Telling the Bees – Chapter 13
Winding Down
‘I’m really sorry,’ said Jason, his voice reverberating on speakerphone. ‘I know it’s not ideal from your point of view.’
‘Not ideal? It’s a bloody eyesore.’
‘It wouldn’t have been my choice, Tom, but the owner insisted. Some of the retreat’s clients will be high-profile people – public figures, political leaders, celebrities – and security and privacy are genuine concerns for them.’
‘Yeah, well living next to a Supermax prison lookalike is a genuine concern for us, mate.’
Amélie raised a warning hand. Her husband wasn’t easily roused, but when he got a head of steam up, his outrage could carry him too far.
Unspoken between them was the concern about the effect on the value of their property of this unsightly fence, if it came to a sale. When it came to a sale.
‘I hear you, Tom. Loud and clear. Look, maybe there’s something we can do to soften the visual impact – more native plantings along the creek to screen the “bloody eyesore” from view, maybe? The Homestead will foot the bill, of course, organise the planting. How about I come round and talk it over with you?’
They agreed that this would be a good idea. Some time later that week. No great rush.
Call over, Tom frowned.
‘This bloody “owner” he talks about. Wish we could talk to the bugger face-to-face.’
Jason was infuriatingly discreet about the identity of the property’s buyer. ‘An old colleague,’ is all they had got out of him over dinner that evening back in October. Amélie had the impression that even this was an egregious slip.
‘I’m sorry – I’m not authorised to say more.’ His tone was apologetic, but firm, and they had not pressed the matter.
Poking around on the internet had revealed only that the Homestead had been bought by a partnership in Singapore. The partners were companies in Hong Kong and Belize. Neither of these appeared to make, sell or do anything: classic shell corporations.
‘Do you think that our polite, friendly neighbour was – or is – a mercenary?’ mused Amélie over lunch.
Tom puffed out his cheeks.
‘Military background? Been around half the civil wars, in half the failed states of the last twenty years? Vague allusions to “development work”? Yeah, could be. Easily. Although I believe the term is “private security contractor” these days.’
‘So much less romantic than “soldier of fortune”, don’t you think?’
‘Nothing romantic about those bastards, love.’
Their conversation turned to more immediate matters. With Amélie’s diminishing activity around the property, Tom was in danger of being overwhelmed. It was only a matter of time until he overdid it, then they would be in trouble.
Now that Lottie had finished her exams, they were employing her three days a week. She was a hard worker, willing, capable and prepared to work for far less than Amélie thought was fair and proper, but they had never anticipated this expense. Funds were tight and getting tighter.
Moreover, their young helper would be starting horticultural college in the autumn. Then what?
One way or another, the workload would have to be reduced.
They agreed reluctantly that the dairy goats, Nancy and Henrietta and their kids, would have to go, as soon as a good, caring home could be found. The flock of chooks could be reduced to the three youngest hens, who were good layers and would provide more than enough eggs for their household needs. Lottie could look after the polytunnels until the New Year at least … and maybe they could get a WWOOFer1 or two lined up for the fruit harvest?
The bees, of course, would look after themselves. Amélie and Lottie might carry out a honey harvest before Christmas.
A last honey harvest, Amélie thought. She had the feeling that it was all winding down.
The goal that they had worked towards for thirty years – had it just been an extended holiday from reality? Did they now have to pack up and go home?
Except that ‘home’ for her was oblivion, annihilation.
The afternoon heat persisted long into the evening. They sat out on the veranda and drank glasses of cool Pinot Grigio. Snuggled on the bench, they breathed the warm, silky-soft air of a November night, the relentless song of cicadas, newly emerged from the warm, dark earth after years of subterranean silence.
She imagined the gnarly little monsters, soft bodies within a new armoured carapace, filigree wings stiffened for flight, singing to fulfil their brief adult mission of procreation.
The ringing of Tom’s phone startled them both. Glancing at the name of the caller he sighed, then picked up the device.
‘Hi, Sis. What’s up? Ah. I see … Right. When? Okay. Let me just talk to Amélie and get back to you. Right-o. Bye.’
‘Bugger, bugger, bugger,’ he swore, as soon as the call was finished.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘Mum. They don’t think she’s going to last the week.’
‘Oh, Tom! I’m so sorry.’
‘Ah, well, it’s for the best, you know. It’s not unexpected. It’ll be a relief for her.’
‘You’ll go over, of course.’
‘How can I, love? You can’t fly all the way to Perth, and I’m not leaving you alone, not … with things how they are.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be fine … Maybe Lottie can stay with me for a few nights.’
‘A few nights? I’m only going over to say goodbye, then. I’m coming straight home to you. It’s not like she even knows who I am, most of the time.’
‘You are not. You’ll stay with your mother and family as long as necessary, Tom. Until the end.’
She pushed the dread at being left alone to the furthest recess of her mind. Yet still, there it was.
Greater was the feeling of solidarity, a shared fate.
‘It’s for the best … It’s not like she even knows who I am.’
Next week in Telling the Bees:
Chapter 14: The Watcher
While Tom is away, Amélie feels uneasy in her home2.
Acknowledgement of Country: The Woiwurrung people of the Kulin alliance are the Traditional Owners of the land on which this story is set. I pay my respects to their Elders past, present and emerging.
Disclaimer: The people and events described in this story are entirely the product of the author’s imagination; they bear no intentional resemblance to real-life people and events. The locations are based on real places.
WWOOFer – World Wide Opportunities on Organic Farms is an international network which facilitates working holidays on organic farms
Yes, that was to be the title and content of Chapter 13, but I realised I needed to interpose a bridging chapter. 😊