Chapter 3 #3
I hesitate. “Why did you marry Monica?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I did love her—I always will. But it was affection and not real love. I know the difference.”
How? I want to ask, but I don’t say anything because he continues. “I thought our relationship would get better. I thought if I tried hard enough, everything would get better.”
I take his hand. “But it didn’t?”
His smile is sad, and I don’t want that.
I want him to be happy always, but I know that’s impossible.
“No, it didn’t. Monica was far braver than me.
We struggled along for a while, and then she sat me down one day and said neither of us was happy.
She asked me one question—just one—and when I answered her, she asked if I thought I was gay.
” He takes a deep breath. “And I said yes. It was the first time I’d ever admitted that to anyone other than myself. ”
I want so much to ask what that question was, but I can’t. If he wanted me to know, he’d tell me.
“I came out to my family after that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He gives me an incredulous glance. “I couldn’t. You were the one person in the world I couldn’t tell.”
The hurt is sharp and sudden. “Why?”
He makes a soft sound and grabs my hand. “It isn’t anything bad.” He takes a deep breath. “I couldn’t tell you because you were the reason I knew I was gay.”
The world seems to tilt and whirl. “What?”
He nods with a rueful expression on his face. “And that was the reason I never told you. You were with Simon, and if I’d told you what I felt I might have lost you.”
“That would never have happened,” I say seriously.
His smile is crooked. “Who knows? You were bright and bold and so gorgeous. I always gravitated towards you, because you made everything bright in my world, too. But somehow, for all your liveliness, you still centred me and made me feel safe. I didn’t want to lose that, and I was a coward too.
I knew if I admitted my feelings for you then everyone else would know, and I wasn’t ready for that.
And I did love Monica very much. It just wasn’t enough for her or me in the end.
” He sighs. “I suppose that doesn’t make a bit of sense. ”
I lean into him and look up into his face. Happiness unfurls its wings inside me, like the butterfly he always compared me to. “It makes perfect sense,” I say quietly. “Perfect,” I add with emphasis.
For a second, he’s completely still, and then his smile is wide and so happy that it makes me blink. “Really?” he says shyly.
I nod, but then footsteps sound on the gravel, and we turn to see a lady approaching. She’s wearing the staff polo shirt and a pair of shorts. “Zeke,” she calls. She directs a glance at us, her keen gaze taking in that we’re standing so close, and then she grins. “Now you must be Georgie.”
“Must I?” I say faintly.
She chuckles. “Zeke’s talked about you so many times I feel like I know you.”
“Has he?” I say, loving the flush on his high cheekbones. My lips still tingle from his kiss.
“This is Mary,” Zeke murmurs. “She manages the tours on the farm.”
We murmur greetings, and she turns to Zeke. “Your group are starting to arrive. Pam is finishing up with the year-three class from the primary school.”
He takes the clipboard that she hands to him. “No problem. Is there anything after this group?”
She shakes her head. “They were moving on to making wax candles, but I’ve swapped things around, so I’ll take that one. I know you wanted time with Georgie.” She smiles at me again. “Thank you for lending him to us.”
I smile back. “It’s no problem.”
They turn, and I follow them down a path to the side of the car park. It widens out as we come out onto a hill, and below me is the honey farm. Gravel paths wind around lush green gardens and big stone barns. Everything looks neat and shiny in the sunshine.
Zeke takes a path down, and I follow him, looking around. People are everywhere, even at this time of the morning, sitting in the gardens or moving between the big outbuildings. It’s incredible that this is here, where it was just fields before.
A group of children emerge from the outbuilding labelled Bee Educated. They’re dressed in school uniforms, and as soon as they see Zeke they swarm towards him. “Mister Taylor,” come their shrill voices. “We drew a hive.”
Zeke chuckles and crouches down, looking at the papers they hold as seriously as though Leonardo da Vinci had drawn the wonky multi-coloured hives. It makes my chest warm to see this gentle giant with them.
Sally moves nearer. “He’s very good with children, isn’t he?” she says.
“He’s always been good with people who are smaller than him,” I say softly.
She pats me on the back and strides off toward an outbuilding labelled Offices.
Left to my own devices, I wander away towards the reception.
Positioned outside is an old telephone box.
