and slouchy tracksuit bottoms, he oozed the kind of cocky charm that some women seem to find irresistible, and I could understand why Alice had been drawn to him.
‘It is run by a democratically elected council consisting of an equal number of members from each side!’ Malcolm stuffed his hands in his tweed jacket pockets, his pointy white beard bristling.
‘Elected? I don’t remember any Parish Council elections,’ DJ Vapes said, glancing around to see if he was the only one.
Malcolm coloured slightly. ‘We only have an election if the number of people standing is greater than the number of positions. So we haven’t had an actual election for a while.’
‘How long’s a while?’ Ziva asked, incredulous.
‘Nineteen seventy-one.’ Malcolm coughed. ‘All the details of minutes and meetings are on our website.’
‘How come nobody knows anything about you?’ another one of the teenagers asked. ‘You can’t have been doing much.’
‘The Parish Council is responsible for maintaining parks, footpaths, community buildings and bus shelters! Amongst other things,’ a heavy-set woman with stringy grey hair barked back. ‘We serve this village tirelessly. And if it’s been undercover for the past three decades, then you can hardly blame us! You lot might all think that no one in this village works together, or even wants to, but the FPC have been sneaking about like secret agents and improving things right under your noses the whole time!’
‘Awesome!’ The teenagers nodded. ‘Can anyone join?’
‘Can we please get back to the matter in hand!’ Alice called. ‘As Malcolm said, the Parish Council has a website, which I’m sure is easy enough to find if you want more details. Now, Malcolm, what can you tell us about getting the bridge rebuilt?’
‘Right. Well…’ Malcolm then proceeded to take the audience on a meandering tour of local council policies and proceedings, with many a detour to examine various by-laws along the way, until eventually Alice, who by that point may have been the only person not lulled into a parish stupor, had to stop him.
‘Okay, so, bearing in mind that most of us have no knowledge, experience or interest in the intricacies of local government, would it be fair to say that the bridge is going to cost at least three million pounds?’
Malcolm nodded, opening his mouth to start talking again before Alice stepped in.
‘Thank you, we can save the details for another time.’
‘Well, that’s that, then, isn’t it?’ said Sylvia, whose nut allergy had kick-started the whole thing.
‘There’s a thousand-odd people in this village, if you add both sides together. If we all chip in, that’s three grand each!’ Ziva exclaimed.
‘And that includes every man, woman and child!’ Gavin, the Old Boat House landlord said. ‘How are those of us with kids meant to do it?’
‘Hang on,’ Becky said, moving towards the front. ‘No one agreed that we’d all be chipping in an equal amount. Times have been hard for a lot of us in recent years, and there are a lot more ways to raise money.’
‘Yeah, but even if it’s cake sales and raffles and that, it’s still got to come from us,’ Jase said.
‘Or sponsorship from businesses. Or grants like the National Lottery. Or organisations willing to donate to the regeneration of a historical landmark. We haven’t even investigated whether the government would pay. The whole point of setting up a committee is to find solutions to these problems. All Malcolm is doing is managing expectations, and letting us know that it won’t be easy. But we can handle a challenge, can’t we?’
She scanned the crowd, expectantly. ‘We don’t back down or give up because the answers don’t come strolling in straightaway? I’ve met a lot of vastly different people while working in five different continents, and if there’s one thing I know about Ferrings, Old and New, we are strong and tenacious and we know how to make it happen.’
The room broke out into spontaneous applause, causing Alice to give her forehead a relieved wipe.
‘Right. Next item on the agenda, we need to form a proper committee. After everything we’ve heard, I hope some of you are up for committing to the challenge. We’ll need a chairperson, secretary, treasurer, events officer, publicity…’
‘But that’s only a handful of people,’ Ziva interjected. ‘You can’t send most of us home kicking our heels for the next however many years until we can have the bridge party.’
‘Well, I was kind of presuming you’d be joining the committee,’ Alice replied.
‘Well maybe so, but what about the rest of us? You’ve got everyone all worked up and raring to go. We need a project. Something to keep momentum going in the meantime, so we can see that progress is being made.’
