Helen Dunmore - The Complete Ingo Chronicles - Ingo, The Tide Knot, The Deep, The Crossing of Ingo, Stormswept

She steps forward a pace and stands there, listening. “Yes, you can visit them,” she says to Conor after a while. “There’s no trouble in the hive. They’re happy.”

“What do I do?”

“Walk forward slowly. Don’t worry if some of them settle on you. They’ll want to know what you’re made of.”

“Won’t they think Conor is you, if he’s wearing your clothes?”

“No. You can’t fool the bees. Then when they’re used to you, go right up to the hive and tell them what you want to tell them. Only go gentle. Bees don’t like a flurry.”

“What if it’s a question? Is that all right?”

“There aren’t many who can get an answer from the bees,” says Granny Carne seriously.

“But you can,” Conor says, and she nods.

“Me and the bees have lived together a long time. We’re like family. You go on now, show respect and they won’t harm you.”

Conor steps forward slowly. It seems a long journey to the beehive. A small cloud of bees comes out to meet him, and circles his head. Conor doesn’t seem worried. He just keeps going until he reaches the hive, and then he settles very gently on to his knees, so that his face is level with the hole where the bees are coming in and out.

I watch. Conor stays very still. I can’t see his face, only his back. I can’t hear anything but the buzz of the bees.

“Ask them now,” murmurs Granny Carne, as if to herself. But Conor seems to hear her. I hear the sound of his voice, but not what he’s saying. The steady hum of the bees dips into silence for a few moments. They’re listening! They’re really listening, just as Granny Carne said. And then the sound of the bees swells back again. Conor stays there a little while longer, then very slowly he rises and begins to move backwards, away from the hive.

“Go gentle,” mutters Granny Carne, but she doesn’t need to remind him. The bees don’t seem bothered by Conor at all.

We walk back to the cottage. I’m longing to ask Conor what happened, but Granny Carne’s silence forbids questions. He takes off all the bee-keeper’s gear in the garden, so she can put it directly into her shed.

“You asked your question then,” says Granny Carne as we’re leaving.

“Yes.”

“It’s not for me to know if you had your answer. But I can tell the bees liked you.”

Conor grins. “I liked them. I want to keep bees one day.”

“You work on that then. Anything you want will happen if you work on it. Sapphire’ll only get that dog if she makes it happen.”

“Did she mean I will get Sadie?” I burst out as soon as we’re far enough from the cottage. “Was it like a prophecy, when she sees into the future?”

“I don’t think so. I think it was just a piece of advice.”

“Oh. That’s no good then.” My curiosity gets the better of me. “Go on, Conor, tell me what you asked the bees.”

“I asked them if Dad was still alive.”

“ What ?”

“You heard. I asked them—”

“But why? How would they know?”

“You remember what I said about Dad coming up here last year? I thought that maybe Granny Carne had talked to the bees about Dad. Or even that Dad had talked to them. Maybe that’s how it works. Maybe the bees help her to see into the future.”

“You’d have noticed if Dad had gone up to the hive with her.”

“I might not have done. I was round the back, remember, watching the frogs. Anyway, when Granny Carne said that the bees have to be told about births and deaths, suddenly I thought that maybe they would know about Dad. And they would remember, because they keep their memories in the hive.”

I stare at Conor in dread. What have the bees told him? But surely he couldn’t look so normal if they’d said Dad was – not alive any more.

“So? What did they say?”

“Nothing,” says Conor. “I was an eejit to think they would. But there was something all the same…”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I can’t describe it. A warm feeling. A good feeling. I think they did listen to me. They didn’t mind me being there.”

“Conor, do you still really think Dad’s alive?” There. I’ve dared to say it at last. Sometimes I’m so scared that we’re just pretending to ourselves, month after month after month…

“Yes,” says Conor.

“Mum, what are you doing home already? It’s only two o’clock!”

“Are you all right, Mum?”

Mum blushes. “I thought you two were out for the day,” is all she can think of saying. There on the table is a pile of chicken and tomato sandwiches. Mum’s got the bread knife in her hand, ready to slice them. But what a huge pile: far more than Mum could ever eat. She must have made them for all of us.

I thought you two were out for the day .

No. Not for us, then. Thoughts whizz about in my head. The sandwiches are not the only food on the table. There’s a pot of olives, a straw basket of cherry tomatoes, a bag of cherries, a packet of my favourite crisps, which we hardly ever buy because they cost so much, and a bottle of wine. The kind of expensive stuff that doesn’t come into our house unless it’s left over from the restaurant. But these don’t look like leftovers.

Conor’s hand snakes into the cherry bag. Mum slaps it away.

“Get off! Those aren’t for you.”

“Who are they for, then?” asks Conor, but both of us have already guessed the answer. Roger . Roger has come home with Mum, while we were up at Granny Carne’s. Mum thought we were out of the way, so she said, Dear, darling Roger, do come to my beautiful cottage. My horrible children won’t be there .

“Won’t you lose your job if you just go home whenever you feel like it, Mum?” I ask her.

“Saph,” says Conor in a quiet, watch-what-you’re-saying voice, but I take no notice of him.

“So where’s Roger , then?” I ask.

“Right,” says Mum, dropping her knife with a clatter. “That’s it. I’ve finally had enough. You don’t want me to have any life at all, do you, Sapphire? As long as I’m working all the hours God sends and looking after you the rest of the time, you’re happy. But if I try to go out – or have a friend – oh no, that’s not allowed. Well, I’ve got news for you, my lady—”

Don’t say it, Mum , I beg inside myself. Don’t tell me you’re going to marry Roger .

“—I’ve got news for you.” Mum’s finger stabs the air. “I have got a life, not much I grant you, and just for once I’m going to do something for myself. Yes, I know those are your favourite crisps but just for once you’re not having them, and Conor’s not having those cherries either. I’m going on a picnic and it is NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS,” yells Mum, and now her finger is stabbing right in my face. I jump back. The pile of sandwiches wobbles and begins to collapse. Conor leaps forward, but he’s too late. Chicken and tomato filling spatters over the floor.

I dive down to help but Mum shouts, “Leave them! I’m not giving anyone sandwiches that have been on this floor. Look at the state of it. I’ve asked you a dozen times to clean it, Sapphire.”

An evil spirit jumps into my mouth. “If we had a dog, the sandwiches wouldn’t be wasted,” I say. Mum’s hand slaps down on the table.

“Saph, go out . Just go outside,” urges Conor. But I can’t. I can’t even find the door, I’m crying so much.

“Oh Sapphy.” The next moment Mum’s arms are around me and I can feel that she’s starting to cry too. “Why do you do it? Why do you always make things so hard for everyone?”

“I don’t, it’s you that does—”