The Death of Bees (11 page)

He asked if I thought she might be looking for him. I shook my head. I felt sorry for him then. He sort of shrugged it off as a joke, but I know he meant it.

Breakfast was a big affair. It always is in my house: sausages, bacon, fried bread and egg (I'm trying desperately to fatten up Marnie at the moment, skin and bones that one). I think she's anorexic. I asked her if she was feeling okay the other day and of course she says she's fine, then she grabs a piece of toast and she's out the door faster than a fly.

They stay here mostly. They sneak in through the back, so the neighbors don't see, not that the neighbors see a great deal, blind to most things in fact, including the absence of two abhorrent parents and the abandonment of two lost children. I feel quite sick about it. Who wouldn't?

Marnie

L
ennie let Izzy's dad stay over. I nearly died when I saw him on the sofa. Asked me what was I up to today? I said, “Nothing,” and ran out the door before he started asking more questions.

What's he doing here? What does he want? He's got some neck on him that's for sure, thinking he can just show up like this. And what exactly does he expect? That Izzy's going to turn up and fall into his arms? She probably would, knowing her, if she actually had any arms. She was like that, a total people pleaser, she couldn't say no to anyone, including Gene.

He keeps asking us if we need anything but I'd rather eat shite than take his money. It seems to me if he'd been a better father we might have had a better mother.

Now he's going to hang about and wait for her and when she doesn't turn up he'll ask more questions. It's a mess. The one thing making it easier to hide Gene and Izzy in the flower beds is the fact no one except Mick is interested in their whereabouts. It turns out Gene was selling for him and when he “left,” Gene owed Mick a lot of money. Mick says it's worth thousands, but it's thousands he owes to Vlado and like his associates Vlado doesn't give a flying fuck why Mick can't pay so Mick had to sell half the stuff in his house including a very nice flat-screen television, but it still wasn't enough. Vlado actually came to the van the other night. I was doing some revision in the back. He just takes the book off me and flicks through the pages and then he asks me if I know the difference between the perimeter of a circle and the circumference of a circle.

I said, “The circumference of a circle is the length of the curve that surrounds it.”

“And how is this exemplified?”

“By its center and its radius.”

“What is the ratio of the circumference of a circle to its diameter?”

I say, “Pi.”

“Very good,” he says and returns the book to me. Then he looks me up and down like he did in the stairwell and says, “It is better to study. No?”

“I suppose.”

He makes no reply, as if he'd spoken to himself, as if I hadn't spoken at all.

When Mick got back from the tower, Vlado pulls him to the side. Vlado's taller than Mick, younger, stronger. His face is hard, his eyes soft. His hair is dark and fine and falls a little over his face. He wears a short army coat. Leather boots. Smells clean, as if he just had a shower.

Anyway I could tell they were talking about me, all the time looking back at me and nodding, a few pulled faces, Vlado's finger prodding at Mick's shoulder, pushing him a little, don't know what they were saying, but Mick looked scared. When he gets back to the van I asked him what Vlado's problem was and Mick says, “He doesn't want you working with me anymore.”

“What's it got to do with him?” I ask.

“Everything,” he says.

“So that's it? No more rounds.”

“No more rounds,” he says.

“So he's making you fire me?”

“I'm sorry.”

“But I need the money!”

“I don't give a shit what you need. Your da's got ma money and see when I find him I'm going to rip his fucking throat out.”

“What about us?”

“You're fifteen. I'm married. S'over.”

I don't even know what to say to that. He parks the van for a minute.

“If Gene shows up call me, if he shows up and you don't call me, you'll know about it, hen. Understand?”

“You owe me money,” I say.

“And when your da gives me mine, I'll give you yours.” Then he drives off. I'm not even near my house, only three quid on me and it's late. I want to kill that Vlado. It's none of his business how I earn, but Mick's terrified of Vlado and terrified of the people he works for. Dangerous people. It serves him right for getting greedy. Gene had connections at the colleges and universities and Mick said they were making good money, until Gene went missing that is.

