The Beekeeper’s Cottage: An absolutely unputdownable feel-good summer read

by Emma Davies

  Taking a clean pair of pyjamas from a drawer, she dressed quickly, pulling the towel from her hair and letting it fall halfway down her back in long grey tendrils. And then she turned and looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Her eyes were a little puffy, but her skin was still clear and almost unlined, her body slender, her limbs graceful. Grace And Decorum, she thought to herself, smiling softly as she remembered her mother’s words of long ago. Perhaps it wasn’t too late after all. Maybe there was still time to bring back to life the confident and vital woman she had once been. Her hopes and dreams might have been squashed by her husband’s bullying behaviour but there was a new future settling ahead of Grace, full of possibility, and she would navigate it as best she could. She could ask no more of herself.

  The air was especially fragrant tonight, a slight breeze carrying the scent from Hope Farm’s flowers up towards her and, after the heat of the day, the grass was now cool as she walked barefoot across it. She didn’t even think about where she was going, the hum of the hives drew her as surely as if she were being reeled in on a line. It would be good to talk to the bees, to put their minds at rest.

  ‘Good evening,’ she whispered as she neared the first of the hives. ‘It’s a beautiful night.’

  After a moment, she lowered herself to the ground and sat cross-legged on the grass, well out of the bees’ flight path, but close enough that she could see them, still busy about their work even at this hour. There was something about keeping bees that Grace always found particularly soothing. Not that they really needed her help of course, and she never thought of them as belonging to her, more that she belonged to them. She was an honorary member of the hive, tolerated as long as she abided by their rules. Whichever way round it was, Grace enjoyed the sense of belonging that it gave her. And her bees had forever changed the way she viewed the world, and for that she would be eternally grateful.

  She stilled herself and tried to empty the last of the angry and negative thoughts from her head. Some people said that bees could sense prevailing moods and, while Grace wasn’t sure whether that were true or not, she always made sure that when she invaded their space she was as calm and serene as possible. They reacted to her almost instantaneously whenever she lifted the lid of the hive. When removing the combs for inspection, it was as if a wave rippled through them, a change in their movement, a tonal difference in their humming, the machinery of the hive shifting a gear. And there were times when Grace would keep her distance, when something told her that it wouldn’t be a good time to disturb them, a darker note.

  Tonight though, there was something else. She listened, sifting through the sounds she heard and discounting those that belonged outside of the hive – the birdsong, the rustle of leaves – until there was just the sound of the hive itself. They were busy; summer was at its height and the hive was hot, they had lots of nectar to cure into honey. Grace was used to this noise, the hum of a contented hive, but tonight the tone was raised up a notch; not unhappy, quite the reverse in fact. If Grace had to put a name to it, she would say they sounded excited…

  Away down the slope of the hill where Grace’s garden met the field, Amos had stopped, his face turned to the sky. After leaving Hope Farm he had simply set out to walk the edge of the field, to see up close the flowers that grew there and get a feel for the space around the farm. But, as he had walked further and felt the prickles at the base of his neck, he knew he had been drawn to this particular place by something.

  Sitting there for a little while, he had heard voices; not loud enough to make out individual words, but there was no mistaking the anger in the sounds he heard. Dark, almost like thunder. Amos could feel them cut through the soft summer air outside the house. He had felt torn and misplaced, almost as if he were trespassing – even though he knew he had every right to be where he was – but at the same time completely rooted to the spot.

  Now, though, the air was calm once more. Whatever, or whoever, had shattered the peace was gone, but it had still left its mark on Amos. He rubbed the back of his neck. Now it was all beginning to make sense.

  3

  The dream was always the same. As Amos awoke drenched in sweat and clawing at the images in his head, he was grateful that while it was still a nightmare, the intensity of it was less than the last time. This dream was his weather vane, the thing that drove him onward, telling him that it was time to seek out somewhere new, someone else with a problem that he could solve to assuage his guilt. Now that he had arrived at Hope Corner he hoped its occurrence would lessen for a while.

