Telling the Bees – Chapter 18
Consequences
‘That was uncalled for. Henry is very upset.’
‘Henry? Who the hell is Henry?’
‘My godson,’ Jason continued, his voice even, mellifluous, oblivious to her rudeness. ‘He’s staying with us for a few days over New Year. The little fellow is non-verbal and very difficult to reach. That toy drone is a Christmas present from his grandfather. It’s very dear to his heart.’
‘As is our privacy to ours.’
‘We have explained to him about flying over neighbours’ property, believe me, but it’s difficult to make him understand. When something or someone attracts his curiosity, he can get rather obsessive. He seems quite taken by young, ah, Lottie. He didn’t mean to cause any offence. He’s just … well, he’s just a thirteen-year-old boy.’
‘And by the way,’ the suave voice continued, ‘respect for neighbours’ privacy goes both ways, dear Amélie.’
Ah, so she had been spotted, that time at the fence.
‘Anyway, we’d appreciate it if you could return the drone.’
‘I think not.’
‘It is Henry’s property, and quite an expensive model. If Tom could just drop it in our mailbox. Or I could …’
‘We’re keeping it. As evidence.’
‘Evidence.’ A patient sigh which made her hand itch to smash the phone. ‘Dear Amélie, we’re trying very hard to be good neighbours, in the face of a little … eccentricity … from your side of the fence.’
Forbearance dripped from every word.
‘I understand that your health isn’t the best, and Tom must be beside himself with worry about his mother. I also appreciate your concern about the security measures. Can’t we make a fresh start, though? It was such a charming evening we had together, back in October …’
‘I’m sorry, Jason, I have to go,’ she cut him off. ‘I have chooks to feed, tomatoes to water and potatoes to dig. Goodbye.’
Fous-toi ton faux souci dans le cul, mon gars.1
‘As you wish.’
It only occurred to her after hanging up: he knew about both her condition and Tom’s mother.
Tom was sad and tired, when he returned from Mansfield with the horse box. The empty horse box.
They looked together at the little broken pile of plastic pieces.
‘You really shouldn’t have, love.’
‘It was on our property.’
‘Doesn’t give you the right to destroy it. Or keep it.’
‘We’ll see about that.’
‘Okay, love. Okay. What’s for tea?’
The next morning she bustled into the Old Courthouse, forgetting her manners in her haste.
‘Hello, Mary! I need you to help me with some more research. Is it possible to find out the family connections of someone still living? Jason’s godson Henry may be a relative of …’
The curator cut her short.
‘Millie, I’m sorry. I can’t. Not any more. I shouldn’t have encouraged, exacerbated … Look, really, I’m sorry. No.’
Mary Huynh was embarrassed but resolute. There was nothing to be done.
Her ally had been got at. Amélie was on her own now.
Later that day, Amélie received a not-entirely-unexpected visit.
The police officer was a pleasant young man who introduced himself as Senior Constable Harminder Singh.
‘Mrs Stoughton, we’ve had a report of the unlawful discharge of a firearm on this property.’
‘Really? When?’
‘Yesterday afternoon around three pm. Can you tell me what you know about this, please?’
‘Oh, that was me, I suppose. But I have a licence for my shotgun, as a primary producer.’
‘May I see your licence and where the firearm and ammunition are kept, please?’
She showed him. Everything was in order, of course.
‘Thank you. Please can you give me your account of the incident in question?’
‘I was eradicating pests on my property.’
‘I see. And how many shots did you fire?’
‘Two.’
‘Can you take me to where you were standing when you fired, and show me in what direction your weapon was pointing?’
‘I’m sorry: I’m having trouble walking today. I have a medical condition. My husband could …’
‘Was he present at the time of the incident, your husband?’
‘You keep calling it an incident, but it really wasn’t one.’
‘When the shots were fired.’
‘No. I was here with my employee, Lottie Gallinari.’
‘I’ll need to speak with her, too. Is she available?’
‘She’s at home today. I’ll give you her contact details.’
‘Thank you. So this pest control that you were carrying out …’
‘Yes.’
‘What species were you, ah, controlling?’
‘M61-Q Osprey.’
‘Sorry?’
‘A drone that was invading our privacy, harrassing our employee and stressing our livestock. The name was on the side.’
‘Did you hit it?’
‘Oh yes. Twice.’
‘And where was the drone when you shot it?’
‘Above the trees.’ She pointed. ‘The first time. And I was standing outside the polytunnel. You can just see it, up there, over the brow of the hill. The second time, on the ground. To make sure it was dead.’
‘I see. So you discharged your weapon into the air, towards your neighbour’s property?’
‘My neighbour’s twenty-four hectare largely empty property was eight hundred metres from my shooting position with a stand of tall trees between us. There was no danger to anyone.’
‘I see. We have a lot of complaints about drones these days, and some property owners are understandably tempted to take matters into their own hands. But that is criminal damage, do you understand?’
‘Yes, officer. I’m very sorry. It won’t happen again.’
‘No. It won’t. I advise you to be more careful with your firearm in the future, Mrs Stoughton, or your licence will be reviewed and your gun may be confiscated.’
‘I understand.’
‘Look, I can’t guarantee that there won’t be any follow-up about the destruction of the drone, but then the owners would have to admit infringing CASA regulations. So …’
The young man frowned, consulted his notes. ‘Do you have the drone?’
‘Certainly. Just a moment.’
She handed him the plastic shopping bag. They stood for a moment with the open bag between them and peered at the shattered contents.
‘Yup, that’s cactus. Nice shooting, but never again, eh?’ He smiled. ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Stoughton.’
She waved Senior Constable Harminder Singh goodbye as he drove away.
Next week in Telling the Bees:
Chapter 19: The Replacement
Amélie has an experience which turns out much less relaxing than anticipated.
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.
Fous-toi ton faux souci dans le cul, mon gars. – Stick your false concern up your arse, my lad.
Excellent work Steve