We Belong Together

by Beth Moran

I staggered the few metres to the hedge and was violently sick all over the pale pink hawthorn blossom.

  They were here.

  They were here.

  Wiping my mouth on a tissue I’d used earlier to clean Hope’s nose, I span around, as best I could given that my nervous system was in chaos. Scouring the horizon, before zooming in on every nook and cranny in this corner of the garden, I willed myself to get a grip and focus.

  They might not be here. They might have simply been here. Again.

  As well as in my kitchen, to steal the knife.

  I tried to remember the last time I’d sat in the arbour. Yesterday morning. Enough time to have been and gone. Recently enough to still be here, hiding in plain sight of the crowd.

  With flailing fingers, I managed to summon up enough presence of mind to take photos of the picture. I then clicked through to the Damson Farm Retreat email account, and hastily scrolled through the most recent messages.

  I didn’t have to scroll far.

  It had been sent at eleven o’clock that morning:

  Hello Eleanor. Looking forward to the big day? I am.

  Oh, crap.

  I stumbled out of there.

  ‘Daniel?’ I managed to ask Luke, manning the sheep rodeo. He glanced at me, forehead creasing as he took in my distraught appearance.

  ‘Over by the barbeque last time I saw him.’ He paused. ‘Eleanor, are you all right?’

  I didn’t bother answering, instead veering over towards the food stands, my eyes frantically searching the crowds for any sign of an Alami. Once close enough to spot Daniel through the trees, I skidded to a stop. Nora was standing right next to him. She threw back her head, shaking her red mane, and rested a hand on his forearm as if sharing the funniest of jokes. Daniel at least had the decency to look puzzled rather than join in. Even through my distress, I felt a surge of love for that man.

  But I wasn’t about to approach while Nora Sharp had her talons on him. Let alone while I was on the brink of hysteria.

  Instead, I changed course for the refreshments gazebo, where Becky was sorting the remaining few scones.

  ‘I’d ask if you’re feeling better, but your face is green.’ She looked at me, concerned. ‘Have you had a run-in with her?’

  ‘I think the bee man is back,’ I managed to blurt. Becky grabbed my arm and manoeuvred me into a folding chair, before grabbing a bottle of water and crouching down next to me, unscrewing the top as she spoke. ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘I found a photo of me, stuck to my arbour with a kitchen knife.’

  Becky went as pale as I felt.

  I told her about the email.

  ‘You’ve called Brenda?’

  ‘Not yet. I came straight here.’

  ‘Give me your phone.’

  ‘Becky, wait.’ I put a hand out. ‘The band is about to start. And then the bonfire. We can wait three hours and not ruin the day.’

  ‘We can call Brenda, have a discreet chat in the farmhouse and that won’t ruin the day either, but it might save you from being impaled by your own kitchen knife!’

  ‘And then what – she calls a load of back-up uniformed policemen, who whizz up the drive in their police cars, before stampeding through the orchard, hunting through the crowd and accosting anyone looking suspicious? The whole village would know in seconds. Let alone the Nora Sharp factor. Can you imagine how she’d spin that chain of events? No super-cute posts from Dinky and Tammers could counteract that.’

  Becky thought for a moment. ‘Okay.’ She checked the time on her phone. ‘It’s just after five. We light the fire at half past, and then the band starts at six. We give people an hour to enjoy the music, and call the police at seven.’

  I nodded. Surely two hours wouldn’t make that much difference?

  Becky hadn’t finished, though. ‘On one condition. No, actually two. We ask Mum and Luke to keep an eye out for anyone they don’t recognise. Between them they must know just about everyone in Ferrington. And…’ She took hold of my hand. ‘This is how close you’re sticking to me until I can hand you over to a police officer. Seriously. This close.’ She waved her other hand between us to confirm the distance, which I estimated as about sixteen inches.

  ‘Okay.’ I attempted a smile, but before I knew it I was bawling.