  He rolled over, shivering in the cool of the early-morning air, and got to his feet. He had slept in the field, under the edge of the hedgerow. After a bit of a walk to stretch his legs and shake off the last vestiges of the dream, he was just coming through the garden on his way to the cottage when he caught sight of Ned’s father leaning against the wall of the house. He raised a hand in greeting.

  ‘Good morning,’ Amos called. ‘It’s going to be another beauty!’

  Fraser turned to him, lifting the mug he held in his hand as if in salute. ‘I confess I don’t much mind what the weather does these days,’ he replied. ‘Having thought at one time I wasn’t going to see another sunrise, just as long as they keep coming, I’ll keep being grateful.’

  Amos gave him a quizzical look.

  ‘Heart attack,’ replied Fraser, succinctly. ‘Five months back, followed by a double bypass.’ He touched a hand to his chest. ‘I’ve got a scar from here… to here… And every morning when I get up and every evening as I go to sleep it reminds me to make the most of what I’ve got left.’

  Amos nodded. ‘It gets you like that, doesn’t it? Nothing like a dose of your own mortality to keep you in good health.’ He joined Fraser, feeling the warmth from the brick at his back even at this early hour.

  ‘And what would you know about mortality?’ asked Fraser. ‘A young ’un like you?’

  Amos slid him a sideways glance. ‘I’m older than I look,’ he said as evenly as he could. The dream was still all too fresh in his mind and hiding the truth was not always that easy. He and mortality had been very well acquainted for a number of years now. ‘Anyway, how are you doing?’ he asked, changing the subject. ‘Not that I know a great deal about it, but it seems to me that recovery from what you’ve been through doesn’t happen overnight.’

  ‘Aye, you’re right about that, and some days it feels as if this body of mine isn’t ever going to do what I want it to, but I’m getting there. And what Flora’s done for us, well it’s turned us right around. Never thought I could get that excited about flowers before, but it would seem I can…’ He trailed off, smiling. ‘Course I might feel differently once I’m properly back at it. I’m still on what the missus calls “light duties” at the moment, which means I don’t get my hands dirty. But there’s plenty still to be done.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘Which I reckon is where you come into things… Funny, you just turning up like that…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or nothing, but not sure I totally understand it, all the same.’

  Amos didn’t blame him. He’d probably be saying exactly the same things if he was in Fraser’s position. He looked out across the garden, knowing that the man deserved some sort of an explanation.

  ‘I had a regular life once,’ Amos began, carefully. ‘Same as most people. I went out to work, I paid my mortgage and my bills, went drinking with friends on the weekend. But then, like you, something just came along when I wasn’t looking and changed all that. And then it seemed like the life I had before didn’t belong to me any more… and it was time to find a new one. So, I left home. Rented my house out, and followed the sun, to see if I couldn’t find something that made a difference.’

  ‘Aye… and did you?’ asked Fraser, taking a swig from his mug.

  Amos turned to look at him. ‘Yes,’ he said clearly. ‘I found plenty. It took a while, not surprisingly seeing as how I didn’t know what I was looking for in the firs
t place. But then, I learnt to trust my instincts, to follow what I knew to be right, and after that, well the rest just seemed to take care of itself. I found a reason to keep going, Fraser, just like you have. It may not be the same as what other people have, but it works for me.’

  Fraser upended his mug, draining out the dregs of his tea into the flower pot that stood beside him. ‘Sounds to me like there’s a bit more to it than that,’ he said. ‘But as long as you promise to look after what we have here, I reckon you’re entitled to keep that to yourself until you’re ready to tell us.’

  ‘You have my word,’ replied Amos, solemnly.

  ‘Fair enough then, lad.’ Fraser coughed slightly, pushing himself away from the wall. ‘Now then, Flora tells me you might be the man to fix up our cottage. And I can’t deny that wouldn’t be mighty useful.’ He squinted into the sun. ‘You’d best come with me. Have a spot of breakfast and then you can look at the plans, see what we have in mind. That sound any good?’

  ‘It sounds perfect,’ said Amos, smiling, as he followed Fraser into the house.

