The Honey Farm on the Hill: Escape to sunny Greece in this perfect summer read!

by Jo Thomas

  He looks so out of place. This world – my world – couldn’t be more different from his. I glance around to see if there is anyone with him; his wife maybe? Wondering if this is some kind of cruel joke.

  Little pools of water are gathering at his feet, glistening in the bright light. He looks down at them, oblivious to the cheap decorations festooning the doorway where he’s standing.

  ‘I have been to see my wife . . .’

  There’s a sharp intake of breath from the gathered group behind me.

  ‘I see,’ I gulp, my cheeks burning like never before, feeling like this is the ultimate humiliation.

  ‘Was she knocking off a married man?’ Gena asks.

  ‘This is Gorgeous George, I’m guessing.’ I hear Gracie putting two and two together from the photographs I’ve shown her since I’ve been back and the tales of my time on the mountain.

  ‘Gorgeous, but married,’ I hear Gena sneer, and I’m tempted to shove her deely boppers right up her nostrils. But right now, I want Georgios to go. Or do I want him to stay? My head is spinning and my heart somersaults.

  ‘Look, I think it would be best—’ I begin, feeling like I have a mouthful of sand.

  ‘Demi said I would find you here.’ Georgios continues as though I haven’t spoken.

  ‘You’ve met Demi?’ I turn around and she waves from her position on packing fake trees. It’s an itchy job.

  ‘We met on Skype, when she was talking with Stelios’s family.’ He nods and smiles. ‘She’s very beautiful. The family love her. She is the image of Stelios.’

  I manage a watery smile.

  ‘But she has something of you too. She told them of her time in London. She is fiery, independent, brave, just like you.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ I hear Gracie shout, and I blush, blinking away the hot tears in my eyes.

  ‘Is he talking about Nell?’ Gena says. ‘Mike never says things like that to me.’

  ‘Ssh.’ I hear Angelica hushing them. Oh, they’re all seeing my public disgrace! My toes begin to curl.

  ‘So, you left the mountain. It’s safe, then?’ I try and make it sound like a conversation with an old friend. But my insides are shifting and spinning, reminding me that he is so much more.

  He nods. Droplets of rain fly around like glitter.

  ‘The dittany is back. The developers have gone. The bees have started to make honey again. Kostas’s hives are full. More swarms moved in after the fire. He will be opening his honey factory again very soon!’ He looks around our factory. God knows what he makes of it.

  ‘I’m glad for you, Georgios, but I really have to go. I’m not on an official break. I’ll . . .’ I look around. ‘We’ll get into trouble.’

  ‘Mr Evans is on a phone call. You take all the time you need,’ Angelica calls, arms folded.

  ‘I have been to see my wife,’ he starts again.

  ‘Yes, so you said.’ I look down, shamefaced. ‘I’m glad you’ve got everything sorted.’ Oh God, this is killing me.

  ‘We have agreed the terms of the divorce and made all the arrangements. She has a new life and there is a new one I’d like too . . .’

  ‘I’m really pleased, but—’ I look up. ‘Sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘I couldn’t ask until I was free to, but I’m asking now.’ He looks at me with those familiar green and gold eyes.

  There is silence on the factory floor.

  ‘Will you have me, Nell? Will you be with me?’ He reaches out a hand towards me. I look down at it slowly.

  ‘Did he just say what I think he said?’ Gena asks exactly what I’m thinking.

  ‘Ssh!’ Angelica silences her again.

  ‘But . . . but the mountain . . . the town . . .’

  ‘The mountain is safe. It’s time for me to move on. If being with you means living here, well then, so be it. My home is with you, wherever you are.’

  He looks at me, and with my eyes full of unshed tears, I rush forward and hug him hard, so that his hat tips off backwards, falling into the sheep, who start baaing and milling again. He lifts me off the ground and then slowly lowers me.

  And then he kisses me, just like I remember, the kiss I’ve longed for ever since that night up the mountain. Like a tidal wave, joy flows over me, drenching me.

  Finally we part, and I realise the whole factory is cheering.

  ‘Go on, girl!’ I hear Gracie call.

  Angelica is whistling with two fingers and Demi is whooping and clapping the loudest.

