“Thank you, Mrs Hill, I’d have liked that very much. But I’m not really dressed for hiking, isn’t the Hemingway House a long way down the hill?”
“Oh, it’s all been renovated,” Hal turns to lock the shop door behind him. “We have wooden walkways and stairs and it’s very civilised, I promise. And we’ll be serving a nice picnic lunch, since Brandon asked us to feed you, two birds, one stone and all that.” He gives me a warm smile and leads us to a gate at the back of their garden.
I suppose I’m going, then.
They have the same bushes as Brandon’s side of the hill, but here they’ve been trimmed back. Spring has turned the deadly thorns to the most gorgeous heaps of green, white, pink, even orange. The wooden steps and decking meander around streams and pretty, cascading flowers.
“There are holiday makers here already?” I’m surprised when we pass one of the gorgeous little camping huts and see a couple sitting in deck chairs by a rock pool.
“The season starts early on La Canette, thank God.” Hal says. “I’m hoping to break even this year.”
“How many holiday homes do you have?”
“Nine. Ten actually but I’m keeping one free because I want my sister to come and stay.” A small frown darkens his normally open face. “She’s not been too happy lately. She can do with a change of scenery.”
Looking around, I have to agree that anyone needing a change could hardly find better scenery than here. The hill is stunning. I wish Brandon could have his side of the hill landscaped like this.
But it is a long walk. Who needs a gym when a trip down Catcher Hill is a serious workout. It’s half an hour, before we reach a clearing and the most exquisite pool complete with rocks, floating flowers, and a small waterfall. The morning sun sparkles on the surface and just behind the pond there’s a tall fence of yellow flowering plants. Hal takes us round the curve to an arch cut into the fronds; we walk through it to find a wide, grassy space with a stone path leading to a stone cottage.
So, this is the Helen Hemingway House of Hope that I’ve heard about.
Ten or eleven women sit on beanbags and garden chairs arranged in a circle outside the cottage. Elodie seems to have already started her lecture, but she waves us over. My legs ache already so I’m deeply grateful when I sink down on a beanbag.
“It may sound strange to say we can learn about life from honeybees.” Elodie continues her talk, “But they have so many lessons to teach humans. Everyone knows about their teamwork. But did you know they’re much better at adapting to new circumstances than we are?
“Honeybees are continuously evolving. If relocated from one region to another, they are not discouraged by the new location but quickly scout the new environment and communicate their findings, then get to work in as little as an hour.”
My back aches and the beanbag has nothing to lean back on. Somebody notices me shifting from one side to another trying to get more comfortable and offers me her chair. When I struggle to get up, Rosette Lady lends me a hand and helps pull me up.
“Thank you.” I get up clumsily.
“It’s hard when you’re pregnant.” She pulls the chair closer so I can sit. “I had five of my own. Played havoc with my joints. Now, do you need a blanket?”
“No, that’s fine, it’s a sunny day.” I pull out my notebook and pretend to jot down notes, because I feel a bit exposed with everyone glancing towards me and smiling.
Hal catches my eyes and winks. It was him who told me that the people on the island can be wonderful once they accept you. It seems the local women have finally accepted me.
“Honeybees also show us how to live within our means.” Elodie continues her talk. “They only expand the hive if more space is needed. They also understand that hard times happen, so they prepare for disasters and food shortage. This way, they don’t drain their energy on anything that is not necessary.”
My note taking may have started as a distraction but now I find myself writing fast, lots of ideas for training programs that would benefit women starting over. It’s something I can pass on to Philomena Hill before I leave, and who knows, I might be able to research fundraising for her while I’m in Switzerland.
When the workshop is finished, I refuse Elodie’s offer of a group lunch. The warm breeze makes the long, yellow broom fronds sway and ripples the surface of the water. But I can’t stay, my aching back and legs will only get stiffer the longer I stay. And my way back is still going to be half an hour uphill. It’s not as if I could call an Uber to pick me up.
If Brandon ever finds out about this, he’ll tear a strip off me. He was adamant I shouldn’t even try gardening, what would he think of this endless trek up the hill. It takes me a lot longer than half an hour to get back home because I keep stopping to rest.
Why didn’t I accept Hal’s offer of help? Because I’m a self-reliant woman. A self-reliant idiot who needs an hour and a half to walk up Catcher Hill.
And when home, why is this self-reliant woman feeling lost?
I walk around the kitchen and sitting rooms as if searching for something; every little sounds makes me look up expecting… But nothing happens. No one comes through the door with a smile. No one looks up from reading a book and talks to me. There are no footsteps upstairs, and no one comes into the kitchen and asks if I want a hot drink.
Surely, I can make myself tea. Just flick on the kettle, except my hand automatically sets up two mugs.
This is pathetic. Come on, Lessa, be the strong self-reliant woman who conquered the frosty Philomena Hill and Mrs Rosette Hat.
If the house feels cold and empty, I can switch on all the lights and make it feel alive. And a hot bath, yes. That is bound to make me feel better. It’ll certainly help with the aching legs and back. But when I get to the stairs, I can’t make myself go upstairs. Because the upstairs feels even emptier and lonelier.
And suddenly all my determination and optimism leave me, and I flop down on the bottom step hugging myself as the tears come. I don’t know why. But tears keep falling and brushing them away doesn’t help because more come.
