Seed by Lisa Heathfield Page B

and hold them, smoking, into it. Then Ruby pulls Ellis toward us.
    “Watch,” I say to him as I reach for the first wooden frame. I pull it up and it’s heavy with bees. Their noise immediately fills the air. Thick, solid buzzing pushing right inside me. I look at Ellis, but it’s difficult to see his eyes. Have they got into him, the way they have in me?
    I hold the frame and watch their black and orange streaks.Today they sound annoyed; they didn’t want to be disturbed. But I want Ellis to see them properly. I move the frame toward him, but he steps back quickly. Ruby shakes her head and laughs at him, and then carefully places her bare hand on top of the bees.
    “See,” I tell him. “They don’t sting.”
    “How does she do that?” he asks, his voice muffled.
    “You can do it too,” I say.
    “It’s all right, thanks,” Ellis says. “I’m fine right here.”
    Gently, I knock the frame against the hive until the bees fall off. Some fly around Ellis, and he stands still as a rock.
    “You can do it next time,” I suggest.
    “There won’t be a next time,” Ellis mumbles.
    When we’ve gathered enough frames, we walk back to the bee shed. Ellis keeps his hat on until he’s safely inside. His hair is sticky with sweat.
    “Can I go and play with Sophie?” Ruby asks.
    “Of course,” I tell her and she runs from the shed, the door closing behind her, shutting the heat in.
    I scrape the top layer of honeycomb from the frames and slot them into the machine to spin them.
    “You won’t be frightened of this too?” I turn to Ellis.
    “I don’t like bees,” he says. “It’s no big deal.” He watches me as I turn the handle faster and faster and the honey begins to drip into the glass jar below.
    “That’s pretty cool, though,” he says.
    Slowly, the jar fills. The flow of honey stems to a drip, so I reach for a lid on the shelf behind me and screw it on tight. When I hold the jar up to the window, the sunlight catches on it. I know that Ellis is impressed and I beam at him.
    “Can I try some?” he asks.
    “Of course not,” I reply. “You haven’t got the drops, have you?”
    “What drops?”
    “For the honey,” I say. Ellis is looking at me, as though he doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he’s never had honey before. Maybe he doesn’t know.
    “You can’t eat the honey like this,” I explain. “If you do, the eggs will hatch inside you and bees will fill your stomach.” Ellis looks shocked. So he didn’t know. “They crawl up your breathing pipes. They sting you on the way up, and they sting inside your mouth before they swarm out.”
    “That’s not true,” Ellis says. His face is blank. He’s just staring at me.
    “The people on the Outside have the drops,” I carry on. “They put it in the honey and it kills the eggs. But we can’t use them because we know that they’re poisonous.”
    “The drops?”
    “Yes.”
    “It’s a lie, Pearl,” Ellis says. His eyes suddenly look angry. “There’s no such thing as the drops. It’s rubbish.”
    “You just don’t know about them,” I say. “Have you never tasted honey?”
    “Of course I have.” He laughs, but it’s a nasty sound. And I don’t want it here. I have never felt anything but happiness in the bee shed. “Many times. Without any stupid drops.” Ellis reaches over and takes the jar from me. “Watch.”
    Roughly, he unscrews the lid. Before I can stop him, he dips his finger into the honey and puts it, dripping, into his mouth. My stomach clenches.
    “See?” Ellis says. “It’s delicious. And not an egg in sight. Here.” He puts his finger into the jar again. The honey is thick on his skin and he lifts it toward my lips. “Try it.”
    I step away from him, my back against the wood of the shed wall. “Stop it,” I say, looking out of the window. I don’t think there’s anyone watching us.
    Suddenly, Ellis hunches over. He’s clutching his stomach and moaning. I want to go to him, but I dare not. A