‘She’s right.’ Caris Smith spoke up for the first time. ‘Otherwise everyone’ll just find something else to bicker about.’
‘Okay.’ Alice looked at the agenda in her hand, as if that would be able to provide an answer. ‘Like what?’
While everyone stood there trying to come up with precisely what, Daniel cleared his throat loudly enough to have all heads swivel over to where he leant against the wall.
‘I have a suggestion.’
Alice’s face lit up.
‘Well, come on up to the front then so we can all hear you!’ Caris Smith said, sitting up straighter in her garden chair.
Daniel went to join Alice. ‘We need a project that the whole village can get involved with. Preferably something on neutral territory that can start right away, and ideally help raise funds for the bridge.’
‘Well, yes, we all knew that already!’ a woman at the back tutted. ‘What we need to know is what that’s going to be.’
‘A community orchard,’ Daniel announced.
‘Yes!’ Ziva hollered.
‘For far too long the Damson Farm orchard has lain abandoned. If it wasn’t for Ziva’s stealth attacks with her pruning shears it would be totally reclaimed by the wild by now. I don’t have the time to restore it to a working orchard, but if we work together, the possibilities are fantastic. It isn’t just fruit trees, we could build raised beds for vegetables, and have a go at woodworking projects like picnic benches and compost bins.’
‘Eh, we could do a bit of that,’ an older man sitting on a crate nudged the man squeezed on next to him. ‘Couldn’t we, Frank?’
‘Aye,’ Frank nodded vigorously. ‘Could rope in some of you youngsters an’ all. Teach you how to use a hammer and a chisel.’
‘Awesome!’ The teenagers did a complicated high-five thing that Frank and his friend reciprocated faultlessly.
‘We have a cider press on the farm already,’ Daniel continued. ‘I’ve been talking to Gavin at the Old Boat House, and Miranda who owns the Boatman. We can look at other produce like pies and cakes, depending upon what we decide to grow. Plus, we could create an outdoor classroom for school visits, and other groups. And most of all, there’s the chance to hold whole community events. Lots of orchards get involved with Apple Day, in October. We can celebrate Bonfire Night, do something at Christmas, May Day. If everyone gets involved we can raise money, bring the community together and have fun at the same time.’
‘Awesome!’ someone cheered, and I don’t think it was even one of the teenagers.
‘That’s bloody brilliant!’ Alice exclaimed.
It was. It was brilliant.
‘Are you sure?’ Becky asked, her business head whirring. ‘We had plans for that orchard.’
Daniel shrugged. ‘I’m sure the retreat guests can still join in. It might prove inspiring to them, hearing the story of how the Feud of Ferrington came to an end. Some of them might even be moved to contribute to the bridge fund.’
‘We should include a memorial.’ This was the first thing I’d said all meeting, having promised myself that I wouldn’t be the interfering Out-Sider this time, but the idea popped into my head and it was too good not to share. ‘We can have a competition – get the school involved, maybe – to design a memorial to all those who died or who for whatever reason suffered because of what happened.’
‘That’s perfect,’ Caris Smith said, eyes filling with tears.
‘Maybe you could be one of the judges?’
‘Or maybe the kids could design something together, have each of them contribute, so for the first time ever in this village everyone wins instead of everyone losing,’ she replied.
‘Well, an orchard will need an entirely different committee,’ Alice said. ‘And a whole load of time and effort. How do you see this working, Daniel?’
‘I see me dropping my work hours, and spending a couple of days a week heading it up. I see us forming a charity, with a board of trustees. I see the Parish Council donating some funds to help us get going, and I see Damson Day to kick-start us off in a few weeks’ time: food and produce stalls, local crafts, a band put together with musicians from both sides, a duck race down the river, some games.’
‘Damsons aren’t ready to be harvested until August,’ someone helpfully pointed out. ‘How can we have a Damson Day in April?’
‘I really don’t think anyone will care about that.’ Ziva rolled her eyes.
It wasn’t long before we had agreed that May Day would be the very first Damson Day, put a volunteer team in place and left the whole room buzzing with anticipation after they had agreed one last suggestion from Caris Smith.