  ‘Oh, sweetheart.’ Becky wrapped her arms around me. ‘It’s going to be fine. I’m being overly cautious because that’s my job as your friend.’ She rubbed my back as she spoke. ‘Honestly, it’s fine.’

  ‘I know,’ I sobbed, leaning into her shoulder. ‘I know it’ll more than likely be nothing. I’m not even crying because I’m upset, or I’m scared.’ Though I was, of course, both those things, my overwhelmingly predominant emotion was something different altogether.

  ‘I can’t remember the last time someone had my back. That you’d insist on sticking this close to me…’

  ‘Well, maybe not this close.’

  ‘That you’d stay anywhere near me at all… the only person who I could ever rely on like that was Charlie. And to be honest, she meant well, but in practice, being reliable wasn’t really her forte.’ I did a big sniff to avoid getting snot on her top, which under the circumstances was the least I could do. ‘Thank you.’

  Becky squeezed me even tighter for a second before pulling back and handing me a tissue. ‘You’re very welcome.’

  ‘I think I love you, Becky Adams.’

  She winked. ‘That’s good, because I know I love you. Now, a funeral pyre awaits. I’ll message Luke and my mum once we’re safely surrounded.’

  34

  I tried not to think about how easy it would be to slip a knife into someone’s back while hidden in a crowd. If this stalker was here, I knew they would want to confront me rather than remaining anonymous. As we made our way over to where the bonfire was safely cordoned off in one corner of the meadow, my eyes continually scanned the remaining few people wandering up to join the crowd. The villagers were waiting solemnly in an arc around the pile of wood about six feet high, and we deliberately positioned ourselves well away from Nora, typing away on her phone. Daniel, standing on the far side of the rope fence, waited for the last few stragglers before calling everyone to attention.

  ‘Good evening, good people of Ferrington!’

  Everyone hooted and cheered.

  ‘I’d like to start by thanking you wholeheartedly for joining us on this historic day. I know how much it means for some of you to have come, given our history. For most of us, this is the first time we’ve attended a village event where all of us are welcome. I know that for those of you who remember the days before the feud, this is even harder. I’m so grateful that you’ve made the difficult choice to start healing the rift that’s blighted us for so long. I know this won’t be simple, or something that happens quickly, but together we took a step of faith in saying that it’s valuable enough to try.’

  He walked over and took Hope from Billie’s arms, carrying her back to his original position. ‘We take this step in letting go of the past, not to diminish the hurt and the hardship that so many of us faced, but so that our children can have a better future.’

  He might have had more to say, but there was no chance anyone would hear it. The roar of support and affirmation from the crowd was spontaneous, and heartfelt.

  While the cheers continued, three men stepped forwards and set the bonfire alight. Daniel called Caris Smith and her four adult children forwards. They were each carrying a stick. Caris turned to face the onlookers, reading the word she’d written on her stick in a loud voice: ‘Loneliness.’ She threw the stick onto the flames.

  Each of her children called out what they’d written on their branches:

  ‘Grief.’

  ‘Anger.’

  ‘Being broke.’

  Into the flames they went.

  One by one, various others stepped forwards with their sticks. They burned bitterness, hate and hunger. Sickness and sadness. Violence and vandalism. Hardship an
d loss. One person had written ‘self-service checkouts’, but we cheered them anyway.

  When the last stick was ablaze, Frank and Eddie declared in a loud voice that the Ferrington Feud was officially dead. Some of the villagers embraced their neighbours from the other side of the river. Many of the men who had once pickaxed together deep below the ground held each other as they wept. Women who had once worried about their men together, shared gossip and advice and childrearing, until turning their backs on one another, gripped hands and began catching up on thirty-six missed years.

  Not all of them. Some kept their distance, frowned and shifted uncomfortably but they were here, and that was an enormous step, to be celebrated not judged.

  Daniel then called Becky forwards.

  ‘Crap!’ She glanced at me, holding tight to my hand. ‘I’m doing a speech.’

  ‘I’m not coming up there,’ I whispered, glancing over to where Nora was still engrossed in her phone.

  Becky looked torn.

