Page 3 of A Forever Home at Honey Bee Croft

With a heavy sigh, I plonked myself down on the plastic bench, arms folded tightly across my chest. I’d considered the worst-case scenario of the job going to a stronger external candidate, but I could never have anticipated this outcome. And to think Iwouldhave got the job too! So near and yet so very far.

Running my hands into my hair, I tipped my head back and stared at the cobwebs wafting from the ceiling, cursing under my breath. This was so unfair!

The only tiny positive here was that I hadn’t said anything to Tilly about being interviewed. Or to Imogen. The only person whose hopes were dashed were mine. Again. And not only had I not secured a day job, I could be out of work altogether.My stomach churned at that thought. I’d started my first job aged twelve, pot washing in the restaurant owned by my dad and Uncle Alvin, and had worked ever since. The prospect of redundancy made me feel sick, as did the thought of Tilly’s reaction.

I closed my eyes and fought hard to block out the voice of doom. There might not even be any redundancies and, if there were, they might not directly affect me, so there was no value in me getting worked up about it. Besides, there was a much bigger issue here – what was I going to do about Imogen? Taking over from Jeremy was meant to be the solution to spending more time with her and that had been taken from me. I needed to find a new solution, but what?

2

JOEL

The one o’clock announcement hadn’t gone down well with my team or anyone else at Claybridge Fresh Foods. I spent the rest of the shift fielding questions and hated that I couldn’t offer anything other than what Eloise and Jeremy had told me earlier –you know as much as I do.

Half an hour after the shift ended, my mood dipped even further as I pulled up to my house on the outskirts of Reddfield in East Yorkshire. Chez’s rusting old banger was on the drive and there were lights on in the house which could only mean one thing – he’d broken up with Lorna yet again, he needed a place to stay and had moved himself back into my place without asking me if it was okay to do so.

There were fourteen and a half years between me and my nineteen-year-old brother Chester, although I sometimes felt more like a parent than a brother to him, giving him a place to stay, feeding him and occasionally lending him some cash to tide him over to payday – money which never got repaid.

Our parents had sold the family home and emigrated to Portugal a couple of months before Chez’s seventeenth birthday, and he’d moved in with me at the time. Emigrating had alwaysbeen their dream, but it had happened several years sooner than expected after Uncle Alvin collapsed at the restaurant – mild heart attack – and the brothers decided it was time to call it a day before Dad went the same way. The move had absolutely been the right thing for my parents as they’d both needed to slow down. The warmer climate was also so much kinder on Mum’s arthritis.

Chez had struggled with depression since hitting his teens and our parents would never have left if they’d thought he was still in a bad place, but a combination of leaving education, securing an apprenticeship as a car mechanic and professional treatment had had a positive impact on him. I could clearly see how his CBT – cognitive behavioural therapy – had helped move his mindset away from always focusing on the negatives and going on a downward spiral every time depression took hold.

The thing that didn’t help was Chez’s relationship with Lorna. She’d been his on-off girlfriend since they were fifteen and, despite four years together, she still struggled with his depression. When it was heightened, she took it personally, thinking Chez was in a bad mood with her. Her hot temper and speak-now-think-later approach had led to the end more times than I could remember, but they always gravitated back to each other. I wished they wouldn’t. I liked Lorna, but I worried for the toll that each break-up took on my brother and couldn’t help thinking they might be better off calling it a day once and for all.

I parked in front of the house and switched off the engine, but I stayed where I was. After the day I’d had, all I really wanted to do was take a hot shower, crack open a beer, heat up a casserole and sink onto the sofa in front of a film. But now Chez was back, so I’d need to be strong for him while he offloaded and sound positive and upbeat while I heaped on the reassurance when, right now, I didn’t feel any of those things.

In the porch, I picked up the post without glancing at it and stepped into the hall, cursing as I collided with several boxes dumped in the middle of the floor.

‘Chez!’ I called, keeping my tone light when I really wanted to shout at him for being so inconsiderate.

No answer. I picked my way through the bags and boxes and went into the lounge but there was no sign of him in there or the kitchen. Dumping the post on the kitchen worktop, I backtracked and stomped up the stairs towards the smallest bedroom which he used when he stayed with me. As I passed Imogen’s bedroom, my ears pricked up at a low groan. Heart pounding, thinking Chez must be hurt or ill, I pushed open the door. But my brother was far from hurt and clearly he hadn’t split up with Lorna. I dashed back onto the landing.

‘You have thirty seconds to get dressed and out of my daughter’s bedroom.’ The volume and tone could have left them in no doubt about how disgusted I was with them.

Lorna squealed, Chez swore and I slammed the door and ran down the stairs, absolutely seething. Imogen’s room? Imogen’s bed? How could they? It was such a betrayal of trust.

My teeth ground as I unloaded the dishwasher with a lot of clattering of pots and slamming of cupboard doors. What a mug I was for staying in my car trying to push aside my crap day, preparing myself to be there for my brother and whatever had gone wrong for him, when all the while he was doingthat!

‘Lorna’s gone,’ Chez said, appearing in the kitchen doorway a little later wearing just his trunks and a T-shirt, his dark hair dishevelled.

‘Good.’

‘Sorry, bro.’ But he didn’t look sorry. He looked very pleased with himself, which inflamed me further.

‘I hate it when you call me that,’ I snapped, even though it didn’t really bother me.

Chez held his hands up in a surrender position. ‘Woah! Chill your beans.’

Being told to calm down had the opposite effect. ‘You think this is funny?’

‘I think your reaction’s funny. Your face is nearly purple.’

‘And you don’t think that’s justified? Using my bed would have been bad enough but using Imogen’s? That’s disgusting! Get upstairs, get her bed stripped and washed.’

‘Oh, come on, Joel! We didn’t even get to?—’

‘No details!’ I shouted. ‘Washing! Now!’

‘You’re not serious?’

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