  The kitchen was already humming in readiness for whatever the day might bring. Hannah was at the cooker, stirring a big pan of something, and Ned and Flora were already sitting at the table, a sheaf of papers spread out in front of them. The old dog gave a soft woof of greeting as Amos entered and slowly got to its feet.

  ‘Well, someone has definitely made a friend,’ remarked Flora. ‘Would you look at that, out-and-out favouritism…’

  Brodie crossed the room to stand by Amos’s side, pushing his nose against Amos’s hand as he ruffled his fur.

  ‘Come and sit down,’ added Flora. ‘We’re just about to have breakfast.’

  Hannah turned from the cooker. ‘Now, tell me, do you like porridge at all, Amos? Or there’s eggs, or beans, and plenty of toast. What would you like?’

  Amos smiled; the table was already heaped with fruit, and what looked like a dish of yoghurt beside an almost full jar of honey. ‘Porridge would be perfect, thank you. I haven’t eaten it in years, but I always liked it as a child. Every morning without fail.’

  ‘It’s very good for you,’ said Hannah. ‘Just the thing to set you up for the day.’ She frowned slightly. ‘So long as you don’t smother it in cream and sugar, that is.’

  Amos nodded towards the table. ‘I’m rather partial to honey, I’m afraid,’ he replied. ‘Might I be permitted a little of that?’

  Hannah nodded. ‘Oh, we make allowances for honey.’ She smiled. ‘Under the circumstances it would be rather churlish to refuse a gift like that.’

  Amos was about to ask her what she meant when he suddenly realised what she was referring to. ‘Ah, the bees,’ he said. ‘Yes, I guess you do rather depend on each other.’ He took a seat as Ned pushed a mug towards him.

  ‘Would you like some tea, Amos?’ he asked, gesturing at an enormous teapot. ‘Please help yourself if you would.’

  Ned watched while he did so, waiting until he was settled before continuing.

  ‘Dad mentioned showing you the plans for the cottage this morning, cracking on and all that?’

  Amos nodded politely. He was way ahead of Ned and wondered at what point he should speak himself; he didn’t want to appear rude. But then Flora smiled across at her husband, a reassuring gesture, and Amos realised that Ned was rather nervous of what he was about to say. People invariably were and Amos had learnt that it was best to be as open as possible, right from the start – it saved no end of embarrassment. If he wasn’t much mistaken, with Fraser’s heart attack and subsequent recovery, Ned had either been given or assumed the mantle of head of the house whether he’d wanted it or not. Amos had no desire to make the role any more difficult for him than it already was.

  He added milk to his mug, before looking back up. ‘Yes, and I’d be very happy to help… once you’ve seen my references and are happy for me to go ahead.’ He monitored Ned’s expression, currently showing slight surprise. ‘I don’t think I’d be happy starting work before then. I mean, watering the plants is one thing, but working on a house is something else entirely. You need to be absolutely sure I know what I’m doing.’

  Ned’s expression changed to one of alarm. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean. It’s not that we don’t—’

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to trust me, Ned, you scarcely know me, and the circumstances of my arrival were unusual to say the least. So, I am neither offended nor embarrassed by your imminent request for information.’ He sat back in his chair, grinning. ‘In fact, I much prefer it this way.’

  Ned’s shoulders dropped by several inches.

  ‘I appreciate your integrity, Amos,’ he said. ‘I wish everyone behaved that way.’

  He exchanged a look with Flora that Amos noticed, but didn’t comment on, simply smiling instead and dipping his head slightly in acknowledgement.

  ‘Right, well, now you men have squared up and sorted yourselves out,’ said Hannah, ‘I’d appreciate it if we could eat breakfast before it all goes cold.’

  She placed a huge dish of porridge down on the table, together with a toast rack stuffed with thick golden slices. Amos’s mouth began to water.

  He caught Ned’s eye, smiling again, and felt himself begin to relax. This was a good place to be, of that there was no doubt in his mind.

  ‘Besides,’ added Hannah. ‘This one here…’ She pointed to Flora. ‘Has a very well-developed sense of intuition, and if she didn’t think you were okay, you wouldn’t be eating my porridge, make no mistake.’