  ‘What on earth is going on out here?’ It’s Alwyn Evans, looking short and angry. But then he always looks short and angry. He’s obviously finished his phone call. ‘Nell, what is all this commotion . . . and what are all these sheep doing in my factory?’

  I look at the sheep milling around and suddenly can’t stifle my giggles any more.

  ‘Get them out or you’re fired! You’ve already nearly burned down my factory!’ He’s got it into his head that I’m to blame, just because the beam fell in over where I was sitting.

  ‘Hey! You can’t fire Nell! She didn’t burn down the factory.’ We all turn to look at Gracie. ‘If you’re going to blame anyone, blame me. I did it. I was having a crafty fag in the tinsel packing cupboard. Thought I’d put it out, but . . .’ She shrugs, ‘Well, all that having to go outside to the smoking area malarkey. I thought no one would notice.’

  Now I’m thinking with my heart rather than my head. ‘Actually, I did it. I started the fire,’ I say.

  Gracie looks aghast. ‘No you didn’t. It was me,’ she argues.

  Angelica steps forward and lifts her chin. ‘No, I started the fire!’ she declares.

  And the three of us turn to each other and smile. Who knows where we’re going, but life is certainly about to change for all of us.

  ‘Out, the lot of you!’

  I look at Georgios.

  ‘Your job?’ Georgios is wide-eyed. ‘I thought you wanted things to go back to how they were: your job, your home, your life here.’

  ‘I want to go back to the mountain, if that’s all right. I want to wake up to that view, with you, every day for the rest of my life.’

  ‘But you have a job here . . . a life.’

  ‘Not any more. I’m doing what you told me to do. I’ve stopped thinking with my head and started listening to my heart. My life is in Crete. With you, if you’ll have me . . .’ I look over at Demi, my head to one side, and raise a questioning eyebrow. Like the bees, we don’t need words. Demi beams and gives a single nod back at me. I look at Georgios again. ‘If you’ll have us?’

  And at that point he does the one thing I never dreamed could happen to someone like me. As the sheep pour in out of the car park and fill the factory floor, milling and baaing, he scoops me up in his arms and carries me out of the fire exit, just like in An Officer and a Gentleman. I grab his hat and put it on my own head, and he stops only to kiss me again before we pass over the threshold of my old life on my way to my new one, back to the mountain where we both belong.

  ‘A double booking!’ Demi cries. ‘Today of all days. I’ll have to cancel them.’

  ‘Don’t panic. We can do this.’ I smile at her. ‘We’ll all pull together. There are plenty of villagers you can ask to waitress. There’s Agatha from the tablecloth shop now that her arthritis is cleared up, and Gabriela from the crocheting circle – she’s got over her cold – and Christina, now her husband’s gout has gone. Just ask them. They’ll be happy to help.’

  ‘But Mum, we have loads of tourist parties coming. It won’t hurt to cancel this one.’

  ‘Yes, we have lots of bookings because they’ve heard about the mountain and the power of its love. We can’t turn people away. Georgios can take them up the mountain on one of his guided tours . . . he’ll show them Kostas�
��s honey farm, and point out the valley where everything grows. They should be back at our place, at the herb factory, by about twelve thirty.’ I find myself grinning. ‘Oh, and Gracie has finished packing the dried mountain tea and the wild thyme, so she’s free. We’ll all pull together, it’ll be fine. Could you man the shop in the factory today, Gracie?’

  ‘Sounds good to me, love.’ She slides off her stool at the little bar in the Wild Thyme restaurant, where Demi is managing the day’s bookings and we’re sharing our regular morning coffee as we plan the day ahead.

  ‘Oh, and I need more wild thyme for the lamb gamopilafo!’ Demi puts her hand to her forehead. ‘And I have to do the wedding rice. Granny Demetria is showing me how to make it.’

  ‘No worries, love. I’ll ask Angelica if she can drop the thyme off on her way to the shop.’ Gracie knocks back the last of her mountain tea and pulls out her mobile.

  ‘Kalispera! Cretan Bridal Gowns, how can I help?’ comes the crisp, efficient voice at the other end.