Don't know where he put it, the stash I mean. I know it's not in the house, but it might be and so every day before school I check a new corner, but nothing.

It's been a shit week all round to be honest. Nelly forgot her own birthday and got upset when we remembered. Lennie baked her a cake and Nelly threw it at the wall. Seriously. Then she started crying and then screaming. It was a total scene. Lennie was horrified. He'd gotten her a nice box of perfume and I got her earrings but then I decided to keep them on account of her being a nightmare bitch. I was glad when she went to her room. So was Lennie. She's such a weirdo freak sometimes. I hate saying it but it's true. Why can't she be normal?

Later on I went to Kirkland's house and we shagged, I don't know why. After we're done, he wants to smooch but I just want to get away from him. I feel sick we had sex to be honest. He tries to give me money for a taxi home and that makes me feel like a prostitute so I says, “Fuck off. I'll walk.” He goes all mortified then and offers to come with me, I tell him it's only nine o'clock and rapists don't start work till after the pubs close. He thinks that's funny 'cause he's an idiot. Then he lets me go and tries to give me a kiss, but I don't let him. I don't even like him.

Nelly

H
ow I raged at Lennie for his teenage cake, at Marnie for her teenage gift. What need have I for earrings? I have no piercings. It's not a special day, it has never been a special day, and I am not different on account of it. Why couldn't they forget as I had? Cakes and gifts. Candles and icing. Thirteen years of age it said. Happy Birthday it said. How dare they. Intolerable. Infuriating. I won't hear of it. It is not my birthday. It has never been my birthday or perhaps Marnie has forgotten the waiting for Mother and Father to recall such days. The wide-open mouths when they are reminded, the shame of having to remind them at all. Maybe Marnie has forgotten her own thirteenth year when Father called her a woman and followed her from room to room with daisies and gin. I have not forgotten for it is flawed to offer a teenager alcohol. It is forbidden. One can get into a great deal of trouble with the law for enticing a minor. Fortunately she didn't drink any, but he did and a great deal if memory serves. Mother had fallen asleep and didn't seem to care at all that evening, not even for Marnie, who was forced to like daisies, a flower she doesn't care for at all.

Lennie

N
elly was furious, which is a shame because I'd made her a beautiful birthday cake, a raspberry sponge filled with butter cream and a stunning liqueur sauce. I could have screamed when she threw it at the wall. She could have at least tasted it first. What a child she is and crying all over the place while I'm wondering how to get the bloody cake off the wallpaper. She needed her arse whipped for that. I can just imagine my mother's face if I'd thrown as much as a teaspoon in our house. Very strict my mother was and as for my father he spent most of my life on a chair by the window reading his newspapers and cleaning his glasses. I don't think he looked up at me for thirty-five years and even when he did, it was only because he'd fallen on his arse and needed help to a chair.

“Good job, Lennie,” he said.

When my mother died he was suddenly all alone in the house, but would he leave it? No he wouldn't.

“It's my home and I intend to stay in it, I will not languish in a hospital bed. I'd rather die behind the door,” he yelled and that's exactly what happened. He'd called my sister Eve and said he was feeling poorly and could she come round, but Eve wouldn't go and so the cheeky bitch called me. He'd had a stroke and his little body was so cold I couldn't exactly say how long he'd lain there, but not long, old people are always cold aren't they? Still, I felt bad and for a long time afterward. Even now I wonder if I could have gotten there quicker but I was in the middle of dinner wasn't I? I didn't know he was going to die.

I often wonder where I would like to die. I'm an old man and I've been ailing of late. The doctor says I need an MRI and would like to rule out a few variables. I suppose it wouldn't hurt.

I feel very anxious at the moment, I don't quite know why, especially for my dog . . . oh . . . I feel anxious at the moment and for the dog . . . anxious. And dog. I feel anxious for the dog. I am anxious for the dog.

Nelly

R
obert T. Macdonald hasn't mentioned my birthday. He doesn't know and I am glad of it. There is no cake and there are no candles. There is eggs and there is bacon. Food of the proletariat. There are also potato scones but I don't care for any of it. I only eat what I eat.