  A bark of laughter shot from Fraser’s mouth. ‘Welcome to Hope Corner Farm, Amos,’ he said. ‘You’re practically one of the family now.’

  ‘Don’t put words in my mouth, Fraser, but… well, carry on as you are, Amos, and I reckon you’re welcome to stay.’

  Flora picked up a bowl and began to ladle porridge into it. ‘Say when,’ she said, directing a look at Amos. ‘And there’s plenty so don’t stint yourself.’

  Amos didn’t nod until the bowl was practically full. He reached for the jar of honey.

  ‘So, what else would you like me to help with while I’m here?’ he asked. ‘I can take care of the hens too if you’d like. What time do they normally lay?’

  Hannah spluttered through a mouthful of tea. ‘About eleven at this time of year, but how did you…?’

  ‘I introduced myself to them this morning after I heard the cockerel crowing,’ replied Amos. ‘I hope that was okay. Besides, anybody with that many eggs lined up in their kitchen has got to have a few hens about the place.’

  Flora laughed. ‘There’s nothing much escapes you, is there?’ she said. ‘And actually, those eggs are destined for the village shop, but taking them down there always seems to be the one job that no one has time for any more. If you wouldn’t mind, perhaps you could take them?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Amos. ‘I’d be happy to.’

  Fraser’s spoon was already scraping his bowl and Amos picked up his own pace a little. The porridge was good: thick and creamy, the honey strong and sweet. He finished it in moments.

  ‘Delicious,’ he announced. ‘Thank you.’ He looked expectantly at Fraser and Ned. ‘I’ll just go and fetch my papers, shall I? And then you can show me what you’d like doing.’

  Several hours later Amos found himself back on the road again and heading towards the village, a wicker basket hooked over one arm, his head tilted to enjoy the sun on his skin. He’d spent the morning discussing the work to be done on the cottage; like most farmers, Fraser and Ned could turn their hands to most things of a practical nature and much of the preliminary work had already been done, but things had recently ground to a halt. Amos hadn’t wanted to pry too much, but Fraser’s illness had clearly forced them to reconsider the future of the farm, hence the major change in direction from dairy to flowers. It was unsurprising to Amos that he had arrived at a rather pivotal moment in the lives of everyone here but, try as he might, he still couldn’t get a sense of what any of this might be lead
ing to. Were it not, of course, for the angry voices that he had heard last night. Someone needed help and now he was on his way to meet the woman who kept bees in her garden.

  Flora had scribbled Amos a note to explain to Grace who he was so that she wouldn’t question why he just happened to be carrying a basket full of eggs from the farm. Not that she would, explained Flora, sure that Grace would take one look at him and welcome him with open arms, but just in case. Amos had smiled and nodded, intrigued by the thought of meeting her.

  Somehow he had pictured Grace to be much older than she was, but her wavy grey hair couldn’t disguise the smooth skin and confidence of someone much closer to his own age. Only the creases that lay at the corners of her eyes, brought on by half a lifetime of smiling, gave her away as being a little over fifty. They appeared now as she greeted him warmly.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ she said. ‘Beautiful day—’ She was about to say something else when she suddenly frowned. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Stand still a minute.’

  Amos did as he was asked, his face dropping in confusion as he watched her come around the counter, picking up a piece of paper on her way.

  ‘You appear to have been accompanied into the shop,’ she said, still smiling. ‘Come on, little fella,’ she added. ‘Let’s get you back out in the fresh air.’

  She placed the sheet of paper against Amos’s shoulder, and it was only then he noticed that a bee had settled there. Despite Grace’s best efforts, however, it refused to be enticed onto the paper so he wriggled his shoulder, holding his head away at an awkward angle to get a better look.

  ‘It isn’t dead, is it?’ he asked, when it didn’t move.

  ‘No, it’s alive. Stunned perhaps…’

  Amos handed her the basket of eggs. ‘Could you hold these a moment?’ he asked. ‘I’ll go outside. Perhaps the air will persuade him to move.’

  Grace nodded and took the basket, placing it down on the counter before following him out.