Free Tell it to the Bees by Fiona Shaw Page A

true,’ Lydia said. ‘I heard it all from Robert before I ever met Pam. And how her husband died in the first year of the war with Annie not even out of nappies.’
    â€˜Course it’s true,’ Dot said. ‘Course it bloody is. We’ve all heard about her sacred Dennis. That’s not the point.’
    â€˜You mustn’t speak ill of the dead,’ Lydia said, but there was a half-smile on her lips. ‘It’s just easier if I keep away from her as best I can,’ she said, fingers on her tray, ready to leave.
    â€˜What I mean is, all that’s nothing to do with you. You didn’t even live here then. You don’t even come from this town …’
    â€˜Which is something else she holds against me,’ Lydia said. ‘Thinks I’m stuck up. She thinks Robert should have married a local girl.’
    â€˜Once her Dennis was gone to the happy hunting ground she’d have married Robert herself if she could,’ Dot said.
    â€˜Dot!’ Lydia’s exclamation brought looks from other tables, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘You can’t say things like that,’ she said from between her fingers.
    â€˜That’s why she hates you,’ Dot said slowly. ‘She’s jealous. She did all the hard work, brought him up, and then just when she’s lost her husband, you waltzed in and stole Robert from her.’
    â€˜And had Robert’s son,’ Lydia said. ‘She hates Charlie nearly as much as she hates me.’
    â€˜So come on,’ Dot said. ‘You can’t change any of that. Forget your sorrows for a couple of hours.’
    â€˜I’ve got my book to forget in.’
    â€˜It used to be you suggesting it. Remember? Last-minuteLydia. Remember them calling you that? We’d get to four o’clock on a Friday, or a Tuesday even, and it’d be you saying let’s go dancing, or get a picnic up, or you’d have some mad thought because there was a full moon and we’d go off and do it and have a laugh.’
    Lydia smiled.
    â€˜Come dancing tonight. It’ll do you good. Besides, a dancer like you, you might get lucky. There’s some lovely men on a Friday night.’
    â€˜I’m married. With a son.’
    â€˜I was joking, mostly,’ Dot said. ‘But with Robert and all. You need to look out for yourself.’
    â€˜And Charlie.’
    â€˜You don’t look out for yourself, you can’t look out for him.’
    Lydia stood up. ‘I need a bit of time,’ she said, picking up her book, and Dot patted her arm by way of understanding, though whether it was understanding about the dancing, or about her wanting to read her book in the lunch hour, Lydia didn’t know.
    Robert was already home when Lydia came in from work. On the table were his shoes, dull with fresh polish. She heard his voice beyond the kitchen. He was in the bathroom, humming a tune from way back when.
    A different time in our lives, she thought, and the smile in remembering was chased across her face by sadness.
    As she started to prepare for supper, busy with pans and groceries, Charlie’s breakfast plate and cup in the sink reminded her that he was late today because of the bees, and she stopped in her busyness a minute with thinking.
    It was odd, Robert being home so early. She wondered about it. His spirits sounded high. She began on the washing, lifting clothes from the horse, folding and smoothing.
    â€˜
… She is watching and longing and waiting
    Where the long white roadway lies.’
    He had a lovely voice. He used to sing a lot. It was the song he sang to her the day his leave was over and they stood on the platform in a throng of uniforms.
    â€˜
And a song stirs in the silence,
    As the wind in the boughs above …’
    They were close up against one another, like all the other sweethearts, and he had one hand on her belly with its tiny comma of life swimming in there, and