He slurps his tea like a navvy, I observe. He offers beans. He offers cola in a glass. There are no cornflakes.

“I need cereal,” I announce.

He tells the waitress. She nods and brings me a bite-size box of Krispies.

“No,” I gasp in horror. “I need cornflakes. Cornflakes. Please. I can't eat these. I want cornflakes.”

“It's okay. Calm down. We'll get you cornflakes,” he assures me.

His voice is gentle and I feel quite calmed.

The waitress is quick to return.

“Can you take these back?” he asks. “We need cornflakes over here.”

“So I heard,” she mocks. Awful woman. Jangling earrings and nails like Nosferatu himself. She is cheap and unwholesome.

Within minutes she returns with a similar-size box of what has to be the best of nourishment. I pour cola over a crisp and bubbling bowl.

“Taste good, does it?” He smiles.

I nod.

“Like nothing on earth,” I tell him.

He asks questions, questions about Izzy, about Gene, but mostly about Lennie. I don't have any questions, not for Robert T. Macdonald, I only have answers, all of them lies. Lies are imperative these days. I don't tell him about our trip to the Loch either. It's not his business, nothing is his business.

Spring

Lennie

V
erdurous glens and ochre risings, the long journey to Firemore. I made sandwiches for the trip. Ham and cheese. A flask of tea. I love tea. Cartons of Ribena and yogurts for the girls. Things kids like. Some pick and mix and chocolate bars, also jelly babies.

The girls are surprised I can drive. I have to rent a car of course, an SUV, a big car, lots of room and nothing like your precious Saab, how you loved that car. I begged you to get rid of it, but you wouldn't have it, even when the tire burst and we got stuck outside Inverness. Pissing with rain it was and no more bloody tea. It was freezing. This car wouldn't break down, it had a CD player and everything, Marnie was delighted. It even had these little headsets, like on an airplane and so Marnie could listen to what she liked.

I could see the girls in the rearview mirror. Marnie bobbing her head rhythmically and Nelly drawing smiley faces on the window. She seemed happy enough, she read a bit and played Sudoku mostly. Every few hours we had to take the dog for a walk but with the leash, just in case he ran off. Marnie was thrilled about that. I don't think she likes my dog.

It was a windy walk to the cottage. We parked the car next to the river stone wall, it's old now, falling apart at the seams, but still, we managed to climb over it and without too much fussing.

They were certainly awestruck by the cottage, of course I'm used to the sight of it, but watching them enjoy the landscape renewed my perspective somewhat and it seemed more picturesque than usual, especially with the sea bouncing about the beach like a happy dog.

When we got to the house it was freezing but there were plenty of logs in the shed, I had the place toasty in no time. Nelly and Marnie went down to the water and I made us some dinner.

Washing the potatoes I watched them through the window, it seems I'm always watching them, trying to glean a little information I suppose, but they're very quiet about the things missing in their lives. They were throwing stones and collecting shells, things children do when they're near water. I saw Marnie at the edge of the sands, the Loch rolling in and out. It made me a little nervous at first, I was worried she'd drift away, but she was just playing and soaked her socks. Nelly found herself a stick and drew love hearts in the sand. She wrote names on the inside, boys most likely. Marnie didn't like it too much and sat on her own and quite a distance from her. Nelly followed her and sat next to her and then she put her arms around her and gave her a hug. I shouldn't have spied that, it was a very private moment but I was frozen behind the pane. Then they went for a walk, hand in hand. Warm. Close. Impenetrable. The dog tottering behind them.

We had a lovely meal later and Nelly made a crumble and all on her own with apples and blackberries. She did a good job of it. She's been watching me in the kitchen recently, there was a little too much crumble for my liking to be honest, but we'll work on that. I showed her how to make lamb, nice leg with rosemary and a little garlic, and then we ate and talked some, like a real family.

Marnie confided her plan to go to university, though she's not too sure what she should study. She has a hard time imagining herself as anything other than the girl she is today.