Honeybee, page 23
‘They jumped out of the windows,’ she says, meekly. ‘They had to choose how to die.’
The thought is so petrifying. It’s almost impossible to contemplate. I snuggle up to her in the car and she rests her head on my shoulder. ‘We’re nearly there,’ I whisper. ‘We’re nearly home.’
20
Renée
Almost every time I’ve returned to Guernsey, I’ve felt a feeling of crushing disappointment that I haven’t achieved more. But this time, as the boat pulls in, I have never in my life been so happy to be anywhere. Flo’s mum, her sister Abi and Aunty Jo are waiting for us at the harbour; we spotted them as the boat got closer to the shore. ‘Take the rest of the week off, OK? Look after yourselves,’ Ben says as we leave the boat in single file. I want to hug him. To feel his skin and his warmth. But I can’t, not here. He isn’t mine.
Aunty Jo’s hug cures me of a million things. She wraps a blanket around my shoulders, like I was in the attacks myself, and leads me to her car. Flo’s mum is crying dramatically. ‘Thank God you’re here, Flo. You made it home.’ Out of the corner of my eye I see two small children run towards Ben. His huge body engulfs them. I do my best not to look at the third person I see behind them.
We get to Aunty Jo’s and she puts me to bed. It is not lost on me that I wasn’t in New York, I wasn’t anywhere near the Twin Towers. I knew no one who was, I have lost nothing, I am not hurt, I know I am privileged. But I’ve never been as scared as I was in London – so out of my depth. I felt like a tiny, vulnerable insect in a sky full of giant birds. I couldn’t look after myself, I needed Flo, I needed Ben. I needed anything but to be alone. I was pathetic. I always thought I’d be so London-savvy. I thought the pace of the city would thrill me when, actually, it terrified me. The noise, the smell, the constant roar of engines. The ground trembled with trains below us, there was energy coming at me from every angle and it was just too much. I missed the sea air, the fields, the flowers.
For four days I stay at Aunty Jo’s. For the first twenty-four hours I don’t even get out of bed. She brings me honey on toast and hot-water bottles for my top and toes. She doesn’t push me to get up. ‘Shock is the same as any illness, it takes time to recover,’ she says. After a day or two, she convinces me to help her clean out the chicken coop. ‘It’s good to be active,’ she says, and we laugh a little, remembering that I’m not ill, and nothing bad had actually happened to me. ‘You can’t milk this any longer,’ she says a day later, being absolutely right as always. She doesn’t know about my breaking heart. We take a seat on the bench by the bees.
‘How are you?’ I ask her. Once again allowing her to take care of me when she’s the one who is really going through something. ‘Did you talk to James?’
‘I’ve tried. I got as far as “heavier periods”, and he made up some bullshit about us having run out of toilet paper. He was in the car and off to the shops quicker than I could say “HRT”. Which I’m considering for the future, by the way. I was scared because of your mum’s breast cancer, but after having to strip down to my bra in Marks and Spencer’s because I got so hot and bothered, I’m starting to wonder if I should.’
‘Whatever helps, right?’
‘Yeah. You think you’re going mad, and no one tells you you’re not. Honestly, if women didn’t have each other, we’d all be doomed. I found a forum, do you know what a forum is? It’s a group of people on the internet who …’
‘Yes, I know what a forum is.’
‘Right, of course, it’s all so new to me. Anyway, on this forum, women were writing all the things that they have experienced and so much of it has been the same for me. It was like reading about myself. I got chatting to a few of the women and I couldn’t believe that this huge change is afoot and the only place I can really talk to anyone about it is on the internet.’
‘When I write my book, I’ll make sure there is a character who is going through the menopause so women can read about it.’
‘Yes, Renée, brilliant idea! I will be your research subject. Look at you, planning all your material. How exciting.’
‘I don’t think I’ll move to London now,’ I tell her. ‘I can work here, write in my spare time for fun. Writing doesn’t have to be my job.’
‘Now Renée, what happened in New York was awful, but it’s not the way the world is. You can’t have it shatter your dreams.’
