Clem put a hand to her face, wiping away the sudden tears. ‘Oh, God! Selina obviously doesn’t know?’ she asked. Jack shook his head. ‘She’ll be devastated. And Pop?’
‘He knows.’
Clem sank onto the back steps of the cafe, absorbing the news and thinking how many people would mourn Jean Dellacourte’s passing. Tears spilled over her cheeks as she thought of their aunt, and the hole her loss would leave in their lives.
‘She was so like Pop, no nonsense and all heart, and more of a mum to us than Renee.’
Jack nodded and sat on the step next to her. Clem leaned against her brother.
How many couples had Jean matched in her role as town cupid? How many coffees had she served from that trusty van?
‘So many people loved her,’ Clem said, her voice shaky. ‘She was larger than life. I can’t imagine anything taking her out.’ She gave a soft sigh. ‘What happened? Fiona must be beside herself. Was it a fall? A stroke?’
Jack studied her, and in the silence that followed, Clem’s heart leapt into her mouth as she drew her own conclusions. She shook her head furiously. ‘Whatever you’re about to say, don’t say it. Get back in the car and go check your facts.’
Jack held out a hand to her and pulled her up, wrapping his arms around her. ‘No, it’s not that. She passed away from a stroke. But when I spoke to Fiona, she told me Jean had advanced cancer, and she’d gone through the process of arranging voluntary-assisted dying. She’d made the doctor’s appointments, done the paperwork, the legal stuff. She had the poison and instructions sitting in a locked kitchen cupboard,and she’d even chosen a date that wasn’t too close to Christmas or anyone’s birthdays.’
‘What?’
Clem scrubbed a hand across her face. ‘I can’t believe she’d sign up for that when her only nephew took his own life. She saw what his suicide did to our family! How could she consider doing that to Fiona and Selina?’
The news was totally at odds with the lady Clem knew and loved. When Spencer had told her about Belle, the decision felt far removed. It was much easier to judge Belle for her choices when she hadn’t even met her, hadn’t loved her.
Not like Aunty Jean.
But you loved Spencer …
Jack gave her arm a squeeze. ‘The cancer was aggressive and had spread widely when they found it, and she hated the idea of getting sicker and sicker, everyone fussing over her, and of the care she knew she’d eventually need, which would consume Fiona’s life. She wanted Selina to remember her as the grandmother who snuck her sweet biscuits and Mills & Boon novels, not the bed-bound old lady unable to feed herself, clean herself or string together a coherent sentence. She was trying to protect them.’
‘Did you know about this before? Did Pop?’
Jack shook his head. ‘Today was the first I’ve heard about the cancer or the plans she had in place. You’d have to ask Pop yourself, but I doubt it. Jean didn’t want any of it to be public knowledge. Fiona said she was wary of anyone passing judgement on her, and she certainly didn’t want Selina to know. Not until she was much older. But it didn’t come to that, she didn’t have to use it.’
Clem rested her head on his shoulder. The last time she’d seen Jean, she’d been as cheerful as ever, delighted by Harriet’sflawless rendition of her opening lines, the two of them sharing in-jokes aboutAnne of Green Gables.
A beautiful memory, for a beautiful lady. Clem looked out to the sunflower field, then the verandah where her great aunt had been waiting with open arms when she came to Penwarra as a heartbroken child, and then again with the same open arms when Clem returned with Harriet on her hip.
Jean’s situation was different,Clem told herself, grappling with the news. She was older, her best years were behind her, her husband was already up there in the big blue beyond.
And she didn’t even take that option. Belle did, and Spencer was her wingman, supporting her each step of the way.
Totally different,Clem told herself. But somehow, her stance didn’t feel as rock solid anymore.
Spencer squeezed a gum blossom between his fingers, looking for the glisten that indicated the nectar was flowing.
There was a small glimmer, enough to warrant moving the hives from the paddock a kilometre away into this one. He had a big day ahead of him if he wanted to get them all prepped and ready for the move, but it was easier shifting them from one side of the property to another than hauling them 400 kilometres north for the spring blossom run.
Just as he had while picking the last of the apricots, adding fallen branches to the winter bonfire pile and deadheading the spent blooms from Belle’s hydrangeas, Spencer had a sense of sadness as they moved the hives one last time.
‘My body won’t miss all this heavy lifting,’ Ian said, pausing for a drink of water between loads. The small crane on the back of the truck had made the job easier, but there was still plenty of muscle required. ‘I’ll miss having an endless honey supply, though. Guess I’ll have to get used to maple syrup again.’
Spencer laughed. ‘It’s not too late to change your mind about the big move.’
‘I wouldn’t do that to Christopher and Alison.’ Ian shook his head. ‘Besides, Louisa’s got the home gate in her sights, there’s no changing her mind. The red barn’s been re-sheeted, the painters have updated the cottage colour scheme so it looks less like her parents’ style and a little more like ours, and her skis are ready and waiting. That’s not to say we won’t change our minds and head down under again in a few years’ time. But for now, we’re excited for the adventure.’
Passing Spencer the water bottle, Ian reached for a small parcel wrapped in beeswax cloth. The slice tasted familiar, but Spencer couldn’t put his finger on it.
He noticed Ian’s eyes on him.