  ‘Angelica, be a love and pop into the herb shop at Nell and Georgios’s and grab some wild thyme to drop off to Demi at the restaurant; she’s got a couple of coachloads of tourists coming in today.’

  ‘No problem, Gracie. I’m just off to pick up some more crocheted patches to take up to Kostas for the final touches to the dress. You’re not going to believe it, Hiya magazine heard about Mitera’s wedding last autumn, and her dress. They want photos . . . and an actor from Holby City is interested in one. This is it! Cretan Bridal Gowns is going to be huge!’ I hear her shout.

  ‘Well with you running the show, love, why wouldn’t it be? Anyway, got to go. See you at the church later. Come on, you,’ Gracie says affectionately to Angel, always at her feet.

  ‘Oh, and there are more WWOOFers coming today to help Maria and Kostas at the honey farm,’ I tell them. ‘With the twins on the way and Kostas making the wedding dresses, they need all the help they can get.’

  Georgios pokes his head in through the restaurant gates.

  ‘You can’t come in here! It’s bad luck!’ Demi shouts good-naturedly and throws a napkin in his direction.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.

  ‘Just checking you’re not having second thoughts.’ He grins around the wrought-iron bars.

  ‘I’m not. Now go!’ I laugh and also throw a napkin in his direction, and it lands in the lemon tree, the one I hid in on my first visit here.

  ‘OK! OK!’ He moves away, then turns back. ‘And you’ll definitely be done by four?’ he double-checks.

  ‘Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’ll be ready.’

  That evening, in the small flat-roofed church in the square, as the sun begins to set between the mountains, Georgios and I make our vows.

  Everyone that matters is here: Demi, Maria and Kostas, Mitera and her new husband, Angelica and Gracie, Stelios’s family, and of course Georgios, right beside me, promising to be there forever. As the warm, thyme-scented summer evening wraps itself around the mountain and the town, we leave the church, me clutching my bouquet of wild mountain flowers and herbs, and walk through the streets, where everyone has come out to see us, smiling and clapping and wishing us luck. As we reach the wrought-iron gates to the restaurant, there are butterflies flying around my stomach – or is it bees, doing their waggle dance no doubt? Georgios, holding my hand, stops, turns to me and kisses me. I look up and see the outline of the kri-kri goat high above the mountain cave.

  Georgios pushes open the gates and I catch my breath. Demi and Stelios’s family have worked wonders. The whole courtyard is filled with white candles, fairy lights and lanterns, and my eyes are drawn upwards to two white doves that take off through the courtyard to the opening above, their wings flapping, like they’ve finally found each other and are starting a new life together.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I whisper, knowing that I never, ever want to leave this place again.

  ‘Everyone is happy for us. Stelios would be happy too,’ Georgios says. ‘Happy that we have found each other.’

  That evening we sit in the courtyard, in the light of the candles and lanterns, a jug of wild herbs and mountain flowers on each table, along with sugared almonds scattered across the white tablecloths. Demi has organised the waitresses, all the villagers that Georgios delivered dittany to: Agatha, Christina and Gabriela, in rude health and wearing black with white aprons, smiling and darting between the tables. We eat wonderful melt-in-your-mouth morsels made by Stelios’s mother and sister, and then lamb slow-roasted with lemons, olives and bay, with the wedding gamopilafo – rice coated with butter and lemon made with love by Demi and her namesake, Stelios’s grandmother Demetria – and huge bowls of Greek salad, full of fat tomatoes, crunchy cucumber, crescents of onion, and crumbling white feta contrasting beautifully with the firm black olives tumbling across the top. Then the lightest sponge-and-buttercream wedding cake made by Agatha; glistening spoon sweets, made from cherries and quince; and bowls piled high with loukoumades, the warm fluffy doughnuts the size and shape of golf balls, sprinkled with sesame seeds and soaked in glorious golden Vounoplagia honey.

  We drink chilled wine made from the vines in the town, and firewater raki, and Georgios tells us to raise our glasses because love has returned to the mountain. And then, as two guitarists and a violinist begin to play, we dance in a circle in the sultry evening, men one side, women the other, arms outstretched, eyes locking on to each other. Mitera is there with her new husband. Gracie is beaming at one of his cousins. Angelica is dancing opposite Yannis, who has decided he doesn’t want to leave any more. Stelios’s parents sit and laugh with Demi, who is organising the kitchen and waiting staff and looks right at home. Because that is exactly where we are.

