The Beauty

by Aliya Whiteley

  Bee touches nobody but Ted. It picks him up by his neck. I thrill at the strength of my beautiful Bee. Ted does not make a sound, but he fights and fights, his kicks and punches connecting. Bee feels arms around the waist. Bonnie is in the room, squeezing hard, fighting for Ted. I feel white pain in my mind, but Bonnie is not strong enough to stop this. Bee knocks Bonnie down, and looks around.

  The others huddle back against the sink. Holly is awake now, I feel her fear. She wails. The Unloved hum, hum, hum – a nest of hornets. Bright red flowers in my head light up my darkness. But I tell Bee – do it. Do it.

  Bee grabs one of Ted's arms as he flails and breaks it, clean, like the snapping of a stick. He goes limp. Bee carries Ted out of the kitchen, down the corridor to the front door. It opens the door, and throws him out into the night.

  Bonnie screams. It is a human sound. It plunges out after Ted, and Bee closes the door, not looking at what is happening. It does not want to look.

  The larder door opens and my normal vision returns. I can see Thomas's tear-soaked face. He holds out his arms to me and I push past him and go to Bee. I let it scoop me up and hold me tight. It pats the bump, over and over. I feel our mutual relief amplified in my mind like a circle, no beginning, no end.

  Outside, Bonnie screams and screams. When it stops we can hear Ted's pleading. He begs and moans and demands that they stop, but the Unloved continue to hum with an expressive and endless happiness.

  *

  In the morning, they are gone. Ted too. Perhaps into the woods, I don't know. Bee doesn't either. It has lost all connection to them, but it thinks they have gone for good.

  All that is left are the scattered yellow and grey lumps that were once Bonnie.

  *

  I stand outside where the Group once made its campfire. It's a chilly spring morning, but bright. The grass is growing back over that burned circle of earth. Thomas, Jason and Oliver stand close together, looking around like baby birds seeing out of the nest for the first time. How small our lives have become.

  I heave the canvas bag over my shoulder.

  ‘Well then,’ I say. ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Don't go,’ says Jason. Oliver bursts into tears and his Bess reaches out to him, then wraps him up in its love.

  ‘What do you want?’ says Thomas. He has Holly out of the curtain papoose for once, in the crook of his arm. She is looking around with wide grey eyes and her skin is a very pale yellow. She is as beautiful as the daffodils that are starting to poke through the remains of William's house, and as natural to behold. It is undeniable that she deserves her place in the world.

  I say, ‘Nothing. Only to go. That's all there is, now.’

  He says, ‘You want me to say I'm sorry? Because I am. If you were a true friend you would forgive me, and forget all this nonsense.’

  ‘I do forgive you.’

  ‘Then stay. We need you. You have to tell us what to do. Please, Nate. Stay.’

  I don't answer. I'm sick of words. Instead, I show Bee a picture in my mind: the two of us together, our baby inside me, walking out of this place. Going to find out what remains of humanity. Not to bring anything back, not even to find new stories to tell. Just for the sake of knowing.

  Bee agrees. It holds out a hand and I take it. We start to walk, following the path that leads out of the Valley of the Rocks. It is a path that unravels one step at a time, on and on, with no end.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to John Griffiths, Tim Stretton, and everyone at UKAuthors for continuing to read the things I write.

  I have lots of ongoing gratitude for Neil Ayres and Francesca Kemp. You make my daily emails worth reading and keep me moving in the right direction. Thank you with bells on.

  Anne Zanoni put her skill and hard work into this book, and I’m so glad she did. Thanks Anne. And George Sandison read it, liked it, and published it. For that, and for the dedication he has put into making it the best it can be, he deserves more than an acknowledgement. George – I owe you a beer. Or an ice cream.

  And go Team Whiteley.

  “Everything has to come to an end, sometime.”

  L. Frank Baum, The Marvelous Land of Oz

  Just not right now.

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