Page 6 of A Forever Home at Honey Bee Croft

‘Oh, you know.’ I swallowed down the lump in my throat. ‘Taking it a day at a time.’

‘That’s all you can do.’

There was a wooden bench nearby so we sat down on it.

‘I had a bit of a moment this morning,’ I admitted. ‘Walked past their empty bedroom andbam! It still doesn’t feel right being there without them.’

‘That’s understandable. So many memories for you there, good and bad. It’s bound to take time.’

‘How much time?’ I shrugged. ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about what Dad said before he moved into The Larks – that I mustn’t stay at Dove Cottage out of misguided sentimentality and I should either rip everything out and make it mine or sell up and start afresh. I told him I loved the house and wouldn’t be going anywhere, but now I’m starting to think he might be right. I know it’s my home, but it doesn’t feel likemyhome, if that makes any sense.’

‘It does. Gutting it or moving are both major decisions. Is there one which?—’

But she didn’t get to finish the question as Ian joined us. I jumped up to hug him but he backed away, indicating some black mess down his overalls.

‘As you can see, I lost a fight with the oil can so best not to hug you unless you want to be covered in it.’

‘Quad bike playing up again?’ I asked, sitting back down.

‘It’s on its last legs, but I’m determined it’ll see me through to R-day.’

R-day was Ian’s term for retirement day when he and Sharon would pass Saltersbeck Farm on to Bertie, who’d worked alongside his dad since he was a small boy. Phil had also helped out as a youngster but had never been interested in making a career of it, which had made for a straightforward transfer of ownership.

‘R-day’s getting so close,’ I said to Ian.

‘Aye. It’ll be reet strange letting go after thirty-five years.’

The phrase made me smile. Despite living in Gloucestershire for most of their lives, the couple had never lost their Yorkshire accents, although Sharon’s was much milder than Ian’s.

‘Taking it in stages’ll make it easier,’ Sharon said, smiling at her husband before turning her gaze to me. ‘We’ve agreedthat Ian’ll gradually drop days until the end of the summer and then… drum roll… in mid-September we’re off to Canada for a month.’

‘A month? Wow! Big holiday.’

I was thrilled for them both as they so rarely got away. I wished I could pack my bags and escape somewhere for a month. A fortnight. A week. Heck, even a couple of days to switch off would be wonderful.

‘We’ve never been away for that long,’ Ian said, ‘but we decided a big break would be best to give us a proper separation from the farm and Bertie a chance to make it his own.’

‘I’m so glad you’ve booked a holiday. Can’t think of anyone who deserves it more.’

Sharon raised her eyebrows at me. ‘I can, and I’m looking right at her. You look shattered, honey. Are you sure you won’t reconsider taking a break, even if only for a few days? I can visit your dad if that’s what’s stopping you. I popped in to see him yesterday, by the way. I must have just missed you.’

I had to ask, even though I knew what the answer would be. ‘Did he recognise you?’

She slowly shook her head. ‘We had a lovely chat about the birds, though.’

‘That’s what we usually talk about. If I hadn’t already been an expert, I would be now.’

Sharon gave me a gentle smile. ‘So, what about that break?’

‘I can’t. It’s not just Dad. I’ve got the bees to see to, my clients, the garden…’ I tailed off shrugging, aware that the reasons were valid, but my voice lacked conviction. I so badly needed a break. I’d been running on empty for several months, perhaps even years, and I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. Moments like this morning had become far too frequent. It was as though my emotions had been captured in a reservoir across which I’d built a dam when Mum fell ill. Then, when Dadreceived his Alzheimer’s diagnosis, a storm of tears had filled the reservoir and it was now so full that it was lapping against the edge of the dam. Every so often, the wind sent ripples across the water, spilling over that dam – a cascade of apprehension for the future, worry about Dad, anxiety that I had far too much on my plate and that something was going to have to give, and fear that thesomethingmight be me.

‘I know you love coming here every week,’ Sharon said, her voice gentle, ‘but the bees don’t need full weekly inspections until spring arrives and the garden won’t need attention until then either. So the next fortnight is the perfect window of opportunity to get away.’

‘And you could always get a gardener in,’ Ian added. ‘Can’t Damon do it?’

‘Damon only mows lawns. He’s not safe around plants – can’t tell a weed from a wisteria.’

Bertie drove into the yard on his quad bike and parked it beside Ian’s. Their bearded collie Barnum jumped down from the back and ran over to us, tail wagging. I bent forward to stroke his head.

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