We would start the evening festivities with a funeral pyre. The deceased? Why, the Feud of Ferrington.
I was so excited I almost forgot to worry about the stalker.
I did not, however, forget to grab Becky and drag her into a quiet corner as soon as the meeting was over. I’d not missed her doe-eyed glances over at where Luke hovered near the back of the room, or how he wove through the clusters of people chatting and leaned in close to say goodbye before he left.
‘So?’ I asked eagerly, pleased to be on the other end of the romantic interrogation for once. ‘How did it go?’ I’d obviously messaged her on Saturday, but the answers had been about as descriptive as if I’d asked Luke.
‘The pie was… not too bad!’ She squinted. ‘The pint was better.’
I jabbed her in the ribs hard enough to make her squeak.
‘Okay! We had a lovely time. We stayed until last orders and even managed some decent conversation. Not the whole time, but when we were quiet that was fine, too. Like, a companionable silence.’
‘A dreamy, transfixed-by-Luke’s-gaze silence?’
‘Well. That, too,’ she giggled.
‘Everything you’ve imagined it would be when mooning at him in year nine Geography lessons?’
She hugged herself, letting out a heartfelt sigh. ‘Better.’
Alice sauntered over. ‘All right, Becky? Survived your evening on the New Side?’
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘Only when I was locking up, I thought I saw Luke giving you the kiss of life.’
‘He kissed you?’ I grabbed her arm in delight.
‘Nope.’ Becky looked strangely happy about that. Before Alice could protest, she declared, ‘I kissed him!’
‘What?’
‘I’ve waited twenty years for a chance with Luke Winter. It might have been my one and only date, I wasn’t about to waste it.’
I grinned. ‘Sounds like he kissed you back?’
‘With all the passion and attention to detail that he put into grouting my kitchen,’ Alice chipped in.
Becky’s pink cheeks said it all.
‘Did he take your breath away?’ I asked.
‘On the contrary, I feel as though for the first time in forever I’ve stopped holding my breath.’ She looked it, as well. ‘He called me on Saturday. Not even a text, a call. To say that he’d had a great time and would I like to go out on his boat next weekend. I’m so happy I could pop.’
‘I could pop I’m so happy for you. Look at us, all loved up.’ I glanced at Alice. ‘Speaking of which, it was good to see Jase here.’
Alice shrugged. ‘I hid the controller to his Xbox. Said I’d help him look for it if he came.’
‘Alice.’ Becky screwed up her nose. ‘He’s not being supportive if you’ve tricked him into it.’
‘I know.’ She shook her head, morose. ‘Where do you draw the line, though? If I was going through a bad patch, I wouldn’t want him to just bail on me because I needed some time to sort myself out. That’s not how relationships work.’
‘If you were going through a bad patch, would he even notice?’ I couldn’t help asking.
‘He bought me a box of chocolates when our cat died.’ She sniffed. ‘But then he did eat all the white ones and he knows they’re my favourites.’
She burst out laughing at the memory, the kind of laugh that is on the brink of a sob. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not going to keep giving him endless chances. But I need a plan before I decide whether this is a phase, or if it’s just him. However crappy things have got, it’s still better than going back to sharing a bedroom with Nan.’
‘You could come here,’ I said. ‘Only £200 a night, breakfast included.’
‘Make it two a night and I’ll pack my bags.’
I nearly accepted her offer, only we had guests booked in and a business to run and I was still a bit scared of Alice so wasn’t quite ready to share a house with her.
‘You could stay with me?’ Becky said.
Alice frowned. ‘That would mean a really long commute.’
‘Unless you borrowed Luke’s boat? He keeps it at the Old Boat House dock anyway.’
She looked at Becky, a long, open stare, and although I couldn’t ever really understand what it meant, how significant the invitation was to cross this metaphorical bridge between their communities, I knew that this was how it started. Two individuals, prepared to lay the past behind and take a step forward.
‘I’ll think about it. But, well, thanks. That means a lot.’
Ain’t that the truth.