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

by Jo Thomas

  ‘I kept calm and sang to myself.’ I must have looked ridiculous, I realise. The only song I could think of as I sidled past them was ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’. God, if Angelica and Grace could see me now, they’d never believe it.

  ‘That’s good. If you respect them, they’ll leave you alone, I’m sure.’

  We fall into silence for a moment. I stoke the fire, feeding on more sticks from a pile in the corner, and stand back as the smoke puffs ups and then curls out of the cave. With a nod of satisfaction, I add a bigger log.

  Georgios is watching me. ‘You seem different,’ he says suddenly, stopping my daft smile.

  ‘So do you,’ I reply quietly, blushing. But actually, he’s right. I feel different. Not the holidaymaker helping out, a WWOOFer, but like I’m working with the mountain, in the heart of it, and at the thought, and a flash of his eyes, my heart starts up its drumbeat again.

  ‘Hello again, George,’ I say quietly.

  ‘Hello again, Elinor.’

  We smile at each other as if the last few weeks haven’t happened, and I find my head falling to one side to touch his. It feels like a new start.

  I tear the bread I’ve lifted from the restaurant into chunks, then crumble in some cheese and figs with the peppery wild rocket and hand a piece to Georgios. Then I pass him my water bottle. He sips, smiles and nods.

  ‘I feel like Zeus being cared for by Melissa.’

  ‘Zeus?’

  ‘He was hiding out in a cave. Melissa, a wood nymph, looked after him and brought him milk and honey. The name Melissa means honey bee. She cared for him just like the Cretan people looked after the partisan soldiers in World War Two. We are a small island, but a proud one. And we will fight for what is ours.’ His face darkens. ‘For what we love.’

  ‘Georgios,’ I say, ‘tell me about Stelios.’

  Filos turns a circle and snuggles into his master’s side. Georgios takes comfort in stroking him, and then draws a big breath, as if this isn’t something that has been spoken of for a very long time.

  Outside the sun is setting in the west, casting a long, low orange glow over the mountain tops. Georgios’s voice is low and gravelly, and he takes a sip of water to cover the cracks that appear as soon as he starts to speak.

  ‘Stelios was my best friend. I loved him like a brother.’

  I nod, listening.

  ‘We did everything together.’ He manages a smile. I settle back and listen, feeling closer to Stelios as he talks about the times they shared together. And then finally, I ask the question that has haunted me all these years.

  ‘After I left . . . did he talk about me? Did he say he loved me?’ My mouth was dry.

  ‘He loved you very much,’ Georgios says. They are the words I’ve been desperate to hear, and I feel myself take a big gulp of air as I stare out over the valley, like I’ve been holding my breath until this moment, unable to carry on with life. I feel like my rusting joints have been oiled, like the tin man in The Wizard of Oz, and that I’ve been catapulted forward on to a new path after years of staying in the same place.

  ‘There was never anyone else for him.’ Georgios looks into the fire, lost in his memories, while my mind is full of what might have been, for me and for Demi. A tear tips over the edge of my eye and down my cheek. I brush it away, but more follow. Georgios swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in the orange firelight. ‘He found what we’re all looking for,’ he says. ‘He had a whole new life to look forward to. A family.’

  ‘So you knew I was pregnant when I left?’

  ‘I only knew what Stelios told me. He said that you argued on the day you left. You told him you were pregnant, but he was confused and didn’t know how to tell his family. But as soon as you’d gone, once you’d left for the airport, he realised that it was you he wanted. You and the baby. He came and found me, and we went after you. He told me he loved you, and about the baby, just before . . . just before the car left the road.’

  ‘Huh?’ I take a sharp intake of breath. ‘The car accident? He was coming after me?’ Hot tears start to build and I let them fall, like a tap that has been stuck shut for years suddenly being turned on. ‘He was coming after me,’ I repeat quietly, as if imprinting it on my memory. ‘You were in the car? Is that . . . Your face . . . your leg?’