  ‘I’ll stand right here where you can see me. Look, Alice is just there. Go! I’ll be fine for two minutes.’

  ‘Three minutes and forty-five seconds.’

  ‘Go!’

  It was Becky’s role to move our focus from the past onto the future. She spoke about the plans for the orchard, and the retreat, the opportunities to develop skills and forge relationships. She mentioned all those businesses and individuals who had helped get things off the ground, or promised their support in the future. She even floated an idea about converting the barn into a wedding and events venue, which had Daniel raising his eyebrows in my direction. I shrugged and managed a sort of smile. Maybe we would hold our wedding there one day.

  As Becky ran through the list of people she wanted to thank, she then took a deep breath, lifted her chin and said, ‘I would like to finish by thanking Nora Sharp, the well-known food and event reviewer, for taking the time and trouble to come and visit our little festival. I do hope that having seen what Damson Day is all about, you’ll be able to write one of your inspirational, positive reviews!’ She paused then, thrown by the sneer on Nora’s face, before pressing on, voice now wavering. ‘Well. Either way, all publicity is good publicity, right?’

  ‘Let’s put it this way – it’ll be an honest write-up.’

  Nora, to my surprise, stepped out of the crowd and went to stand by Becky. She allowed the stunned silence to linger, sharp eyes roaming over the shocked faces, until they stopped dead. On me.

  ‘Eleanor.’ She smiled. It felt as though the temperature suddenly plummeted about twenty degrees. ‘Finally decided to stop hiding from me?’ She waited for me to reply, but I couldn’t breathe, let alone speak. ‘I’m sure you’re all wondering why I bothered travelling over a hundred miles into the backside of nowhere, for a – and I’m being polite here because children are present – bog-standard little fete. I had a backstage pass for Take That at the O2 tonight. Why on earth would I come here? Well. I’m sure Eleanor Sharpley could explain perfectly.’

  She thrust one pointed finger in my direction, which felt a little overdramatic, but that was Lucy for you. There was a collective hiss from the people around me. I think I swayed a little, but my head was numb so it was hard to tell.

  ‘Yes, up until January this year, I was Nora Sharp’s assistant. That Nora Sharp. I spent two years devoted to building her profile, curating her image, standing in for her at events and in the videos. Painstakingly planning her diary. Editing her reviews so that they are actually readable. Basically, doing it all while getting paid in a few cast-off clothes and leftovers.

  ‘And then, the moment my videos started outshining her sad little columns, she fired me. Via answerphone message. Oh, don’t look so surprised – what else would you expect from Nora? A generous redundancy package and a goodbye hug? She didn’t even write me a reference. Although I ended up not needing one, because the moment her editor knew I’d been dumped, he fired her and gave the real Nora the job.’

  ‘That still doesn’t explain why you’re here, or what that has to do with Damson Day!’ Alice, God bless her, called out. ‘This is about the Ferrington Feud, not whatever issues you happen to have going on with Eleanor.’

  Nora went deathly still. I could feel the animosity of her stare boring through my head into the back of my skull. ‘I thought it only right that you knew what you were getting yourselves into. Eleanor Sharpley, Nora Sharp, whoever she’s pretending to be these days, didn’t just try to ruin my life, she’s destroyed countless others over the past few years. Don’t be fooled like I was. Once a lying, secretive, callous bitch who enjoys profiteering from other people’s misery… always the kind of woman who turns up on the doorstep of a supposed best friend – such great friends she hadn’t even realised she’s passed away! – and decides to profiteer from hijacking that friend’s dream! She’ll do anything for attention.’

  ‘That’s utter crap!’ Becky yelled, voice trembling as she turned to look at me, her expression pleading with me to deny the whole thing.

  ‘I think you’d better go,’ Luke said to Nora. I could barely hear him. It felt as though the bees had come back to life and burrowed into my brain.

  I forced myself to drag my head up and find Daniel, standing off to one side with Hope, staring at me with a look of utter horror.