It’s been painted a bright orange and no longer has a door, and inside it’s stacked with branches and logs.
I draw closer, intrigued by the low buzzing I can hear.
“They’re for solitary bees.”
I turn around and smile at Zeke, who’s now alone and watching me with a smile on his face. The breeze lifts a lock of his dark hair.
“Solitary?”
He nods. “Yeah, not all bees live in colonies. Solitary bees build their nests mostly on the ground, but some like old beetle holes.”
“Is this a real telephone box?”
He nods, patting the side of it. “The post office gives them to us when they’re decommissioned. They make excellent places for solitary bees and insects.”
“Do you think I’m a solitary bee?” I ask and nudge him when he starts to laugh. “What?”
He draws me close, and my heart flutters at how easy this feels. Maybe it’s because we’ve known each other for so long, but my body feels like it moulds smoothly to his, like we’ve been two pebbles side by side on the beach for years.
“You will never be a solitary bee,” he says, his face alight with affection. “You’re far too busy and sociable. You belong in a hive.”
“What about you?”
He considers that. “I could have been solitary. I’ve never minded my own company, but I would always have had a yearning for a hive of my own.”
Someone calls out to Zeke, and I watch a man approach. He’s in his twenties and is wearing one of the staff uniforms. “Sorry to interrupt, Zeke, but Bill Horner’s been on the phone.”
“From the post office?” I say stunned. “Is he still working?”
“Oh yeah.”
“He told me off for nicking a Mars bar once. I was mortified.”
“Like a little magpie,” Zeke says affectionately.
“I put it back super quick, and then he made me clean the stock room.”
“You and thirty other village children.”
“What? He made it sound like I was the only child who’d ever done anything so heinous in his long career as a postmaster.”
“Yeah, no. He had more helpers than Santa.”
I shake my head. “What a complete scoundrel,” I say disapprovingly.
The other man laughs. “Anyway, he’s got a hive in the post box he needs you to look at.”
I turn to Zeke. “In the post box? Is that a thing?”
He nods. “Bees love them. They’re dark and safe. I often have to go out and remove hives.”
“What do you do with them? You don’t destroy them, do you?” I ask anxiously.
He shoots me an affectionate smile. “No, we bring them here and set them up.” He turns to the man who’s watching us curiously. “I’ve got Georgie staying, so I’ll give a mate a ring and see if he can go over instead.”
The man immediately steps forward, offering me his hand. “So, this is Georgie. Nice to meet you. Zeke’s said a lot about you.”
“Has he?” I say, intrigued to see a flush on Zeke’s high cheekbones.
“And that’s our cue,” Zeke says quickly, making me laugh. Smiling goodbye at the man, he steers me down a path lined with lavender.
“I won’t be long with the group,” he says.
“Okay. I’ll have a wander around while I wait.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Course not. This is fascinating.”
He relaxes. “I’ll be in that building over there when you’ve finished.” I follow his gaze and nod. Then he puts a big hand on my shoulder and bends to take my mouth. It’s a quick kiss—probably the quickest one I’ve ever had—but it packs a punch, and I stare up at him.
His lip tilts in a crooked smile, and he disappears into the building he indicated. I stand still for a few seconds savouring the feeling of excitement fizzing in my belly. Then I make myself move away.
Left to my own devices, I amble along, exchanging smiles with visitors.
It’s such a lovely place—serene but with an air of bustling industry.
A bit like a hive, I suppose. Scented plants and bushes are everywhere, and I’m charmed when I see that the gardens are laid out like a hive.
They’re full of trees and plants with handwritten signs in front of them telling people why the bees like them, and I don’t stop smiling as I wander the gravel paths under the warm sunshine.
I’m so fucking proud of Zeke. This is awesome.
I end up outside a gift shop and a small cafe.
The cafe is already busy with people taking advantage of the warm spring morning to sit and eat breakfast on the wooden benches outside.
Children’s voices are loud on the air, and the scent of food is strong.
My stomach rumbles, and I duck in to get something.
The choice is huge, and I end up with a piece of flapjack made with Zeke’s honey.
It’s still warm, and I devour it hungrily, licking my sticky fingers afterwards.
I glance up at the gift shop’s windows and don’t bother to resist. I’ve never found one I couldn’t wander around in for hours. I duck into the cool, shady interior.