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

by Jo Thomas

  I attempt a smile. ‘We were all young and foolish once,’ I say. ‘We all do things we regret.’ My throat is tight and hoarse. Stelios’s father takes my hands and holds them tightly.

  Demetria looks at me. ‘Stelios loved you, but that was then and this is now. I believe there is more than one love for all of us, and I hope you can find yours.’

  And the relief I felt on the mountain when I realised Georgios was alive washes through me all over again.

  It’s time for Maria, Kostas, Mitera and me to return to the farm. As we leave the restaurant, Georgios walks with us. I’m still hurt and angry but so relieved he survived the fire. At the farm, Maria hugs me, telling me she’s forgiven me and I’ll be missed.

  ‘Will you walk with me to the house?’ Georgios asks. ‘To say goodbye.’

  I look at Maria, who smiles and nods, and I turn and fall into step beside him, dropping my head as we walk. Tomorrow I will be gone. Back home to be with Demi. In a few weeks’ time, Maria and Kostas will be making honey again in the factory.

  ‘Stay with me,’ he says quietly, taking hold of my hand when we reach his door.

  ‘I can’t.’ It comes out as a whisper.

  ‘Just let me explain, that’s all I ask; let me explain before you go.’

  We sit out on the terrace, watching the sun set between the two triangular mountains, and dusk wraps itself around us. Georgios fills glasses with raki, and it’s surprisingly soothing on my rough throat, still sore from the smoke.

  He takes a sip of raki, then puts his glass down and looks out over the terrace. ‘After Stelios died and you had gone . . . well, everyone was so unhappy. I was young, just twenty. It took months for me to recover from the accident. After the car left the road, I was thrown from it and hit rocks and trees. My leg was broken in three different places, my cheek deeply cut. I was in and out of consciousness. But Stelios wasn’t thrown clear, and the car kept falling, down the mountain. There was nothing that could be done to save him. I couldn’t believe I had survived, that the mountain had spared me and not him. He had so much to live for. I felt . . . I felt so guilty, all the time. I wanted to put it right.’ He sips again and so do I.

  ‘Carissa – she is my wife – was a nurse in the hospital. That’s how we met. I thought that by marrying her . . . well, that I would be bringing love to the mountain, bringing some happiness back.’

  ‘And were you happy?’ I asked.

  He shook his head. ‘We both knew it had been a mistake. We had an apartment in town, but even that was too quiet for her. She was used to the city. We thought that maybe having a baby would help, but the gods had other ideas and never blessed us. I spent more and more time up here on the mountain, with the bees. It helped. I felt so guilty about Stelios dying and me still being here. I had terrible nightmares and hated the noise in the town. Somehow I felt close to Stelios here.’

  The dogs curl up around each other and sigh.

  ‘And Carissa? Where is she now? You’re still together, right?’ I take another fortifying sip. He takes a deep breath and I watch from the corner of my eye as his chest rises and falls.

  ‘No, we’re not.’

  ‘But I thought you said . . .’ I turn to him.

  ‘I am still married. You were right. It was wrong of me to sleep with you whilst I am not free. Carissa lives in the UK now, in London. She got fed up with waiting for me to come down from the mountain, and so she went to London and told me to follow when the mountain was safe.’

  ‘And will you?’ I can’t help but ask.

  ‘When I know the mountain is safe,’ he says flatly.

  ‘And is that now? Do you think it is time?’

  ‘I don’t think there is any more I can do to help the mountain,’ he says quietly.

  He puts out his hand and I take it. Turning away from the setting sun, he leads me upstairs, where we lie on his bed, on top of the covers, fully clothed, the dogs curled into a ball together, and there we watch as the sky darkens and turns black, both of us wondering what the future holds for us. Our little fingers touch, just like they did that day he came with me to tell the family about Demi, and as the stars scatter themselves across the dark blanket of sky, laying on their best performance yet, and the big white moon gazes down like a dinner plate, silent tears roll down my cheeks for what might have been but can’t be.