  He pauses. ‘At first, after the accident, I couldn’t remember any of it. It was months before I could put all the pieces into place. Stelios was driving as fast as he could to stop you getting on that plane. He wanted to ask you to stay and marry him. It all came back to me eventually. You had told him he had to think things through and to come and find you when he was ready. You always were the stubborn one, making your plans and going through with them.’

  ‘And then what happened?’

  ‘There was a hire car, tourists, driving up the mountain. They were coming too quick. They didn’t know the road. There were no markings and the car just cut straight across in front of us. Stelios swerved, and we left the road and rolled down the mountain . . .’ He tails off.

  ‘Where the shrine is?’

  He nods. He looks back at the pictures of him and Stelios.

  ‘For lives lost and lives spared,’ he practically whispers, and I nod, slowly understanding.

  ‘But you did remember, eventually, about me and the baby. Why didn’t you come and find me? Tell me what had happened?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I didn’t know where you lived. I had no idea.’

  ‘And you never told his family, about me being pregnant . . .’ I trail off. He shakes his head, holding a hand to his temple.

  ‘I thought it was for the best. And maybe I was angry too.’ He looks up at me with regret in his eyes. ‘But now I can see that was wrong.’

  This time it’s my turn to shake my head, trying to take it all in.

  ‘I thought you coming back here would cause them more upset. I thought it would be better for them not to know.’ He has a penknife in his hand, and he picks up a small stick from the fireside and begins whittling at one end, sharpening it, as if it’s helping him to concentrate, focus and remember.

  ‘And now?’ I push. ‘Do you still think it’s right to say nothing? For his family not to know about the baby? Is that for the best?’ I don’t have the answers myself. Should I tell them? I could just leave here in a few weeks’ time and let them get on with their lives as before.

  He carries on sharpening the end of the stick. ‘I think you should consider it. Maybe . . .’ he says slowly and thoughtfully.

  I don’t wait to hear his response, the memories of those days, weeks and months that followed my return to the UK flooding back. ‘I was so angry when Stelios didn’t come after me. I couldn’t believe that he’d abandoned us. Everything he’d said about loving me, how his parents would come round to the idea of us being together. It was a shock finding out I was pregnant. That’s why we rowed. So I returned home as planned and waited. When he didn’t come, I was determined to look after our baby on my own. I told everyone that her father was just a holiday romance.’ I feel so ashamed. ‘He was so much more than a holiday romance. He was my . . . well, my one and only.’ I swallow. ‘He hurt me and I tried to cut him out of our lives. Except every time I looked at her, at his daughter, I could see him.’

  Georgios is slumped now, the pain at the memories I’m asking him to revisit etched on his face. His head tilts towards mine and mine towards his, just touching, drawing comfort from the past and a shared love. Outside, dusk is turning to darkness, wrapping itself around us like a velvet cloak. Lost in our thoughts, and safe in the knowledge that Stelios loved me, we both drift into an exhausted sleep.

  I wake with the dawn and look out from the cave, and it’s like I’m in heaven . . . literally. White mist is rolling around the wild beauty of the gorge, and the sun is a huge orange b
all in the sky, telling us that it’s going to be a hot one later. But in the thick early-morning mist here in the cave, there is still a damp, chill air. I start to build up the fire again, putting small sticks on orange embers.

  ‘Maria and Kostas will be worried about you. We’d better go.’ I turn to see Georgios sitting up, with not so much bed hair as cave hair sticking up at the back, making him look kind of sweet. But he’s clearly still in a lot of pain.

  ‘Do you think you can make it down now? How’s your head? And your leg?’ I ask, but he doesn’t reply. He doesn’t move. He just looks at me with those green and gold eyes, and the staircase from my heart to my head shifts and rocks.

  ‘Isn’t there someone else we should be talking about first?’ he says.

  ‘My daughter, you mean?’

  Outside the cave I hear a cry and turn away briefly, grateful for the distraction, to see a huge eagle gliding through the valley outside. The mist is dispersing, and in its place the hot August sunshine begins to reach in, bringing with it the smell I will always associate with this place: wild thyme, marjoram and dittany.

