CHAPTER 11

RESINATING

‘Little madams! Who do they think they are?’

Sitting on his bed after dinner, Brian was beginning to wish he hadn’t woken Dulcie. He’d looked forward to hearing her views on the disturbing events. He knew she’d have plenty. Her crankiness was strangely relaxing – with enough huff for both of them, she saved him the effort – and it was comforting having someone there who’d shared every part of his day. But he hadn’t bargained for this.

‘Pampered brats. Fancy the old duffer knowing all their names!’

‘He may be old but he’s not a duffer!’ Brian glared in the mirror on his wall. ‘He’s the kindest man ever.’

‘I can see that. Their own slice of cake indeed – their own plate! In my day we had to work for our food. No wonder those girls are so hefty.’

Brian hadn’t noticed any flab on Alf’s bees. But it wasn’t the moment to mention it.

‘And that apartment block!’ He guessed she meant the hive by the river. ‘Ready-built walls and roof – I ask you. Probably furnished too.’

Brian swallowed a smile, picturing TVs and sofas in each tiny cell.

‘No such mollycoddling in my day. We had to build our own home, every cell and comb. We bees are supposed to work for a living – we’re called workers, for daisy’s sake! But that lot are more like shirkers. No distant foraging for them, oh no, but flowers sitting pretty on their doorstep. Ooh!’ Her wings fluttered. ‘If I could get out, I’d teach ’em a thing or two, show ’em how to bee.’ She shook her head furiously. ‘Bet they can’t even dance.’

‘Dance?’ Brian hooted. ‘Why would they?’

Dulcie stamped her front legs so hard that his earlobe wobbled. ‘You mean you’ve never heard of the waggle dance?’

Brian shook his head and sucked in his cheeks, picturing Dulcie in a tutu.

‘I thought life was supposed to have evolved since my day,’ muttered the bee. ‘More like dissolved.’ She tutted. ‘A bee is born to dance. She needs nectar and pollen for food, right?’

Brian nodded.

‘So she flies around looking. And where does she find them?’

‘In flowers.’

‘Very good.’ Dulcie clapped her antennae sarcastically. ‘When a bee finds a crop of flowers she buzzes back to the hive and dances up and down the honeycomb. And the way her bottom waggles tells her sisters where to go.’

‘Are you serious?’ Brian’s eyes filled his face. ‘That’s incredible.’

‘But true.’ She sniffed proudly. ‘Our butts are moving maps. At least …’ a tiny sigh tickled his ear, ‘they’re meant to be. Mine never was.’

‘Why not?’

Her wings drooped. ‘I was the youngest and smallest, the runt of the family. And that’s saying something, out of thirty-five thousand, four hundred and twenty-six.’

Brian murmured sympathetically. He felt runty enough in a family of two.

‘From the moment I popped from my cell, my sisters bossed me around. They gave me the grottiest jobs: waxing the walls, polishing their wings, emptying our … you-know, from the comb.’ Brian tried to picture bee poop. Chubby nuggets or skinny threads?

‘Meanwhile my sisters crept and crawled to our queen-mother. They were desperate to win Mama Humsa’s favour. I didn’t get a look-in.’

Brian felt a pang for this teeny Cinderella.

‘But she didn’t care about any of her daughters. Her only interests were eating and sleeping and being adored. Whoever brought the most nectar was the favourite. One day it was Melanie, the next Fran, the next Arabella, that silly, frilly furball.’ Dulcie squeaked contemptuously. ‘And because I was too young to fly, I was bottom of the heap, bullied like you wouldn’t believe. “I’ve got wing itch,” they’d say, “scratch it, Dulce.” Or, “My cell needs rewaxing. Get to it, maggot.” And when they weren’t bossing, they made fun of me. “Found any nectar, wimpywings?” or “Hey, sucker, you wouldn’t know a pansy if it punched you in the mandible.”’

Brian winced. Thirty-five thousand, four hundred and twenty-six classmates.

‘It was a hot, dry summer. The flowers were few, the pickings low. And the hungrier we got, the more I was bossed. It became unbearable. I started to wonder why I’d bothered being born. I mean, what was the point?’

Brian stared in the mirror. ‘You too?’ It may have been twenty million years ago, and it may have been only a bee, but boy was it comforting to know that another living thing in the history of the universe had wondered the same thing.

‘I couldn’t wait to fly,’ said Dulcie. ‘To whizz off and escape their bullying. I tried every day but my wings were too weak. Until one morning … aaahh.’ A ripple ran through her antennae. ‘My whole body rose and my legs left the ground. I’ll never forget that first flight.’

Brian closed his eyes. Lifting his arms, he flew with Dulcie. A paper-dry breeze blew through his mind. He danced on a cushion of air.