  Demi needs me at home. The town at large still think it was me that started the fire. I can only hope that Yannis will own up and tell them what really happened. And as for Georgios? Well, he isn’t free to love me, and that’s something I will have to live with. I look out at the sky, our little fingers curled in and around each other, and try and imprint this moment on my memory, so that I can put it in a box in my mind and pull it out whenever I need to remember him.

  In the morning, I wake, still fully clothed, to see Georgios staring at me. We spent the night in each other’s arms, just holding each other while we still could.

  ‘Walk the mountain with me,’ he says. ‘Just one last time before you leave.’

  I nod and rise from the bed, and hand in hand, with the dogs scampering around our feet, we walk up the mountainside, blackened, burnt and damp in the early-morning light. It’s as if the storm has finally opened the door to let the start of autumn in.

  ‘You’ll look after Angel for me, won’t you, when I’m gone?’

  He says nothing but nods, just once, firmly, reassuring me she’ll be safe.

  At the first cave, we look down into the rocky gorge to where the new memorial that Georgios carved fell when I dropped it during the fire. There’s no sign of it. Smashed on the rocks on the way down, no doubt. We leave the dogs in the cave and climb out to the second cave, in the secret valley. Inside it feels cold and damp, nothing like the warm hideaway we’ve enjoyed for these past two weeks. The candles by Stelios’s and Georgios’s picture are out. I walk over to relight them.

  ‘Leave them,’ Georgios says, and I turn back to him. ‘Stelios lives in our hearts. We don’t need shrines and memorials; it’s what’s in here that matters.’ He puts a hand over his heart. ‘This is where he lives on for all of us. Life must move on too.’

  We take in the empty cave, feeling like this is goodbye. Then I walk out to the ledge. There, to my right, higher up the mountain, is the kri-kri goat, and my heart leaps.

  ‘Georgios, come and see!’

  He comes out and stands beside me and smiles. The goat has brought his family: a smaller adult and two kids. He dips his head towards us.

  ‘You see?’ says Georgios. ‘Hope. If the goat is here, the dittany is still here too. They will always seek it out. It hasn’t gone completely. All is not lost. If the dittany is here then the bees will find it and make honey again. Love hasn’t disappeared altogether.’

  If the bees can survive and make a new life for themselves at the honey farm, maybe one day, who knows, there’ll be a new life out there for me too.

  There is no need for words as we finally turn to make our way back down the mountain. As we descend from the lower cave towards the fallen tree, now burnt, blackened and disintegrating, Filos turns back towards the mountain peak and gives a bark, and Angel joins in. We both gaze back up at the mountaintop, holding our arms up against the bright orange sun that is rising behind it, looking at where the goat was standing with his small herd. But it’s not the goat the dogs are barking at. I squint and strain to make out if what I’m seeing is real. A small, wiry man, in a jacket two sizes too big, is walking right over the top of the mountain, down the path that hasn’t seen walkers on it for . . . well, since it was closed off, over a year ago. He’s wearing a flat hat, despite the clear, bright but much gentler September sunshine. His coat tails are being lifted by the wind that is whipping up the blackened ash and dust. But he doesn’t falter, walking determinedly like the kri-kri goat down the hill, ho
lding out his right hand with something held firmly in it.

  He reaches the big trunk that has stopped the villagers passing this way and hops through the middle of it.

  ‘Yassas.’ He nods his head in greeting and we stare back at him in disbelief.

  ‘Yassas,’ we acknowledge in return.

  ‘Where have you come from?’ Georgios asks him in Greek.

  He points. ‘Pefkódasos,’ he says.

  ‘Pine Forest,’ Georgios translates for me. ‘It is the town on the other side of the mountain. He heard the mountain path was safe to travel again, that the bad men had left after a fire. That the path was clear.’

  The old man’s face is dark and lined, but his eyes are sparkling with excitement. ‘I just hope I’m not too late,’ he tells Georgios, and smiles widely, revealing a dark gap where a tooth to the side of his front ones used to be. I look down at his right hand, held in front of him. He is clutching a small bunch of dittany.