‘It isn’t just that. I hated London. I hated everything about it. I hated feeling invisible. Like, what would I have to do to get noticed in a place like that? I don’t think I can be bothered. I can write anywhere, so I’m going to stay here for now. And I feel fine about it, better actually. I mean, writers all over the world would love to live on Guernsey and write by the sea, wouldn’t they?’
‘Yes, they would. This is your hive, my honeybee, you’ll keep coming back. I never thought I would, and look at me now. I love it here so much.’
We hear James’s car rolling into the driveway.
‘Right, might as well rip this HRT patch off, as it were. I meant that to sound like plaster, did you get it? I said HRT patch instead of … Oh God, why am I so nervous? He’s my partner, the love of my life. All I have to do is talk really honestly and make him understand what I’m going through. OK, it’s happening. Time to make myself heard. Here I go.’ She starts walking towards the house.
‘No, wait, you should talk to him down here, it’s your favourite place. I’ll tell him to come down.’
‘Yes, yes, that’s nice.’ She sits back down on the bench.
‘Aunty Jo would like to talk to you, she’s down by the bees,’ I say to James as he unpacks a ridiculous amount of toilet roll onto the kitchen counter.
‘Talk to me, why?’
‘James, Aunty Jo is going through the menopause. It’s very difficult but it’s very natural. Go and talk to her, listen and do better. OK?’
‘“Do better”?’
‘Yes, stop treating her like she’s going mad and buy her a couple of fans. Go on. She’s waiting for you.’
He nods robotically and heads down the garden. I watch them from the kitchen. Aunty Jo starts talking and gesticulating. She talks for a while, longer than I think she should without him talking. But then she stops, and he hugs her. They hug for ages. And then they move closer together on the bench and she rests her head on his shoulder, and they watch the bees. And suddenly, the world feels back on track.
Fancy chips on the bunker? I text Flo, missing her so much.
Yes! See you at the chippie at 6 x
I love every second of the bike ride across the island. The roads are so quiet, the temperature balmy, history at every turn. ‘Hi Renée,’ says an old schoolteacher as I stop at a white line outside her house. She’s putting out her bins. The familiarity overwhelms me. ‘Love to Aunty Jo,’ she says when I set off. It’s lovely, how could I ever think I didn’t want that?
Flo and I throw down the bikes and run to each other, both arriving at exactly six o’clock. ‘I’ve missed you so much,’ we both say, over and over again. ‘I mean, it’s only been four days.’
‘Yeah, but you try eating Mum’s cooking every day,’ Flo says. ‘I’ve missed our dinners. Ahh, chips.’
With a cone of chips each, we walk along the wall to the bunker. Neither of us suggests getting wine.
‘How’s it been, at Aunty Jo’s?’ she asks me.
‘Good. She’s just the best. How’s it with your mum?’
‘Good, she’s trying. It’s been good. And spending more time with Abi has been lovely.’
We dip chips in the little boat of ketchup that we’ve made between us. And then both say each other’s names at exactly the same time. It’s funny. ‘You go first,’ I tell her.
‘No, you.’
‘OK, I’m going to end it with Ben. I mean, I think it’s already ended but I know I have to let him go.’
‘And how do you feel about that?’ she asks me, doing very well not to tell me off.
‘Horrible. I feel like I’ve met the person I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life with, but I can’t have him. And so I have to be really grown-up and put an end to it, when all I want to do is beg him to leave his wife and kids and run away with me to live happily ever after with all our babies. But I can’t, and it sucks.’
‘Yeah, I’m sorry. He’s a really special guy. I know I got mad but obviously I totally get it too.’
‘Hey bitch, you hitting on my man?’
‘Ha, no. But I’m just saying if I’d got stuck in a lift with Ben and he hand-fed me sushi, I’d probably have felt the same way.’
‘Maybe you would have. I keep wondering if something would have sparked with anyone at some point. Maybe I was more what he needed, than what he wants.’
‘No, Renée. He wanted you. Because you’re special too, and lucky him for having the chance to have you.’
‘Thanks Flo, that was nice. What were you going to say?’
‘Oh yeah, that.’ She lays her chips down carefully so none spill, and turns to me. ‘Renée, I know I have a problem with alcohol. I know I do. And I know I need to stop.’
