Page 90 of A Forever Home at Honey Bee Croft

As I feared, Dad did have a chest infection. He was placed on antibiotics and I was told the next twenty-four hours would be critical. Nobody needed to expand on what that could mean. Across the weekend, I don’t know what I’d have done without the practical or emotional support from Joel. Even though he had a lot to deal with himself, he’d shopped, cooked, listened to me, hugged me, reassured me and made me laugh. With my permission, he’d been in touch with my new friends in Yorkshire to let them know what had happened with the bees and the news about my dad. I’d been touched by all the messages of love and support. I’d never felt such a part of something and realised that, ever since Mum passed away and Dad was diagnosed, I’d been looking for my tribe and now I felt as though I’d found them.

Joel made a delicious Sunday roast and invited Wilf to join us. He brought Benji with him and left the Yorkshire terrier with us for the afternoon while he went to visit his friend. We’d planned on a long walk but the temperature had dropped and there was slow and steady rain, so we made it a quick walk through the village before returning to Dove Cottage for hot chocolate. Benji snuggled between us on the sofa and I had thecentral heating on, but it wasn’t the same as lighting the log burner in Whisperwood Farmhouse.

‘You know what I’d like to do?’ Joel asked when we were partway through our drinks. ‘I’d like to see photos of you when you were little. I’d love to see what your parents looked like too, unless you’d find that too hard just now.’

I thought it was a great suggestion so I dug out a pile of photo albums and we sat at the dining table going through them with Benji curled up on my knee. It was a lovely trip down memory lane, giving me an opportunity to laugh as I shared various anecdotes. Joel threw in stories about his family, and I was glad that the rain had kept us indoors as it had been the perfect way to spend the afternoon, remembering my dad how he used to be. Afterwards, Joel helped me carry the albums back to the spare bedroom and return them to the shelving units.

‘What’s all that?’ he asked, pointing to a pile of crates beside the shelves.

‘All the equipment for my Honey Bee Hugs range.’ I grabbed a dusty folder from the top and opened it to show him the branding I’d developed.

‘This is amazing.’

I talked Joel through my product range and showed him my equipment, feeling the excitement bubbling inside me as the passion I’d felt for my products and the ideas I’d had for taking it forward came flooding back.

‘You have to move to Whisperwood, get some hives on Bumblebee Barn and get this business up and running,’ Joel said as we put the crates back. ‘It’s your calling.’

‘And you have to look into opening that bistro. That’s your calling.’

I picked Benji up and cuddled him as we returned to the lounge to indulge in a fantasy world where both businesses were up and running and incredibly successful and, in the darkness,it felt like there was light at the end of the tunnel. All I needed to do now was arrange for Sharon and Ian to look round Dove Cottage and put in that call to Mary about Whisperwood Farmhouse. It had been at the back of my mind all weekend but, with everything going on with Dad, the police and Damon, it had taken a back seat. But next week I’d do it and turn my dreams into reality.

38

JOEL

Having called in sick for all three of my night shifts, I had to be back at work on Thursday for the start of my day shifts. I felt terrible about leaving Poppy when her dad was in hospital, but Stanley was clearly made of strong stuff because he did seem to be fighting his chest infection. Poppy had been going to hospital for the morning and afternoon visiting hours so, after a tearful goodbye on both our parts, I set off back to Yorkshire before she left on Wednesday morning.

Arriving home early in the afternoon, I leaned against the kitchen worktop eating a prepacked sandwich I’d bought from a service station. The house felt empty without Chez, even though we’d barely seen each other during his recent stay and it felt soulless without Poppy, even though she’d never even visited. I missed her so much, I felt a physical ache inside of me. The worst thing was not knowing when I’d be able to see her again. I could have driven to Winchcote after my Saturday shift ended to spend Easter Sunday and Monday with her, but I could see how anxious she was becoming about her rising work levels so we’d agreed not to commit to anything and to play it by ear depending on what happened with her dad.

While I’d been at Dove Cottage, the estate agents had visited and both came up with the same proposed asking price. Sharon and Ian had then stopped by so Poppy and I took Benji for a walk round the village while they had a good look round. When we returned and they gave her an asking price offer, Poppy burst into tears. It meant so much to her that the house – and particularly the garden – would be loved once more. Knowing she had a firm sale, she rang Mary and told her that she’d love to have first refusal on Whisperwood Farmhouse and Mary had confirmed that nothing would give her greater pleasure than to sell it to someone who so clearly loved it.

After my shift on Friday evening, I spoke to Poppy and we made the difficult decision that I wouldn’t drive down on Saturday night. She was snowed under with work after squeezing in a solicitor appointment for the sale of Dove Cottage and spending time choosing paint colours for Whisperwood Farmhouse. Mary had suggested it made more sense for Poppy to liaise with the decorators so that Whisperwood would be done up to her taste. She ran the colour choices by me, wanting to make sure they were to my taste too. When she’d still been in Yorkshire and we’d spent that evening fantasising about her buying the house, being Bumblebee Barn’s beekeeper and me opening a bistro, we’d talked about us both living at Whisperwood, but she hadn’t mentioned that since. I wondered if my approval of the colour scheme was because she imagined me moving in with her at some point down the line. I wasn’t going to ask because I appreciated that moving to Yorkshire was an enormous step for her and I personally didn’t need that reassurance. I had no doubtthat living together would be in our future, but it would happen when the time was right.

Early on Easter Sunday evening, I was sitting on the sofa and flicking through the TV channels, enjoying the smells drifting from the kitchen as a couple of casseroles cooked in the oven ready for my meals next week. My mind kept drifting to Imogen. Only two more days and she’d be back from Scotland. It felt like she’d been away for months. We’d had a couple of FaceTime conversations since that distraught one. She’d decided that the campsite wasn’t that bad after all, but was still adamant that she wasn’t moving to Scotland, although there was thankfully no further talk about running away. After the most recent call, I’d spoken to a very pale and subdued-looking Tilly who, without any prompt from me, had suggested Wednesday for a proper conversation. I hoped Imogen’s reaction to moving had made her think twice about it as I really didn’t want to have to go down the legal route to stop her.

I heard a car pull up outside and, in the glow from the street lamp, I recognised it as Tilly’s. She wasn’t due back until Tuesday. If there was something wrong with Imogen, she’d have phoned rather than turned up.

I opened the door before she had a chance to ring the bell. ‘I thought you were still in Scotland.’

‘Urgh, don’t! Can we talk?’

I stood back to let her in.

‘We got back this afternoon,’ she said, plonking herself down on the sofa with a sigh. ‘Worst holiday we’ve ever had. The kids hated it. Why am I telling you that? You already know. Truth is, I wasn’t too impressed either. The campsite needs a lot of work and you were right about the reality of doing that with newborn twins. The nearest school is miles away. Actually, it isn’t but the roads are so bad that it takes forever to get there. It’s just not practical for a young family.’

I genuinely felt sorry for her. It hurt when your dreams were crushed.

‘Greg and I hardly ever argue but it was all we seemed to do while we were away. At one point, I was this close to jumping in the car and abandoning him there. I told him he was being stubborn – that it might be a long-held dream, it might remind him of the happy camping trips he had in Scotland as a kid, but it wasn’t going to be a happy place for our family.’

‘So you’re not moving?’

‘We’re not moving. Imogen’s meltdown broke my heart. They go on about how resilient kids are and Imogen has proved that over and over, so the fact that she got so upset was a massive wake-up call about how wrong this move was for her.’

I could hardly believe what I was hearing and had to double-check it. ‘Moving’sdefinitelyoff the cards?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Greg’s accepted this?’

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