Free The Death of Bees by Lisa O'Donnell

like that, and I totally shat myself. Fortunately no one was around and I was able to replant the arm. I gave Lennie’s dog a well-earned kick up the arse for that. He gave a wee yelp and Lennie appeared from his kitchen holding a dish towel. I don’t think he saw.
    â€œAll right, Marnie?”
    â€œBobby’s digging at the lavender. Lennie, can you call him?”
    Despite a boot in the hole I find the little shit sniffing about the shed where Izzy is, but then Lennie calls him and he trots off. Disappears through Lennie’s French windows.
    â€œDinner at five, Marnie?”
    I nod, I love his dinners, but still, I might have to kill his dog.

Lennie
    I went to the school posing as Uncle Leonard. There I met some woman with bad teeth. Mrs. MacLeod. Lots of ethnic jewelry. Wood and turquoise all over the place. She wears that patchouli oil and smelled like a bloody church. She was all smiles of course and very keen to support the girls on their “educational journey.” The shite they talk in schools these days, it beggars belief. We discussed Nelly’s truancy of course, which I assured her wouldn’t happen again. She can’t be missing school. Absolutely not. School is the one thing these girls have got going for them. Anyway we agreed on one week of detention for Nelly, which I felt badly for afterward but if it keeps her in school then it has to be done. She’s also to report to this Mrs. MacLeod every morning. She won’t like that much, but what can you do? If she doesn’t stay in school it’ll be the Social Work Department turning up at the door wanting to know the reason why and not this Mrs. MacLeod. No one will want to talk to Uncle Leonard then, that’s for sure.
    We talked about Marnie next. She was especially keen in this respect. She even went to the trouble of showing me Marnie’s school work. All As and A pluses. Can’t say I wasn’t shocked. I haven’t seen the girl study once, come to think about it I’ve never seen her so much as hold a book, just that bony wee arse of hers running to catch buses or jumping into the back of an ice cream van. The teacher said Marnie has an attitude problem and I’m thinking who the bloody hell cares. With grades like that she can be an armed robber. I don’t know why the woman should give two hoots about the girl’s temperament, but it’s all very different in the schools today. Personality, cultural diversity, they even teach Gaelic, though I can’t see what bloody use they’ll have for it, not a great deal of Gaelic spoken in Scotland these days. They should be making them learn Spanish and French, German even, world languages, exciting them to participate in real causes, world causes, to confidently travel abroad and be able to ask for a bacon butty in Peru, but that’s Scotland for you, always waddling about in the muds of yesterday, a parliament prioritizing a language spoken in places without work opportunities, wee islands where they raise cows and marry their relatives. I don’t know. You can bring the horse to the water, Joseph, but you can’t make it drink. Anyway the teacher then asked where the parental scum are and I tell her they’re on holiday, then she wanted to know how I was related to the family and I told her I was the mother’s uncle through marriage, twice removed. She seemed to accept it. There was lots of smiling.
    It was an hour before she let me go, I had to sign something to say we’d had our “conference,” the “conference” being a meet and greet in a musty old classroom smelling of felt-tips. Did I mention they’re not using blackboards anymore? They use “whiteboards” now and they scribble on them with these big thick markers. Must cost a bloody fortune in pens.
    On my way out I got a chance to wander the corridors. School smells never change, do they? Disinfectant and gym shoes is the stink