  ‘I just thought . . .’ He pushes his hand through his hair and I suddenly find myself snapping, taking out my grief and anger on him. The injustice of it, the life I was cheated out of by the hire car on the wrong side of the road, driving too fast.

  ‘What did you think, Georgios? Did you think about me waiting for him? Day after day, week after week? Never giving up hope that he would come for me and his daughter and tell us he loved us. Then believing that his family here meant more to him. Believing he had chosen them over us. They told him not to fall for me; they wanted him to find a nice Cretan girl. They didn’t want to lose him, he told me that. And that’s what I assumed had happened. They had got to him, and he had done what they wanted and moved on with his life.’

  ‘I thought at the time . . . that not saying anything to anyone was . . . for the best.’ He stumbles over the words and I actually let out a laugh even as the tears roll freely down my face.

  ‘For the best . . . for who?’

  For a moment he says nothing.

  ‘I realise it was wrong now. Seeing . . . seeing your daughter’s face on the computer.’

  I bite my lip. The day I discovered Stelios was dead, when I was talking to Demi on Skype.

  ‘So you did see her then?’

  He nods, the guard down from in front of his eyes, leaving him looking vulnerable, like he’s the one trapped in the poacher’s trap, waiting to be released from his pain.

  ‘It was just like looking at Stelios. A living image of him,’ he says.

  My heart fills up as I think about Demi, and a smile pulls at the corner of my mouth despite the waterfall cascading down each cheek. ‘She has that dimple he had,’ I hiccup, ‘just here.’ I point to my own cheek. ‘Whenever she smiles.’

  ‘Just like him,’ he agrees, and the sparkles in his eyes are like tiny diamonds catching the light.

  My anger is seeping away. ‘We were all doing what we thought was best at the time,’ I tell him. ‘Me included.’

  He nods.

  The eagle is joined by a second one, and a smaller one in the middle of them. A family by the looks of it, looking out for their young one, trying to keep it safe and doing the best they can. Keeping it from harm. We both watch them glide down the valley. Filos walks to the cave entrance and sniffs the air.

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ Georgios says, ‘I think you should tell them – Stelios’s family. I think you’re scared, and that’s why you’ve said nothing.’

  I go to argue, but he puts up a finger and stops me.

  ‘You’re scared of being rejected . . . You feel Stelios rejected you and you think his family will do it all over again.’

  I can’t say anything else. Georgios is right. What if they don’t want to know me or Demi? I don’t think I could bear to feel pushed away again.

  ‘Will you . . . will you come with me? To see his family?’ I breathe in the herb-scented air, taking strength from it. ‘Will you come with me to tell them about Demi?’

  ‘Demi?’

  I nod and swallow.

  ‘It’s a lovely name,’ he says, surprising me with his warmth and kindness.

  ‘Short for Demetria.’

  Georgios raises an eyebrow; not the one with the cut over it.

  ‘Stelios’s grandmother?’

  I nod again. ‘He loved her very much. I thought it would be a nice surprise if he ever did . . . if we ever met up. So he’d know I was thinking of him.’

  Georgios nods this time. ‘It’s a beautiful name. Demetria, sister of Zeus, mother to Persephone, who was taken to the Underworld; only when she returned would spring return to the island.’

  We look at each other, the meaning running deep between us.

  ‘So will you come with me?’ I finally say.

  ‘Of course, but first I think I’m going to need some help getting down off this mountain.’

  Georgios is clearly still battered and bruised from the fall, and I help him to his feet. All questions about the dittany and the bird scarer have been forgotten for the time being – it is Stelios’s family and Demi who feel important now.

  This is something I should have done years ago, and I’m terrified. Terrified of how Stelios’s family will react. Suddenly descending the rock face and coming down the mountain doesn’t seem half as scary any more.

  I stand by the restaurant entrance and look in through the gates. I can hear Yannis calling to his father from the upper level. He’s holding a tray, putting candles on the tables. Despite the heat of the day and the lack of customers, they don’t stop trying. I haven’t been here since they found out who I was. I didn’t wait for Yannis to sack me. It was clear I wouldn’t be welcomed back.

