Free Humble Boy by Charlotte Jones

ages.
    Felix    How could you do this? How could you do this to my father?
    Rosie    There’s no need for all this.
    Flora    James knew about it.
    George    What?
    Flora    I told him about George. I told your father that I loved him but that he wasn’t enough. He accepted that fact.
    George    You told James? About me. You’ve never told me that –
    Flora    It didn’t concern you.
    George    I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.
    Felix starts to laugh.
    Felix    Bravo, Mother. What a tactician!
    Flora    Your father was generous to a fault.
    George    ( working it out ) But if he knew – and I didn’t know that he knew – and he knew that I didn’t know that he knew – that … that gave him more power than me.
    Flora    It wasn’t a question of power. It was a question of balance.
    George    Well. This doesn’t change anything now. It doesn’t make any difference to how things are now.
    Felix    Are you sure of that, George?
    Flora    You are desperate to turn this into a tragedy, Felix, but you will not be able to.
    Felix    My father fell down dead in this garden. And you were upstairs waiting for your new nose to recapture your lost youth so that you could go off and shag Biggles here –
    George    Watch it –
    Felix    – and all the while my father was dying. His heart was giving up on him. His heart was bursting.
    Flora    No. That is incorrect. His heart was not bursting. He did not die of a heart attack.
    George    Oh yes, boyo, you just wait for this.
    Felix    ( wrong-footed ) What do you mean?
    Mercy    ( a warning ) Flora.
    Flora    Give me a cigarette, George.
    George    You don’t smoke.
    Flora    No, well, I am branching out.
    George gives her a cigarette and lights it for her.
    Felix    What is she saying?
    Mercy    Don’t, Flora.
    Felix    Jesus! What?
    Flora    No, he’s asked for this.
    Felix    What did you do to him? Dear God, did the pair of you – what did you do to him?
    Flora    Not me, darling. Not me and George, although that would have made sense, I grant you. No, it was his bees. James Humble was killed by his beloved bees.
    Mercy    It was a tragedy.
    Flora    No. It was not a tragedy. Sad and pathetic and shockingly stupid, ironic, funny even, yes comical, hilarious, but not a tragedy.
    Felix    I don’t –
    Flora    Anaphylactic shock. He was allergic to the bee-sting.
    Felix    Don’t be ridiculous. He kept b–bees for years.
    Rosie    You can develop it over time, without knowing.
    Flora    Thank you, Rosie, if we want a little Nurse Pye nugget, we’ll ask for it.
    Felix    What are you saying?
    Flora    He knew, but he couldn’t give it up. May that be a lesson to you about the dangers of obsessive behaviour.
    Felix    What? I don’t b–b–b–believe my –
    Flora    If it’s any consolation, the bee died as well. I found your father on the lawn, with the bee close beside him. Neither of them was moving but I squashed the bee underfoot anyway. There is something deeply satisfying about the crunch of a dead bee.
    Felix    I don’t want to hear this –
    Flora    Your father always said to me that, when it was time to go, that there was no debate to be had. He said that bees have a finite number of wingbeats and once they are used up, the bees just fall from the sky. In the same way we have a finite number of heartbeats. I doubt whether he would have been satisfied with his quota. But no doubt the bee had a case for grievance as well … So there. (