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I try to stick to the facts. “Holy thistle, blackthorn, and butterfly bush, fire thorn, hawthorn, forsi—”
He cuts me off. “Don’t recite botanical words at me. Look around you, there are several hundred acres on this island for all those to grow, you don’t need my land.”
I try again. “There are unique varieties of thistles and black thorn on this hill which don’t grow anywhere else on the island.”
“Says who?”
“Says I.” God how I hate being challenged as if I’m an idiot. Wasn’t this the reason I left Manchester? So, no one treats me like an amateur?
“For all you know,” and he really is towering over me now, “the entire English Channel might be crawling with black and white and every colour of thorn.”
The rage almost sparks off him like an electric wire. And he’s talking down to me like I’m an idiot. It makes my eyes sting with the threat of tears. Just what always happened to me when Steve, my old boss, used to mock me and rebuke me.
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry
“You think I just turned up last month and discovered all this? My grandad has been cultivating them for decades and he knows. Besides, he says there are bees here that are unique to La Canette, and they feed on these varieties…”
“I didn’t know you’re related to David Attenborough; I mean you can’t be talking about the ranting old geezer next door.”
The reference to Grandad stings and my hackles rise. I cling on to anger like a shield. “Don’t you dare speak this way about him.”
“Oh, I think I’ve earned the right to speak about him whichever way I like by now. He’s a liar and—”
“You don’t know him, he’s a better man than you’ll ever know. He deserves your respect.”
A wild hysterical hilarity glitters in his eyes. “Why am I surprised you’d defend him? You seem to have inherited his love of destroying his neighbours. Now, if you’ve finished ruining my life, can you get out of my garden?”
How did we get here? I came to try and reason with him and now we’re shouting at each other.
There’s no point in continuing here. If we keep shouting, we’ll end up saying something truly vile. So, I start to walk down towards the first of the beehives which must be about fifty yards from here.
Instead of de-escalating the situation it makes it worse.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he barks.
“To hell, what do you care?”
“I don’t care, but you’ll have to find another way to hell that doesn’t go through my land.”
I try to ignore him. “Didn’t you read the letter?” I throw the words over my shoulder. “Common Rights of Access.”
“I’m not going to manhandle you but I’m not letting you walk through my land.” He plants himself in my path.
I side-step him to the left. He holds an arm to block my way, so I step to the right. I can’t see properly because my eyes swim with tears and I push through a hedgerow.
Several things happen almost at once.
My feet slip on the muddy ground. I try to hold on to the nearest hedgerow which gives way – he must have cut the base with his saw the other day because it’s only hanging by the tangle of its twigs. I lose my balance and fall forward.
The ground collapses under me, literally, and takes me with it.
I feel his hand grabbing for my elbow, but I slip away too fast, and he only gets the sleeve of my cardigan. It rips off me as I go down under the bushes and the world disappears.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Elodie
Long ago my parents took us to a holiday camp called Fun World or Fun Universe or something like that. Sophie and Paul went on every ride twice. Not me. My favourite was the water slide, and I spent the whole day queueing for another go. Again and again, I’d climb to the top and jump into the tube gushing with water, twisting round in wide circles until it reached the bottom and we emerged into an inflatable pool.