  Maria takes a break from dancing, rubbing her big swollen belly, and I sit beside her, placing my hand on her tummy too.

  ‘Mum?’ Demi walks towards me. ‘There are some lads outside, say they’re WWOOFers?’

  ‘Oh, they’re here. Great. Tell them to come in . . .’

  Demi blushes and then beams as three Canadian lads, one tall and dark-skinned, one shorter, blond and cute, and the third thinner, with crazy black curls, step into the restaurant and stare around in wonder.

  ‘Wow! Looks like a wild time . . .’

  And as the sun disappears and the mountain wraps its shadow around the town like a great big hug, the music plays on, like a steady drumbeat, just like the heart of the mountain. Love has finally returned, and this time it’s here to stay.

  Cheese

  Crete has many wonderful cheeses, almost every town or village has its own local variety. Probably the best known is mizithra, made from sheep’s milk or a mixture of sheep’s and goat’s milk. I love the way it crumbles over salad. And don’t forget to try the Greek pies – flaky pastry with a cheese filling, or even cheese combined with spinach or horta, Cretan greens. Just delicious.

  Olive oil

  Whilst in Crete I went on a cookery course taught by the wonderful Koula Varydakis-Hanialakis and bought her book, Foods of Crete. She signed it and wrote in it: ‘For Jo, Enjoy cooking the way we cook in Crete, use olive oil!’ Olive oil is considered the basis of the diet that helps the people of Greece live long and healthy lives. And it tastes fabulous too!

  Honey

  Honey is probably the best known Cretan produce alongside olive oil. It is thyme that makes Cretan honey so distinctive, amber in colour with a wonderful floral flavour. Drizzle it over Greek yoghurt or figs. Just gorgeous.

  Herbs

  Apparently Crete has the greatest number of species of wild herbs in Europe. These herbs make simple food special and I came home with a case full of them.

  Calamari

  Deep-fried squid rings in crispy batter with salt and pepper and a generous squeeze of fresh lemon is a Thomas family favourit
e . . . served on a plate to be shared and eaten with fingers.

  Smoked pork

  Cretan smoked pork is marinated for days and then smoked over local herbs such as sage, bay and rosemary. I ate this in the local family-run taverna where we were staying, just outside of Rethymno, washed down with home-made raki. I also had the most wonderful slow-cooked pork up in the mountains at Dounias Traditional Cretan Food eatery in Drakona near Chania. Everything was locally grown and sourced and cooked over open wood fires. It was such a memorable meal. Fantastic setting, fabulous food!

  Loukoumades

  These are honey-soaked doughnuts sprinkled with cinnamon and they can be found on every street corner, served in cafes and bars, and they are the very best of Cretan traditional home cooking. Like a great big hug on a plate! Need I say more?

  Starting to write a book is a bit like opening up the fridge and seeing what ingredients you have and what you’re going to make for dinner. If you start to find out about the food of an area, it takes you by the hand and introduces you to the people, the culture and the history of the place and the stories within its walls. And Crete was no exception.

  Arriving at our villa was like moving day! Excitedly, we explored the house. Within minutes of getting the bags in through the big, ornate metal gate and deciding who was sleeping where, my three young teenagers had opened up the French doors leading onto the covered terrace and were in the pool, with shrieks of delight; surrounded by fruit bushes, and set against a backdrop of a rocky mountain. On our first night there we sat outside and watched the sky darken to the colour of blue-black ink and a big, round, silvery moon came up silhouetting the rugged mountain. I knew that mountain was going to be a main character in my new book.

  Every morning of our stay I sat out on the terrace of our villa, surrounded by pomegranate trees and oranges hanging from branches like golden Christmas baubles, whilst my early-bird son swam in the pool and a local cat kept me company. In the distance, my mountain. And there I began to write. Not the story I set out to tell, but the one that I’d discovered when I arrived in Crete, in the heart of the mountains.