‘I’d never felt so free,’ she said. ‘I decided I wouldn’t go back. I’d buzz off and join a new colony, a crowd that would treat me well, never mind that we weren’t related.’

‘Good for you.’ Brian thought of Dad. Family could be overrated.

‘So I chose a route to avoid my sisters. Whenever I saw one I veered off. They’d only fault my flying, say my wings were too slow or my bottom too low. I worked with the breeze, letting it lead me far away. Until suddenly I caught a smell. A whiff of sweetness on the air.’

Brian sniffed. But the only whiff he caught was of dirty socks scattered over the floor.

‘I followed the scent to a glorious sight. Candles of white on a carpet of green. Don’t ask how but I knew, I just knew, it was clover. I dived in and gorged. I stuffed my mouth with nectar and my sacs with pollen.’

Brian tasted the sweetness on his tongue, felt the weight on his legs.

‘And when I’d finished,’ Dulcie peeped, ‘I knew what I had to do. Fly home and dance, lead my sisters to food.’

Brian’s eyes sprang open. ‘What? I thought you wanted to find a new family.’

She sighed. ‘Family. That was just it. I suddenly knew that I couldn’t let them starve. Mean as they were, they were all I had.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, I can’t explain. It was a buzzing in my blood, a stirring in my heart that I had to help my own kin. And something else too.’ She fixed him in the mirror with her gleaming eye. ‘This was my moment, my chance to shine. To strut my butt and prove my worth.’ Her voice was getting softer. ‘To be the bee I was born to be. That I never,’ she gasped, ‘got … to be.’

Brian looked in the mirror. She’d gone silent and still. What a moment to run out. He grabbed a corner of the duvet and rubbed the earring.

‘I flew back as fast as I could,’ she squeaked on seamlessly. ‘As the nest came into view, I stopped on a tree trunk to catch my breath. Disaster. That’s when the goo trickled onto my leg.’

Brian frowned. ‘Couldn’t you just pull it out?’

‘You think I didn’t try?’ snapped Dulcie. ‘Look at it, puffy and packed with pollen. That’s when Cleo flew past. I shouted for help. But she just laughed and carried on.’

Brian imagined Dulcie wriggling and shrieking after her sister.

‘Then the twins came by. I was up to my chest now, but together they could’ve pulled me out. I begged and promised to show them a feast. But did they believe me? Did they Sweet William!’ She snorted. ‘Laura and Nora just sneered and jeered, rolled their eyes and slapped their thighs.’

‘Bees have thighs?’

‘This isn’t easy.’ Dulcie gave a little sob. ‘Allow a girl some poetry. I begged and wailed but on they sailed. Another blob fell, and another, covering my mouth, my eyes, my feelers. I thrashed with all my strength and managed to clear a small airspace round my body. But it was no good. I was caught forever, stuck in muck with no chance to dance.’

Brian saw her head droop in the mirror. Poor thing. What a terrible memory to haunt her forever, trapped in this eternal prison. If only he could say or do something to help.

He smacked the duvet. Of course!

If he was officially brainy, you’d say it was a brainwave. But as he officially wasn’t, let’s call it a Brianwave. ‘Why didn’t I think of it before? I’ll crack the amber and let you out.’

‘NO!’ The shriek was a skewer through his head.

When the ringing had stopped, he said, ‘Why not? You could dance your butt off.’

‘I wouldn’t have a butt! Or a head or a thorax. After all these years, I’d probably just crumble to dust. The amber’s the only thing holding me together.’

‘Oh.’ The Brianwave crashed and died. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’ His shoulders slumped. ‘I was only trying to help.’

‘You can. Help me look for Alec.’

‘What?’ Brian blinked in the mirror.

‘It strikes me we could both do with a mission, something to make us feel useful. And what could be better than this?’

Brian stared at her. She was right. Imagine the praise, the fame, the acclaim, if they were the ones to find Alec. ‘But how? No one seems to know anything. Where would we start?’

She waved a front leg airily. ‘We’ll work out the details later. Just picture the headline: “Boy Makes Beeline for Missing Mate”.’

He did. And it sure looked good, not to mention uncharacteristically modest, coming from this proud little bee. ‘Or “Bee Makes Boyline”,’ he said graciously.

‘No way!’ she squealed. ‘I’m not being splashed across the papers, thank you. Who knows who might steal me for scientific research? I’ll lie low in your ear and direct you from here.’

‘Direct me where? If Alec’s parents and the gardaí don’t know where to look, how will we?’

Dulcie yawned. ‘Let’s sleep on it. I’m sure we’ll come up with a plan.’

You’d better, thought Brian, reaching for his pyjamas. Because when it came to detecting, he didn’t have a clue.