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“Excuse me?” The customer comes to the door to call me. “Is this thistle honey?” She holds up two jars with purple ribbons.
“No, that’s lavender,” I answer on autopilot.
“Can you show me which is the thistle honey?”
I extract myself from Hal’s grip and walk back inside. His words finally filter through.Paperwork, ratified by the land registry.
How?
“I heard it’s the best honey, thistle.” The woman follows me around.
Normally, I would take this opportunity to chat to the woman, get her to taste more things. This time, I just reach for the correct jar from the shelf and take it to the counter. “Anything else?”
She’s a bit put out not to get more attention, but she pays and leaves. Now the shop is empty, I motion for Hal to come in and close the door behind him, flipping the closed sign.
“Are you sure this isn’t some kind of trick?”
“I saw the papers. With your grandfather’s signature and two witnesses. They came to,” he mimes inverted commas, “offer me first refusal.”
“What first refusal?”
“Because they are going to knock down this house.” He waves a hand to indicate the rooms around us. “And build an apartment block in its place. They offered to buy my property for five thousand pounds. That’s what they actually said, five thousand. Because they must realise that I am short of money.”
“But you don’t have to sell.” I say, struggling to wrap my head around what he’s saying.
“Don’t you understand? The Labri Catch gardens, officially, are still the old boundaries because we, you and I, never had the new contract ratified with the land registry.”
“But that’s just a formality. And we’ve been busy. But it’s signed.”
“Their contract is also signed and witnessed and has been submitted to the Municipalité which means it’s official. It means everything I’ve landscaped and done on this side is now theirs. They are going to take the glamping pods and convert the rest of the garden into a camping site with lots of static caravans.”
My stomach drops. How has this happened? It can’t be true.
Someone comes to the shop door and knocks. Of all the days to get lots of customers. I shake my head and point to the closed sign then turn away. I need to think. To ask Grandad.
I leave Hal and go through to the kitchen. But Doris is alone.
“Hedge went to bed, he was tired,” she says, clearing up the remains of lunch.
I barely acknowledge her and hurry to his bedroom.
He’s asleep.
The temptation to wake him is so strong, I lay a hand on his shoulder. But he’ll only be groggy and confused. Instead, I glance around the room. His dressing gown, carefully folded on the chair because Grandad is always tidy. His medicine bottles are all lined up on the low bookshelf. And there, on the second shelf, my eyes land on a large white envelope.
All principles about not reading his letters evaporate, and I take it and open it.
Inside is a wad of papers stapled together. The top sheet has the red and black letterhead I’ve come to dread. Morris And Sweeny Property Developers.
I take it with me and go back to the shop.
“My grandfather is in bed today, he’s feeling tired.”
Hal shakes his head bitterly. “But not too tired last week to sell.”
The words sting, but this isn’t the time to deal with his deep mistrust of Grandad. There are pages of it. I scan through the paperwork, pages, and pages of it. Articles of sale, transfer of deeds. Lease agreement. And of course, the original loan agreement. Grandad’s signature, Algernon LeFevre, is written carefully at the bottom of each page. It is that last detail that convinces me it’s not a forgery. Hardly anyone knows his real name is actually Algernon, he’s been called Hedge since he was a boy.
“Elodie…” Hal says, his voice very quiet, stretched thin like an elastic band. “I’m sorry but I must ask you this. Do you think Hedge might have changed his mind, wanted to go back on our agreement? Has he said anything that could mean…” his eyes search the space around us. “That he doesn’t want the partnership with me?”
