Chapter 34
34
JOEL
‘On my way,’ Poppy said, her voice coming out all strangled before she hung up the phone. She turned to me, her face deathly white. ‘The bees. The hives are on fire.’
‘Oh, my God!’
In silence, we moved at speed around the room, pulling on clothes. Down the stairs, grabbing coats, Poppy locking up the house as I unlocked my car. Off the drive, through the village, towards the farm.
‘I can smell the smoke,’ she said as we pulled onto the farm track, her voice cracking into a sob.
I wanted to reassure her, tell her everything would be all right, but they’d just be words. Lies. If it had been a dry day and the fire had started by accident, there might have been some hope that it hadn’t reached all the hives, although that probably wouldn’t have saved the bees from the smoke. But it had been wet recently and, even though neither of us voiced it, I knew that Poppy would be of the same mind as me. This was arson and there was only one person who’d do such a thing. The one who hadn’t been home when the police visited. The one who’d told her earlier to pack it in with those damn bees . Looked like he’d decided to make that happen himself.
We crossed the farmyard and followed the track towards the blue lights – an eerie sight in the darkness. No flames. Only smoke.
There were two fire engines and two police cars and I parked the car just past them. Sharon and Ian were talking to a police officer. As Poppy and I made our way over to them, I felt her shaking as she clung to my arm.
Introductions were made and the officer gave us the devastating news – the fire was out but the hives were gone and nothing could be salvaged. Poppy sagged against me and I wrapped my arms round her as she sobbed. I pushed down the lump in my throat, distraught for her. As if the destruction of the bees wasn’t devastating enough, this was also her dad’s legacy, wiped out at a time when he was close to going too. How could she begin to even deal with all that pain?
Sharon was hovering nearby, tears streaming down her smoke-blackened face, clearly eager to comfort Poppy, so I stepped back and allowed the women to hug. Ian joined them and I turned my head away for a moment, wiping away my own tears.
One of the firefighters was heading in our direction with another police officer and I hoped neither of them would utter the obvious words – at least nobody was hurt – because they were. Poppy was hurt. Her family were hurt. And those bees had perished for nothing.
‘It was definitely arson,’ the firefighter said, holding up a can of fuel and some rags. ‘We found these.’
‘Can you think of anyone who’d want to do something like that?’ the police officer asked.
Poppy turned in Sharon’s arms. ‘Damon Speight. He’s been stalking me. I reported him earlier but I should have done it sooner. They told me to, but I didn’t imagine…’ She took a deep shuddery breath before rattling off his address. ‘His mum isn’t well. Please tell her I’m sorry.’
‘It’s my fault,’ Poppy said when we pulled onto the drive at Dove Cottage a couple of hours later, acknowledging the police officer stationed in a car by the verge outside.
‘It’s not your fault,’ I said, twisting in my seat to face her. ‘You didn’t start the fire. This is all on Damon, and you’re not in any way responsible for the fantasy world he’s created. You’re a kind person who occasionally passed the time of day with someone you recognised from school. He turned that into something it wasn’t.’
‘You and Wilf were right about involving the police sooner. I knew he was obsessed. Not to this extent, but I knew it wasn’t right.’
‘But you could never have predicted this and you can’t take any of the blame. He’s a sick man who wouldn’t take no for an answer. That’s nothing to do with you. You have to believe that. Come on, let’s go inside.’
Poppy was exhausted and soon drifted off to sleep, cuddled up to my side. I kissed her forehead, the smell of smoke in her hair transporting me back to Sharon and Ian’s farm. What a night! There’d been some more questions before the fire brigade and police left, leaving the four of us standing in a line, the only light coming from the headlights of my car, illuminating the police cordon blowing in the wind. Sharon and Ian insisted we went back to the farmhouse for a drink and to warm up. We were offered a room for the night but Poppy wanted her own bed, comforted in the knowledge that there’d be a police officer keeping watch in case Damon turned up at the house. I hoped the police had got him. I hoped they’d throw the book at him. And, more than anything, I hoped Poppy would be able to accept that none of this was her fault.