The Death of Bees (25 page)

“Then how about I kill this guy,” says Mick.

“I don't care,” she says.

Robert T. Macdonald seemed pained. He starts to moan. Mick takes the gun and places it on his temple. He pulls on the trigger.

“Don't,” says Marnie. “It's over there in the black tool bag.”

Robert T. Macdonald blanked at her, he seemed confused, as I myself was. Why didn't she want him dead?

The ice cream vendor wandered over to the bag, all the while waving a gun at Marnie and Robert T. Macdonald.

The ice cream vendor opened the bag.

“My fucking money,” he exclaimed. “How long have you had this bag, you little bitch?”

“Found it in the toolshed after you left,” she says.

“Sure you did,” he says.

He stopped waving the gun then and knelt to count his cash.

“It's all there.” He smiled.

Marnie looked dejected while Robert T. Macdonald looked red and raging.

Mick sits next to Marnie.

“You know, Marnie, I didn't mean to be so hard on you back then.”

He takes the gun and strokes her legs with it.

“What say you and me go upstairs and hang out for a while? Grandpa's not going anywhere. What do you think?”

Marnie smiles and follows him upstairs. I hide under the bed.

Marnie

I
don't know what to do and so I give up the cash. I don't want to be around any more dead bodies and so I let Robert T. Macdonald live. Mick wants to fuck me and so I let him take me upstairs. I knew Nelly was there and hoped to God she wouldn't see. I hoped he'd take pity on us and give us a few pounds anyway, if only to get away from R. T. Macdonald.

I forget what it's like to be with Mick. He orders me to take off my clothes and starts taking off his own. He makes me lie on the bed. He thinks this is romantic. He tells me to spread my legs and kneels on the bottom of the bed. He flexes his muscles, he always flexed his muscles. He makes me think of Kirkland and I think I'm going to cry, but then Nelly shows up and smacks him on the head with a poker and he falls on top of me. I quickly crawl to the top of the bed.

“Gimme my clothes.” She gathers them from the floor. I find an item of his clothing mixed up with mine and throw it away. I can't stop crying.

“Stop looking at me,” I tell Nelly. She's seen me naked a thousand times but this was different. I felt ashamed.

She turns away and looks to Mick's body. He's still breathing. She gives him a kick in the stomach.

“For my sister,” she spits.

“Thanks,” I say.

“We'll lock him in here,” she says, remembering Robert T. Macdonald has an outside lock on my door.

I grab for my money and we head downstairs.

Nelly

T
he ice cream vendor is quick to wake and is banging with a vengeance on Marnie's bedroom door. She tightens Robert T. Macdonald's rope and leaves the gun in the kitchen.

“I could have had Mick kill you but I didn't. Remember that about me.”

She produces pictures. His pictures. Pictures of Izzy mostly.

“I'm taking a few of these with me. They're half mine anyway and I'll be keeping the wedding picture of you and my grandmother. You don't deserve to own it.”

She shoves the pictures in her rucksack.

“I'm sure you have things to say but since I don't care what those things might be I guess you're going to have to listen to what I have to say. Lennie didn't murder Izzy and Gene. Izzy suffocated Gene with a cushion and then hanged herself in the shed. She committed suicide. It was Nelly and I who buried them in the garden, we didn't want to go into care and so we hid them. It had nothing to do with Lennie, not in the beginning. He found out what we did much later and when we weren't looking he moved their bodies under his rosebushes. He was trying to save us. You ever had a friend like that?”

She stands to leave.

“It's small consolation but if Izzy hadn't killed herself I know she'd have welcomed you into her arms. She was weak like that.”

When we have gathered all our belongings it is time to leave. It feels wrong to simply walk away.

“Toodle-oo, Gramps,” I tell him and put a lead on the dog.

He moans behind the tape. He struggles with the rope, he tries to scream, but it is too late, the door is closed and we are on our way.

Marnie

I
t's a long journey to Firemore, especially with a dog, but when we get to the cottage we find Lennie's car in the driveway and a tall dark stranger we know to be Vlado.

How we welcomed the safety of his arms and how he welcomed the children of Lennie who wanted nothing more than to be held and cared for by the sea.

Later we slide rocks across the waters, bouncing them as far as we can throw. We eat fish and bread. We read books and watch a video about the queen of England. We sleep long and rise to sunshine and salt.

Over dinner I can see Vlado seeks a different kind of solace by the sea and the next morning I watch him race to the water until he is as far as a star and facing his own skies.

There is much to let go of in our hearts and, overwhelmed, Nelly and I also run to the water's edge and do not stop running until we have collected all of our griefs and secrets and sunk them far beneath the ocean. When I take my sister back to dry land we are wet and holding hands. Vlado brings us towels and laughter, so much laughter. I hope to know it always.

Acknowledgments

So many people supported the writing of
The Death of Bees
and I will be forever grateful. Alex Christofi, my hardworking motivated agent at Conville and Walsh. The late John McGrath, who encouraged my voice and gave me confidence where there was none. Writer Sergio Casci, who read the first screenplay I ever wrote, placing me on a path that changed my life. Moonstone International 1999, where I was mentored by the finest of writers. The team at William Heinemann for their faith and enthusiasm. Michael Signorelli for his zealous commitment. Everyone at HarperCollins for their efficiency and support.

About the Author

Lisa O'Donnell
won the Orange Screenwriting Prize in 2000 for
The Wedding Gift
and, in the same year, was nominated for the Dennis Potter New Screenwriters Award. A native of Scotland, she is now a full-time writer and lives in Los Angeles with her two children.
The Death of Bees
is her first novel.

 

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Books by Lisa O'Donnell

Closed Doors

The Death of Bees

Credits

Cover design and illustration by Richard Ljoenes

Clip art elements from iStockphoto

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

THE DEATH OF BEES.
Copyright © 2013 by Lisa O'Donnell. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Originally published in Great Britain in 2012 by William Heinemann, an imprint of the Random House Group.

FIRST U.S. EDITION

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.

ISBN 978-0-06-220984-9
EPub Edition © JANUARY 2013 ISBN: 9780062209863

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