I can’t think of anything to say, so I lay my chips down too and I hug her. ‘We’ll do it together, OK?’
She pulls away, she wipes tears from her eyes. Those really big tears that come before you even realise you’re upset. And then she laughs. ‘Fuck off “we” will. Drunk Renée is the best, it’s drunk Flo that needs to go.’
‘Fair,’ I say, smiling and picking up my chips. ‘I’m pretty funny when I’m drunk.’
Flo
I’m under no illusions that Mum will keep this up. After all, we’ve experienced this kind of thing before: there’s a drama and she worries about me, and then overcompensates and showers me with love and attention to prove that she does really care. It’s how it goes, and honestly, I’m just so grateful that we manage to do this at all so I roll with it. She brings yet another tray of overcooked food to my room, despite me saying I felt perfectly OK to come down and eat it at the table.
‘What are you doing?’ she says, putting the tray on my bed.
‘I’m looking for photos,’ I say from the closet. ‘I want the one where Dad put the spider in my food.’
‘Oh, hang on, I know where that is,’ she says. ‘Out the way.’ She reaches up and rummages around, then pulls a big grey box down and puts it on the floor. ‘That’s the Dad box. All the pictures of him are in there. I was saving them all in one place for you and Abi.’
‘Shoving them well out the way, more like,’ I say sarcastically, but with enough humour that she knows I’m not going to kick off. I open the box, it’s full of pictures. There must be hundreds, and they’re all of Dad. I tip the lot onto the floor and spread them out with my hands. Abi appears at the door.
‘What are you doing?’ she says, a look of concern on her face. Likely assuming Mum and I are having another argument and that things are about to kick off.
‘Just looking at old pictures. Come in,’ I say. A smile creeps over her face and she skips over and kneels next to me.
‘Is that Dad?’ she says, pointing at a picture. I buckle at how little she remembers him. No matter how my relationship improves with Mum, it will always be my job to tell Abi about Dad.
‘Yes. This was the day Dad got his new car. He was so proud of it, look at him, that grin is huge.’ Mum says nothing, I don’t let it bother me. ‘And this one, your first birthday, Abs. Oh look, Dad’s card that he made you. He’s showing it to you, see? It was the first time you said doggie, do you remember? He drew a dog on it.’
‘Doggie,’ Abi says in a baby voice, making me and Mum laugh.
‘Oh my God, I’d forgotten about this. That’s the first lobster he caught in his lobster pot. He’d go out on his little boat and collect our dinner. We’d have crabs and prawns.’ I keep looking at the pictures, Mum’s feet in my periphery. They turn, as if to leave, then turn back.
‘He was a good fisherman too,’ she says, sitting down on the floor next to me. ‘Look, this is the day he caught that giant seabass. It was so big he made it into the Guernsey Globe; he was chuffed to bits.’
I smile at Mum. She smiles at me. Abi watches us both, and then goes ahead and proves that she is more grown-up than either of us put together. ‘I’m going to go to my room, so you two can be together. Maybe you can show me the photos another time?’ Mum and I both nod as Abi disappears. Mum puts her hand on my leg and I stare at it, fighting my reflexes to push it away.
‘He was a big part of my life too, Flo. It didn’t end the way anyone wanted, but that doesn’t mean thinking about the good times isn’t very painful for me.’
I have so many ‘buts’. I don’t know if I really believe her. But, this is Mum showing a hint of sensitivity towards Dad, and so seeing as it’s one of the first times I’ve seen this happen since he died, I think better than to question it. We sit on the floor looking at pictures, telling stories about Dad, for another hour and a half. It’s the nicest time I have ever had with my mother.
‘What about I go grab a bottle of wine?’ she says, getting up. ‘I could sit here all night doing this, a drink would be nice. Oh, my knees.’
‘No, Mum, please don’t,’ I say, knowing that if I drink, this won’t end well. ‘Mum, I’m going to stop drinking. Actually, more like, I think I have to stop drinking.’ Deep breath. ‘Mum, I think I’m an alcoholic.’
‘An alcoholic, at twenty-two; oh, get over yourself, Flo.’ I had expected that reaction. She won’t be the first to have it.