  Both Georgios and I stare at it.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ we ask at the same time, in Greek and English.

  ‘Just up there, right on top of the mountain. A valley where it still grows, by a waterfall and a cave. I saw it as I came over the top of the mountain. I saw the kri-kri goat and her kids. Here . . .’ He pulls a tiny bunch from his lapel and hands it to Georgios. ‘You look as if you need it. Now . . . kalimera.’ He nods to us. ‘I have a young lady I must pay a visit to. A long-overdue visit. I have waited for this day for a very long time. I just hope she hasn’t given up on me altogether.’ He points to Maria and Kostas’s farmhouse, and then with a tip of his head continues down the mountain path.

  We watch him go. Georgios looks at me in surprise, and then together we smile.

  ‘Do you think . . . could that be Mitera’s long-lost love?’ I say, wide-eyed.

  ‘Looks like love really has returned to the mountain.’ Georgios leans in towards me. Our foreheads rest against each other, drawing in the love that is there. When I look up again, the kri-kri goat is walking along the mountain path, silhouetted against the big orange ball rising in the sky behind it. The eagles are circling once more and the smell of wild thyme, heightened after the fire and the rain, is in the air, wrapping itself around the town at its feet. I feel like I’m saying my final goodbyes.

  ‘You could stay,’ he says, his forehead still against mine. I shake my head, sniff and run my hand under my nose, which is starting to run, mingling with the gentle tears.

  ‘I can’t. Demi needs me. And you? Well, you don’t need me.’

  ‘But I love you. It wasn’t just a fling,’ he tells me. ‘I would do anything for us to be together.’

  ‘But you have the mountain to keep safe. And you are married. You have to stay and I have to go.’ I quickly pick up Angel from beside my feet and rub my face in her soft coat. Then I hug her and hand her to Georgios.

  ‘Take good care of her,’ I say, but it catches in my throat.

  It’s time to go home, I know. Why then does it feel as if I’m leaving my home behind?

  The Pogues are blaring out of the speaker next to me. Darren on Christmas CDs is singing along tunelessly, like it’s the first time he’s heard the song all year; despite the compilation having been on constantly since I started back here at the factory three weeks ago.

  I don’t want to think about Christmas, but it’s hard not to now I’m back assembling singing Rudolphs with flashing red noses all day long. I remember giving Demi one of these years ago. I think the nose fell off after about three days, but she still kept it. It’s in the box of decorations up in the attic that I pull out every year. Now she’s here working with me in the factory, and I wish with all my heart that there was something more for her out there.

  When I arrived home, she was waiting at the house, overjoyed to see me. I think the memory of that hug she gave me will last a lifetime. She told me that she’d been so in awe of her new family to start with, what with their big London house and their busy lifestyle. She’d thought she was part of the family too, but she soon realised that they only wanted her to look after the kids and do the housework twenty-four-seven. They were never around, and when they were, she’d be shooed out and ended up wandering the streets because they didn’t want her in the way during their scheduled family time. They didn’t give her enough free time to meet any other nannies, let alone boyfriends. The kids were rude and never did as they were told. Wouldn’t go to bed unless their mother brought presents back from business trips. It made Demi realise what a brilliant family she had: me, Angelica and Gracie. How loved she’d felt and how homesick she was.

  That final day she was wandering streets brimming with overpriced coffee houses, watching other families in the park and wanting more than anything to come home. That’s when she rang me. And when she couldn’t get a reply, she just left and got on a train and came home anyway, and sat with Gracie and told her all about her awful time in London. She’d been worried when I hadn’t called her back, but Gracie had reassured her that she was never far from my thoughts. The only thing I ever wanted was to be there for Demi. At least she knew where home was, because home is always where your heart is.

  ‘I realised there isn’t any better family than the one I’ve got here, Mum. You and me. We don’t need anyone else.’ She snuggled into me on the settee, smiling just like when she was small, and I wanted the moment to last forever, but there was something I had to do and so I took a deep breath. A very deep breath indeed.