  ‘Ready?’ Georgios is standing right beside me, shoulder to shoulder. Well, my shoulder to his elbow, practically. It has taken us a long time to get down off the mountain, me guiding Georgios, and him moving slowly and carefully, one hand on my shoulder. And now, finally, we’re here.

  I nod. I can’t speak. My head is pounding and my stomach is twisting and tangling itself up. ‘Ready,’ I finally manage to say with more confidence than I’m feeling. I straighten my tie-dyed T-shirt and dust myself down, pushing my shoulders back just like my nan taught me to do when I came home with Demi, when I knew people were talking and whispering about me behind my back. Eighteen and a new mum on her own. I held my head high then, and I’m going to do it now. But God, I wish Nan was here with me. Then I feel Georgios’s little finger reach out and brush the side of my hand, letting me know he’s there, and it feels like the fairy lights have been untangled and switched on inside my stomach. Now I’m ready. I push open the gate.

  ‘Yannis?’ I say as he appears down the stone steps, still carrying the tray of candles. He stops suddenly and stares at me, and his face darkens.

  ‘I thought you’d gone,’ he says. ‘Please don’t tell me you’ve come to ask for your job back. I thought it was clear the other night. There is no job for you here any more. Not now I know who you really are.’

  ‘No . . . nothing like that.’ I lift my head higher. ‘I have something I want to tell you, you and your family.’

  ‘I’m not sure there is anything they would like to hear.’ He carries on down the steps and continues putting candles on the tables, lifting the mood in the dark recesses of the enclosed courtyard.

  ‘I think you should listen to what she has to say.’

  ‘George,’ Yannis says, as if only just realising he’s there. ‘We don’t see you here much these days.’

  ‘Gather the family, Yannis,’ Georgios instructs, and Yannis slowly puts down the tray and with a look of speculation goes to the kitchen.

  His mother is the first to come out, wipin
g her hands on her apron, followed by Stelios’s sister, who is waving her arms and protesting that she has things to do. She’s followed by Stelios’s father and then finally Demetria, wearing an apron and slippers, her hands red from hard work and hot water. They all stare at me and then, on Georgios’s instruction, sit down at a long table. Oh God! I’m not sure I can do this after all. It’s been eighteen years. Isn’t it just going to cause them more pain? Won’t they hate me for all the time they’ve missed and can’t get back?

  I go to open my mouth, but then drop my head and shake it gently. Where do I start?

  ‘I don’t think I can do this,’ I hear myself barely whisper. My chest is tight and I just want to turn and run, if only my feet weren’t rooted to the spot. I suddenly have an image of my mother leaving for Australia, of Stelios the last time I saw him, and then of Demi looking out at me from the bus window. Everyone I have ever loved leaving me. I couldn’t bear it if these people did the same to Demi. Then I hear Georgios beside me clearing his throat.

  ‘Nell has come here today because,’ he takes a deep breath, ‘she has something she wants to tell you.’

  I lift my head and look at him, straight into those eyes. He holds my gaze and it feels like we’re back up the mountain, and he’s promising me he won’t let me fall. He turns slowly back to the table.

  ‘Someone she wants to tell you about . . .’

  Finally, with Georgios’s help, my courage returns. I look around the table at their faces, familiar and yet strangers. Then I lift my chin just a little bit more and begin.

  ‘My daughter . . . she’s eighteen.’ I think about Demi. Brave, independent Demi. I should be thrilled she’s gone off, flown the nest, grabbed life by the scruff of the neck. And I am, I think, deep down. I’m proud of what she’s done.

  ‘I’m afraid we don’t have any seasonal work. You can see what it’s like. We don’t have enough customers to keep us going, let alone to take on British students,’ Yannis says matter-of-factly, and then stands up and picks up his tray of tea lights again. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me . . .’ he adds, and the rest of the family start getting up, presumably to go back to their jobs: Stelios’s dad to wait outside at the end of the lane in case any passing tourists can be tempted in; his mother to the office, to pore over the accounts; Demetria to the kitchen to prepare the vegetables that will be eaten by the family if no one comes to the restaurant.