Lennie
Nelly 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
Robert 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
Verdurous 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.
They were very interested in the cottage and how we came to own it etc. I told them how you inherited it from Edward, your mother’s obscure brother, the frightened poof from Somerset, not that it runs in families, but a blind man running for a bus could have told them he was queer, it should have been bloody obvious given he had no interest in women, choosing instead to live as a recluse. He was exiled as far as I’m concerned. It was only later that it occurred to us your family might have known all along, colluding with Edward to harbor him in this cottage, ashamed and hiding from who he really was. You certainly lived in terror of them ever finding out about you, but it was the same situation really, no girl of your own and living with your dear old chum Lennie from the college. A feigned ignorance if you want my opinion.
It was very sad rummaging through the loneliness he’d left behind. The vintage boxing posters of sweaty bare-chested men bruised and wearing mouth guards. The VHS collection that included a box set of Phantom of the Opera and a rather disturbing interest in the queen of England.
It was a tribute to him living here as we did, bringing an awaited solace to his retreat by the sea and with an honesty he never knew in life and a love he’d probably wished for a thousand times. We always felt divine in this place, tasting a desired view of the world, knowing a voraci
ous appetite for the love that dare not speak its name, my soul sewn to your soul. Our fortunate embroidery.
Nelly
What a splendid trip. Fishing on a boat. Reading by the fire. Walking on the moors. We toasted marshmallows, enjoyed sardines on toast. I even slept with Bobby, I got very cold at the cottage. No central heating. As for Marnie and me, we mended our rift and I forgave her for the blow to my mouth. We’re family and we must stick together through this trying time. Keep the parents buried and her secret safe. She really is the most wonderful sister. I am blessed and I am safe, though she didn’t like what I wrote in the sand too much. My sister has a profound problem with one thinking for oneself and of course the thoughts that occupy my head are not always what she desires of me, but I cannot help how I feel and I cannot help the things I must say. Truth be known I keep much of my heart to myself and for the most part I remain silent. It is all she needs from me right now and in this respect she will always have my loyalty.
Marnie
I didn’t want to go to be honest. A week with Nelly in a space I can’t run from scared the shit out of me. As for Lennie, he’s a great guy and we couldn’t do without him right now, but he’s a wee bit controlling these days and always telling me what to do. He says thing like “young lady” and loves the word conscientious. It gets on my tits to be honest. I know he’s trying to help, but I don’t need help. I need to be left alone. I’ve got exams in a couple of weeks. I’m not worried or anything, but still, it’s stressful, all that scratching on paper. I always finish first, and then I have to hang about waiting for everyone else, they won’t let you leave early. Sometimes I feel like not showing up and forcing a fail, sleeping in or something. I did that for a maths exam once. Mr. Weston was so pissed off. He called me “wasteful” and gave me lines, a hundred of them. Three pages of total bullshit, back and sides. What a tosser!
The trip up was nice, we had a cool car and I got to drown out Nelly with my headphones, although she didn’t have too much to say for herself for a change. Also she just loves being anywhere Lennie is. Thinks he’s family, her grandpa. I suppose she needs someone to care for her, I can’t be arsed at the moment. She was so excited before we left, packed her bag three days before and read the whole trip, which was bliss.
His cottage was amazing, the kind of place you dream of calling home, but it’s so fucking far away and freezing, but still, a great place to hide out. It has its own beach and its own sea, you can’t go wrong in a place like this. Nelly and I had a bit of a nip, she wrote Izzy’s and Gene’s names in a love heart on the sand and then RIP underneath. I made her rub it out and then I sulked on the sand in order to underline my displeasure. She was very sorry and I felt bad for her then, especially when she gave me a hug. I let her. She doesn’t mean it, not really. She’s just daft and I also didn’t want to spoil our holiday. I knew it was going to be nice because of the Loch, it smelled great and calmed me down.
Lennie had a boat, full of surprises, that guy, he can row it and everything. He took us fishing, we didn’t catch anything but then like magic we had trout for dinner. Lennie freezes everything. He has spaghetti sauce coming out his ears and loads of Tupperware filled with all kinds of other sauces, he brought it all up in one of those ice boxes, along with clams and scallops and bread, shortbread even. The guy would freeze his arm if he thought he could make a nice bourguignonne with it. He’s so into cooking, the kind of person who makes appetizers. Waste of food if you ask me, fills you up and you can’t eat your dinner but he likes to make them and I love the hummus. I could suck it with a straw. Lennie could quite literally hang about his kitchen for hours, no joke and don’t get me started on the spice rack, he worships it. Has mad stuff in it like bay leaves and tarragon and you should see the oven he’s got, it must be a hundred years old, fuck knows how they got it down here.