  ‘No.’ I don’t know how I managed to speak, but instantly everyone whipped their heads around to focus on me. ‘I’ll go.’

  Before anyone could try to stop me – not that anyone did – I turned and ran.

  35

  Stumbling, wheezing, I found myself in the farmyard. My first instinct was to head inside, and bury myself under my duvet until I was in a fit state to start packing. But it would be the first place Becky or whoever else came looking would expect me to be.

  Instead, spying the barn, I lurched over to it, before veering off around the corner to where I remembered there being a smaller, ramshackle outbuilding that as far as I knew was in disuse. It took a few moments of working at the rusted latch before I could push the rotting door wide enough to slip inside. In the muted evening light I could still pick out several old farm implements and shelves lined with huge cider jars thick with cobwebs. I pushed past a wooden sledge, a ride on lawnmower with only one wheel, and stacks of splintered pallets. Spiders scurried into the shadows, and I heard a scuffling that could definitely have been a rat. I squeezed into a gap behind a large crate and the back wall, and sank to a squat, hoping that I could stay undetected long enough to unscramble my thoughts and collect my breath. Dropping my head onto quaking hands, I tried to piece myself back together so that I could begin to figure out what I was going to do next.

  Despite every effort to the contrary, I had now become the tawdry talking point of Damson Day, contaminating the best moment of the day – of over thirty years – with my disgusting secret.

  Crap.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, but it failed to dam the torrent of tears.

  It must have been twilight, judging by how the light had dimmed through the cracks in the roof, when I finally made my decision. As tempting as it was to sneak inside, pack up my bags and flee before anyone noticed I’d gone, that was not how this was going to go down.

  Whatever anyone might think of me, thanks to Nora’s revelations, I was done with running away. Daniel and Hope meant far too much for that. I was worth more than that. It was time to own up to who I was, who I’d been and what I’d done. Daniel would either still love me, or he’d find me utterly repugnant, but at least it would be the real me.

  I was flexing my toes, trying to ease agonising leg cramps before I made a move, when I heard footsteps approaching the outhouse door.

  My heart automatically panicked, the blood accelerating through my veins. Trying to quieten my rasping breath, I waited as whoever it was performed the same wrestle with the latch as I had, and then wrenched the door open so hard it smacked into the outside wall. The beam of a phone torch darted across the walls, but unless they
stepped right inside and through the clutter, I was still concealed. I would wait for them to say my name, before deciding whether or not to reveal myself.

  But instead of asking for me, they instead tugged the door closed, and took a step further into the shadows.

  Twin snakes of dread and alarm unfurled in my stomach, as the terrifying thought slithered through my brain that my friends might not be the only ones looking for me.

  I hadn’t called Brenda.

  I’d completely forgotten.

  Would Becky have called?

  Surely if she had, she’d have called me. Only I realised with a jolt that my phone was in my bag, over in the gazebo.

  I pressed both hands against my mouth to smother my whimpers.

  There began a steady rustling and scraping as the prowler started to search through the junk.

  They might not be looking for me.

  Maybe it’s Daniel looking for a tool, or a box.

  Maybe it’s an opportunistic thief…

  Maybe…

  There was a startling clatter as they picked up a wrench and hurled it against the back wall. The clanging hid my panicked gasp.

  As the phone light now strobed across the wall in front of me, I saw the clear outline of my fresh footprints in the dirt and dust. The beam froze, hovering on one footprint, before slowly following the trail to where they disappeared behind a box, a couple of feet in front of me.

  A muffled giggle.

  The stomach snakes writhed in terror.

  I was sure I knew that giggle. So I didn’t know why I felt so afraid.

  It’s not them.

  It’s not the Bee Murderer.

  I’m okay! I’m okay!

  Slowly, painfully, my limbs stiff and sore from squatting for so long, I shuffled out before Lucy could get any closer.

  She stopped, squinting through the dust motes lit up in the torch beam. I could just about make out the smirk slowly emerging as she confirmed it was me.

  ‘Well, well. Haven’t you come down in the world?’ she sang.