Cecelia Ahern - The Book of Tomorrow

‘I’m going to extract the honey next week. That suit is yours if you want to join me. It’ll be nice to have a bit of company. The sisters aren’t interested in beekeeping. I like to be alone sometimes but, you know, it’s nice to have company once in a while.’

My head swirled as I imagined the smoke in the hive, the bees gorging themselves on food, the sheer and utter panic of it all. I wanted to snap at her and tell her to stop talking, that I had no interest in extracting honey with her, but I heard the tone in her voice, the excitement, the delight over company, and I remembered the wish I’d made in my diary about wanting to take back my response. I held my tongue and nodded, feeling faint. All that smoke.

‘Or at least it’s nice to have somebody there who pretends they’re enjoying it. I’m old. I don’t care much any more. But that’s great that you’ve volunteered. I think Wednesday will be a good day to do it. I’ll have to check the weather forecast and make sure it’s a good day. Don’t want us getting soaked again like today…’ On and on she went until I felt her staring at me. She couldn’t see my face nor I hers underneath the netting of our headgear.

‘What’s wrong dear?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing is ever nothing. It’s always something. Is the diary worrying you?’

‘Well, yeah, of course. That is…but it’s not that. It’s nothing.’

We were silent for a while and then as if to prove her point, I asked, ‘Was there anyone in the castle when it went on fire?’

She paused before answering, ‘Yes, unfortunately there was.’

‘Just watching that…that smoke going in. I can imagine the panic and the people being so afraid.’ I held on to the wall again.

Sister Ignatius looked at me with concern.

‘Did anyone die?’

‘Yes. Yes, indeed. Tamara, when the fire ravaged that home, it ravaged so many people’s lives, you have no idea.’

That home. Home. It made it all the more mysterious that a building such as that could be called such a thing. It had meant something to people once upon a time, whoever they were.

‘Where do they live now? The people who survived.’

‘You know, Tamara, Rosaleen and Arthur have been here for so much longer than I-you should really ask them that. Ask me a question and I’ll never lie, you understand? But this one you should ask them. Won’t you?’

I shrugged.

‘Do you understand me?’ She reached out and gripped my forearm. I felt her strength through my gauntlet. ‘I’ll never lie.’

‘Yes, yes, I understand.’

‘You’ll ask them, won’t you?’

I shrugged. ‘Whatever.’

‘Whatever, whatever, the language of sloths. Now, I’m going to lift this off, and I’ll show you the inhabitants of the honeycomb empire.’

‘Whoa. How did you get them all in there?’

‘Ah that was the easy part. Like all of us, Tamara, a swarm is always actively looking for a home. Now, do you know how I’m going to show you the queen bee?’

‘You’re going to draw on it with a marker.’

‘However did you know that?’

‘Apparently I wrote it in my diary when I was sleepwalking. Lucky guess, huh?’

‘Hmm.’

When I got back to the house, it was late. I’d spent the entire day out. Arthur was returning from work too, walking down the road in his lumberjack shirt. I stopped and waited for him.

‘Hi Arthur.’

He threw his head back at me.

‘Good day?’

‘Ah.’

‘Good. Arthur, could I have a word with you before we go inside, please?’

He stopped. ‘Is everything all right?’ Concern that I hadn’t seen before crossed his face.

‘Yes. Well, no. It’s about Mum-’

‘Well, there you are,’ Rosaleen called from the front door. ‘You both must be starved. I’ve the dinner just out of the oven, piping hot and ready to go.’

I looked at Arthur, and he looked back at Rosaleen. There was an awkward moment as Rosaleen refused to leave us. Arthur gave in and walked up the garden path and into the house. Rosaleen stepped aside for him to enter and then back to where she was to look at me, then went inside to see to the dinner. Once we were all seated at the table Rosaleen prepared Mum’s food ready on a tray to bring upstairs. I took a deep breath.

‘Shouldn’t we try and get Mum to eat downstairs with us?’

There was a silence. Arthur looked at Rosaleen.

‘No, child. She needs her peace.’

I’m not a child. I’m not a child. I’m not a child.

‘She has plenty of peace all day. It would be a good idea for her to see people.’

‘I’m sure she’d rather have her own space.’

‘What makes you think that?’

Rosaleen ignored me and carried the tray upstairs. For one minute Arthur and I would be alone. As if reading my thoughts she came back to the kitchen. She looked at Arthur.

‘Arthur, would you mind getting a bottle of water from the garage. Tamara doesn’t like the tap.’

‘Oh, no, I don’t mind. I’d rather drink from the tap,’ I said quickly, stopping Arthur from getting to his feet.

‘No, it’s no bother. Go on, Arthur.’

He stood again.

‘I don’t want it,’ I said firmly.

‘If she doesn’t want it, Rosaleen…’ Arthur said so quietly I could barely make out his words.

She looked from him to me and then legged it up the stairs. I had a feeling it would be her fastest trip ever.

Arthur and I sat in an initial silence. I spoke quickly.

‘Arthur, we have to do something about Mum. It’s not normal.’

‘None of what she’s been through is normal. I’m sure she’d rather eat alone.’

‘What?’ I threw my hands up. ‘What is it with you two? Why are you so obsessed with locking her away on her own?’

‘Nobody wants to lock her away.’

‘Why don’t you go talk to her?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. You’re her brother, I’m sure there’s stuff that you can talk about that will bring her back to us.’

He covered his mouth with his hand, looked away from me.

‘Arthur, you have to talk to her. She needs her family.’

‘Tamara, stop it,’ he hissed, and I was taken aback.

He looked hurt for a moment. A deep sadness flicked through his eyes. Then, as though he’d built up some sort of courage, he quickly looked to the door of the kitchen and then back to me. He leaned in towards me, opened his mouth, his voice was hushed. ‘Tamara, listen-’

‘Now, there we are. She’s in great form.’ Rosaleen said, out of breath, rushing back in with her little-boy walk. Arthur studied her all the way in and to her seat.

‘What?’ I asked Arthur, on the edge of my seat. What was he about to tell me?

Rosaleen’s head turned like an antenna finding a signal.

‘What’s that you’re talking about?’

For once it seemed Arthur’s snot-snort came in handy. It was enough of a response for Rosaleen.

‘Dig in,’ she said perkily, fussing about with serving spoons and bowls of vegetables.

It took Arthur a while to begin. He didn’t eat much.

That night I sat staring at the diary for hours. I kept it open on my lap, waiting for the moment the words would arrive. I couldn’t even last until midnight because when I woke up at one a.m., the diary was still open on my lap, every single line filled in my handwriting. Gone was yesterday’s forecast and instead was another entry, a different entry for tomorrow.

Sunday, 5 July

I shouldn’t have told Weseley about Dad.

I read that sentence a few more times. Who on earth was Weseley?

I suppose it was inevitable I would dream the dream I dreamed that night.