The other thing I love about Lennie is how he sets the table for dinner, you feel like you’re in a fancy restaurant sometimes. He puts out a tablecloth with matching napkins and whatever seashells, pebbles, or flowers he’s found that day, then he layers them in vases or arranges them on hand-painted plates, one time he got heather and tied it up with thread and put it lengthwise on this white wicker thing and then he added a few candles, some shells, it was fucking celestial. To be honest he’s a bit of a people pleaser, he needs a lot of praise and a lot of approval, like a kid and it’s really annoying ’cause if I’m doing something, homework, reading, or watching TV, he’ll drag me away to look at shopping he’s bought or clothes he’s ironed or a pot of soup he’s made, obviously he wants gratitude, but I don’t know how to show it, I go through the motions obviously, make smiley faces and stuff, you know, to show my appreciation, but he wants more than that, a more concrete acknowledgment, a thank-you perhaps, but I just can’t say it, makes me feel uncomfortable and I hate that feeling. Truth is I don’t really know the word, it’s a bit of a stranger in my vocabulary and it’s not like I’ve had a reason to spit bullets of gratitude my whole life or have parents who gave me a reason to be thankful. Even when I was grateful it wasn’t for the things a normal person would be grateful for:
“Thanks for not coming home with total strangers and keeping me up all night with ‘Blue Monday’”; “Thanks for buying eggs and not crack this week”; “Thanks for making it to the toilet last night and not shitting all over the sofa”; and last, but not least, “Thanks for suffocating yourself, Izzy, and making it easier to move your dead body into a coal bunker.”
See what I mean. Sentiment unknown. Sounds brutal I know, but what do you want, with my background I should be a serial killer. Count your blessings.
Still, wish I’d thanked Nelly for the amazing dinner she made the other night. She’s turning into quite the gourmet these days. She made us clams with tomato sauce. Lennie was so proud. We danced that night. I had a lot of fun.
I know I should be grateful for people like Lennie, he’s been amazing to us and cares for us, but it scares me. I don’t know why. Just does.
Lennie
It was our last day at the cottage. I didn’t mean to talk ill of them. We were all so warm and safe together, like a family. I couldn’t stop myself. We had walked a good way along the Loch to have a picnic. Nelly collected shells for a box she wants to make and I took some blankets, a hamper of food, the chicken I roasted in the morning, the bread I’d freshly baked the night before. We went to the sandy spot under the rock shaped like a leaf. The girls took their shoes and socks off and ran into the water, it was freezing out and I was worried they’d catch pneumonia, but who am I to stop the laughter of children. I’d brought tea in a flask and Irish coffee for me in the other, my special recipe. Anyway we got to talking about Mummy and Daddy and I got a little irate I suppose. I didn’t say anything offensive, I just stated the facts. They’re gone and they’re probably not coming back. Marnie was furious. She suggested I wanted to keep her and Nelly to myself so I can play house, and asked me which one of them I liked best. I told her I liked them both the same, I told her not to worry and she always has a home as long as we’re neighbors. She said I was getting old and couldn’t promise such things and maybe I can’t. I could see instantly she was very worried about the “monsters’ ” return and yet counting on them to come back. I told her it’s pretty unlikely, but from her face I could see she was hurting, so I reminded her who her parents were and how they have treated Nelly and how they’ve treated her. Maybe the coffee went to my head a little, but when I think of those people leaving these children to their own devices, to survive in a cold and cruel world with not a word of their whereabouts and not a scrap of food in the house I want to hang them out to dry. They deserve better than that, these girls. They keep themselves clean, do well in school, and with those two menaces for parents it’s a bloody miracle they’re alive at all. Children deserve to be loved, and if you can’t love them you shouldn’t have them. Marnie went quite pale at these particular assertions, that’s when I realized I’d hurt her. All thi
ngs considered it obviously never occurred to me anyone could love such impossible things, how Marnie had loved them and how Nelly might have loved and perhaps had been loved in return, somewhere inside of them and somewhere forgotten. I wanted to say sorry but it didn’t belong in the conversation.
Marnie went off on her own then. Nelly stayed and ate the rest of the chicken. Later I made a strudel, Marnie loves strudel and when she got back she smiled at me as if to say she was sorry, which I appreciated, but I could tell she’d been crying, I could tell she’d been breaking her heart.
Nelly
Marnie is beastly. Not a word of thanks for the beautiful dinner I made and then giving out to Lennie, who was only speaking the truth. How could she imagine for a minute they had loved us? They didn’t love us. They’ve ruined us, and damn them for it. Unfortunate creatures, their ghastly bodies rotting on our lawn, fouling up the neighborhood. I can’t imagine why R. T. Macdonald should want to find them at all. He is beginning a new life and yet he seeks to pair it to a couple of bothersome fools. Bothersome I say.
The Death of Bees Page 9