Page 92 of A Forever Home at Honey Bee Croft

‘Goodbye, sweet pea,’ I said, hugging Imogen tightly on the platform at Cheltenham Spa train station on the last Sunday of the Easter holidays. ‘It’s been so lovely to see you.’

She kissed my cheek and stepped back as Joel embraced me and gently kissed my lips.No tears. Not in front of Imogen.

We reluctantly let go as the train pulled in. Joel picked up their bag in one hand and took Imogen’s hand in his other and boarded the train, waving from their seats as it pulled out minutes later.

I’d just had the loveliest weekend. Joel had FaceTimed me last Sunday, reeling from Tilly turning up at his house with a major about-turn on Scotland and a mostly reasonable attitude. They’d met up again as originally planned a few days ago and had not only had an extremely healthy and effective discussion about him seeing Imogen more, but she’d studied his rota and suggested that, as he had this weekend off, he should book a couple of train tickets and bring Imogen down to Winchcote to see me, joking that Imogen would kill her if she suggested the journey by car after the mammoth Scotland drive.

Joel had already been planning to visit and assured me it was okay to say no to Imogen joining him, especially considering my dad was still in hospital and I’d want to visit him each day, but I loved the idea. I’d missed Imogen, and had a feeling her sunshine personality would be the perfect tonic to those difficult visits where all I could do was sit beside Dad’s bed, holding his hand as he slept, cringing at the rattle in his chest.

Joel and Imogen had arrived on Friday evening but, as they were leaving before hospital visiting time on Sunday morning, we’d only had one full day together. Despite the quick visit, we’d packed a lot in with a takeaway on Friday night, a visit to Pittville Park in Cheltenham yesterday where Imogen had played on the playground and the three of us had taken a boat out on the lake, and a meal in a local pub last night. She’d brought her Polaroid camera with her and took a few photos, telling me she was going to create another special section in her scrapbook for her weekend away.

Returning to Dove Cottage after the hospital, the house felt far too quiet. I tried to relax in front of the television but was too restless so I went into my office. I managed a couple of hours working, but was fidgety the whole time. I’d decided to call it a day when Mary rang to check that the decorators had let me know they’d be starting at Whisperwood a week tomorrow. We had a lovely chat about my weekend with Joel and Imogen and she shared that she’d had Amber and Barney round to her house to tell her all about their honeymoon. When we finished talking, I noticed a missed call and dialled into the voicemail, my heart sinking at the message asking me to get to the hospital as soon as possible. That could only mean one thing. I grabbed my bag and coat and dashed out of the house, calling Sharon on the way who said she’d meet me there.

After Dad’s diagnosis, we’d had several difficult but necessary conversations about the end. Dove Cottage wasalready in my name, but he wanted to talk about his will, pensions, investments, funeral arrangements.

‘When the time comes, I don’t want to be resuscitated, sweet pea,’ he’d said. ‘If my heart stops beating, that’s because it’s flown to the beautiful woman who stole it when I was twenty-one. I know I’ll probably have no control over it but, if I have any sway at all, I’ll slip away quietly when you’re not there because I don’t want you to see that.’

And he got his wish. By the time I got to the hospital, I was too late. Sharon and Ian arrived moments after I heard the news, and they only needed to glance at me to know. We huddled together in the waiting room, mourning the departure of a wonderful father and friend.

I was asked if I wanted to go in and say goodbye, which I did. Dad somehow looked younger, perhaps because he was finally at peace. His felt birds were arranged on the bedside table but my throat tightened at the sight of the robin perched on the sheet above his heart. Presumably it had been in his hand and one of the nurses had placed it there. My feelings were in turmoil because, although I was sad, I was definitely relieved for him.

Lowering myself onto the chair beside the bed, I told him about my amazing couple of days with Joel and Imogen – exactly what I’d have said to him at visiting hour a little later.

‘You’d have loved Imogen,’ I told him. ‘I found myself calling her sweet pea, just like you used to call me. She likes it.’ I imagined him smiling at that.

A nurse came in to check I was okay. I didn’t want to leave Dad alone, but I had to, and that’s when the tears began.

‘I’ll be okay,’ I said, trying to smile to reassure him. ‘Don’t you worry about me. I’ve found love again and I’ve got some genuine friends. About time, eh?’

I took his hand in mine and squeezed the lifeless fingers. ‘Send my love to Mum and to Evie. Watch out for the bees and tell them I’m sorry I couldn’t save them.’

Releasing his hand, I gathered the birds from the cabinet and placed them carefully inside my bag. I leaned over and kissed Dad’s cold cheek, whispering goodbye for one last time, then curled my fingers around the robin.

‘You got what you wanted – slipping away quietly without me. But know that you’ll never really be without me. You’ve got a piece of my heart forever.’

Ian drove my car home and Sharon took me in theirs. I felt numb as I looked down at the felt robin in my hand, unable to form any words, no more tears left to cry.

While Sharon busied herself in the kitchen making drinks, I wandered over to the mantelpiece and placed the robin between the black and white framed photo of my parents on their wedding day and the gold-plated carriage clock Dad had bought Mum for their golden wedding anniversary.

‘Can we do anything? Call anyone?’ Ian asked when Sharon joined us with mugs of tea.

‘Can you let Phil and Bertie know? Tell Phil I’ll speak to him soon – just not today.’

‘We can do that,’ Sharon said. ‘Do you want to call Joel?’

I glanced at the clock. ‘He’ll still be on his way home. I’d rather not tell him while he’s with Imogen.’

‘Do you want anything to eat?’ Sharon asked.

I shook my head. A dog barking outside drew my attention to the window. ‘That sounds like Benji. I should let Wilf know. Iwon’t be long.’ I took a sip from my tea and placed it down on the coaster. ‘You don’t have to stay. I’m all right.’

‘We’ll wait,’ Ian said. ‘You take as long as you need.’

When Wilf opened the door, he took one look at my face and sighed heavily. ‘When?’

‘A couple of hours ago.’

‘Come in. Benji’s eating, but I’m sure he’ll oblige you with a cuddle when he’s done.’

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