  When I first told her about Stelios, and the crash, I thought she was just going to pack up again and run back to London, head first into another disaster. But the more we talked, and the more photos I showed her of the restaurant, the family, the town, the mountain, the hives and the honey farm, the more interested she became, poring over the pictures and asking questions.

  Finally she said, ‘And you wouldn’t mind . . . if I contacted them?’

  Tears prickled my eyes. All this time it had been just me and Demi. I’d thought I was doing the best I could for her, protecting her, not wanting her to get hurt. But I’d been listening to my head instead of my heart. ‘You can never have too many people to love you.’ The words caught in my throat as I said them.

  ‘And would they love me? What if they don’t like me?’ She looked worried and I had to reassure her.

  ‘Believe me, they will love you.’ I grinned. ‘Who wouldn’t? You have to just let them.’ This was our second chance at family and we had to take it. Everyone should grab hold of a second chance of love.

  I rubbed her head, just like when she was a little girl, and we fell into a wonderful big hug, and I squeezed her and shut my eyes. It was a hug that told me she knew that wherever she was, I’d always be there for her, forever.

  The Pogues are still ringing in my ears. ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Darren, can’t you change the CD just for once!’ I march over to the player and turn it off, much to his horror, then sit back down heavily on my stool and start a new Rudolph. I try to picture myself back in Crete with the bees on the mountain. Even checking the hives didn’t have my nerves frayed like this place. I imagine the morning air, thick with low mist and the promise of a hot day ahead. I shut my eyes and allow myself to think about lying in Georgios’s bed, looking out through the valley, waking to the sound of the goats bleating gently, the soft chime of the bell on the herd leader’s neck. I wish Demi could see it for herself and meet her family there. The last thing I wanted for her was this: working in the decoration factory with me. I wanted her to have more.

  My mind flits back to Crete and I can almost hear the sound of the goat bell followed by Georgios’s whistle. It’s as clear in my head as if I’m there. I can hear sheep nearby like they’re in the car park outside the factory, like they’ve come in off the hills and are gathered there. I can hear the bell really loudly now. I must be going mad. I shak
e my head. I have to stop this. I have to stop thinking about it, about what could have been. I need to put it away in the box in my mind, shut it firmly and leave it there. But try as I might, the bell and the baaing still ring in my ears. There it is again, the whistle, the call he made when I was needed on the mountain. I ping my eyes open to try and push the memory away. I even stand up and put Darren’s CD back on to drown out the sounds. But I can still hear them, pushing my thoughts back to Georgios.

  I decide that I need some air. A bit of British drizzle and five minutes in smokers’ corner should bring me back down to earth. I head to the fire doors, which are surrounded by dark green fake-fir garlands, covered in plastic pine cones. Unlike the ones on the mountainside in Vounoplagia, they don’t smell of pine. Over the doorway in a cross are two big red and white candy canes left over from shop window display kits.

  As I yank open the doors, the drizzle hits me in the face and I catch my breath, not knowing whether to scream or laugh. If I’d seen this in a Richard Curtis film, I wouldn’t have believed it.

  There, framed by the fake garlands and the candy canes, to the sound of Noddy Holder, is Georgios, in his hat, rain dripping from its brim, his scarf around his neck. He is surrounded by a herd of confused sheep. Now I must really be going mad. The sheep mingle and one or two try to come into the factory itself.

  My heart is beating so loudly, it’s drowning out the music. I hold my hand to my face.

  ‘Georgios? What are you doing here? Why are all these sheep here?’ I look around this way and that.

  ‘They followed me from the car park. I rang the bell to see if you would hear it and they came.’

  I put the back of my hand over my mouth and try to hold back a laugh.

  ‘But what are you doing here?’ I ask again in amazement.

  There is a scraping of stools on the factory floor and I turn briefly to see that the whole factory is now standing, craning their necks and watching as Georgios steps forward and looks around in wonder at the colourful plastic fake world. Darren’s jaw has dropped and he is positively speechless, as is Gena.