‘Mum, I’m serious. Our dinner with Abi, the whole ham sandwich thing, that’s what I do when I drink. It’s not OK.’
‘We all act like that when we’re drunk. You don’t just label yourself a damn alcoholic.’ This is about her, and the fear that one of her friends will hear about it and judge me, judge her.
‘Well, Mum, I’m trying to be honest with myself about something and I think I’ve realised that I have a problem with alcohol. I do crazy stuff. Sexual stuff that I don’t want, I’ve drunk at work. It’s bad, and I know it is.’ She huffs, quite loudly. ‘Look, Mum, all I’m saying is I’m going to give up drinking, for Christ’s sake. To make me happier, to make my life better. I’m sorry if that’s such a problem for you.’ I might as well have had the wine. We ended up here anyway. Some of my tears fall onto a picture of Dad. I wipe them off gently with my sleeve.
‘Oh look, there it is,’ Mum says, sitting back down. She pushes a few pictures around and reveals the one of the day Dad hid the spider in my food. ‘Look, love, here it is.’
It’s as good as I remember. I laugh, then push it into my chest and cry. Eventually, Mum’s hand reaches out and lands on my knee. ‘You know, I have a couple of friends who are in AA, they meet every Thursday in a room at the hospital. I could drive you there if you want?’
‘Yes. Yes, please, I think that would be good.’
21
Renée
I’ve missed Ben. I’ve missed him so much. To be so close to him in that car, on that boat, and not be able to touch him was torture. We were all dumbstruck. All so numb. I wonder if he’s been at work this week or if he’s been off like us. I know what I have to do, but until the words are said, until we’ve told each other it’s over, it’s not over. But it will be. He loves his wife, I heard him say it.
It’s weird being back at my desk. Everything is the same, but different. A new energy is in the office, in the world. Since the attacks, life has been slower. Pubs quieter. Roads less busy. Like everyone just needs a minute. Chloe and Georgina come to reception to see me. They seem different now too, softer. Like we’re a team, not like it’s them versus me, the temp on reception.
‘Are you OK?’ Chloe asks. ‘We were so worried about you. Honestly, it must have been so frightening to be in London with all that going on, I hear they deployed an extra thousand police officers.’
‘Yeah, it was pretty scary. Kept looking up to the sky expecting to see a plane.’
‘Makes you realise how lucky we are to be here in lil’ ole Guernsey, doesn’t it?’ Georgina says. ‘If you forget about the whole Germans taking over the island for five years thing.’ She rests her head on Chloe’s shoulder, which Chloe doesn’t seem to mind. We all stare and contemplate for a few seconds.
‘We’re here for you if you need us, OK?’ Chloe says. All of her harshness evaporating. A new, softer version poking through. She looks happier. I hear the lift doors open, please let it be Ben. Please, please. It is. Chloe and Georgina go back to their desks. Ben walks straight over to me; he looks exhausted.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask him, standing up and walking around the reception desk. ‘I think the fact that we were in a traumatic situation together means we have the right to hug.’ I put my arms around him, and hug him the way a friend would. Something has changed. The usual energy between us, I can’t feel it.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks.
‘I’m good. Thanks for the week off. I mean, nothing even happened to us, but it was still awful.’
‘The entire world is traumatised. This, on top of our individual traumas. It raised a lot of things for a lot of people. I’m glad you’re OK.’
‘I am Ben. But can we talk?’
‘Yes, we will, I promise. I need to get to my desk now, though. But we will. I’m so glad you’re OK.’
I sit back down. Does that mean I have to wait for him to suggest a time, or can I suggest a time? God, affairs are complicated; ending them is even harder. Matt appears at my desk.
‘Hello,’ he says, hovering over me.
‘Hello Matt.’ I try not to look at him in a way that would give any sort of encouragement. ‘Do you need to make a booking?’
He looks awkward. ‘Renée, did I do something to upset you?’ he says, softly. Like a real person. With feelings. That are hurt.
‘No, of course not,’ I say, feeling terrible and acting like I have no idea what he is talking about. That everything is fine. And that I didn’t make a very deliberate decision to ignore him and make him feel small and insignificant.
