Chapter 35
GOLDENWYCH, PRESENT DAY
The bees were preparing for winter. Caitlin used a soft brush to sweep away the tiny bodies of the remaining male bees as they died, their lives complete, their time over.
In the past few days, the temperature had dropped and, recognising the signs, Caitlin knew her bees were beginning to cluster in the brood box.
They did not hibernate, instead the colony formed a ball around the queen, using their combined body heat to keep her warm and safe.
Caitlin remembered her mother saying, ‘A cold bee is a dead bee,’ when she had first begun helping with the hives.
‘What do you mean?’ Caitlin had asked.
‘Bees are cold-blooded,’ Miranda had explained, ‘they have no ability to control their internal body temperature and are entirely dependent on the air around them. They survive the cold by clustering together and sharing warmth. To help them, I put extra honey in the hive for them to eat, make sure there’s always water nearby so they can use it to dilute the honey and feed themselves.
When they’ve clustered, I wish them goodnight and Merry Christmas and promise to see them in the spring with all the family news, then I close the hives and leave them in peace. ’
When Caitlin had checked the hives a few days earlier, she had seen signs of clustering.
Today, she planned to add extra honey to ensure the safety of the swarm through the cold weather before closing the hives for the winter.
Her beekeeping suit was good protection against both the few drowsy insects who buzzed around her as she worked and the chilly wind creeping down from the north.
The bitter snap was the first real taste of cold showing that they were over halfway through autumn and winter was waiting to steal across the land.
Caitlin checked the frames were straight and there were no holes in the supers that might cause a draught.
It was delicate work but her years of experience meant she could allow her mind to wander as she ran through her list of tasks.
As she finished the first hive, she thought about the rehearsal the previous evening.
Despite her father’s continuing anger towards her, she had decided to show she was willing and had learned her lines, as well as the songs she had been allocated.
She had attended every rehearsal. However, despite her best intentions, whenever she stood on the stage, the words flew from her mind and panic overwhelmed her.
On the few occasions her scenes as Cordelia had been rehearsed, her father had gazed at her with disappointment, refusing to acknowledge either her valiant attempts to please him or the obvious distress this caused his youngest child.
Gillian, Rachel, Alan and Pete were all in regular attendance, too.
Alan had thrown himself into the production with enthusiasm.
His natural friendliness, combined with his ability to organise people and situations in an unobtrusive manner, helped to calm numerous heated discussions or potential tantrums. Gillian was thawing towards the idea; Rachel had learned her lines but delivered them with a teenage huffiness that made Caitlin smile. Pete was struggling.
The previous evening had begun with Judy working with the chorus on a dance number in Act One, Scene Four.
It came after Goneril had insulted her father, saying she would no longer tolerate his riotous knights destroying her home.
The argument took the form of a duet to the tune of Perry Como’s hit ‘Papa Loves Mambo’.
Larry had rewritten Shakespeare’s words, with a few variations of his own, even managing to squeeze the words, ‘How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is, to have a thankless child’ to the rhythm of the song.
When the duet finished, Lear and his entourage performed a spirited routine based on a cha-cha.
This ended with the chorus, led by Lear, conga-ing off stage as the king declared he was going to stay with Regan instead.
Among the chorus were Suki, Kayleigh, Gail, Vicki and her partner Ted, Caitlin’s aunt and uncle, Primrose and Dale, and Martha the florist.
Caitlin had watched from the auditorium, biting her cheeks in order not to laugh, half-looking for Lee, even though she knew he was on call and might be late. As the routine ended, Larry, in his role as director, had stepped away, clapping his hands for attention.
‘Well done, everyone,’ he had called. ‘The chorus scurries off stage left – not chased by a bear – leaving Regan and Cornwall on stage. Then, George, you and I, with our entourage of knights, enter stage right at the head of the conga line to take up residence with Rachel – I mean, Regan.’
As Larry had given his instructions, he and George had climbed the stairs at the front of the stage, taking their positions.
Larry’s voice had suddenly taken on an edge of frustration.
‘Why do you have your script, Pete?’ he had shouted.
‘You should know your part by now.’ His irritation had been palpable as he turned to the rest of the Players.
‘There should be no more need for scripts. After today, no scripts will be admitted to rehearsal.’
Pete had flushed with anger as he had snapped back, ‘We’ve only had the complete scripts for a week. I’m running my own business, helping with your haulage company and looking after my family. I don’t have time to learn this nonsense as well.’
Larry’s eyes had blazed with fury. ‘Nonsense? You dare—’
Rachel had stepped between them, trying to defuse the situation. ‘Pete didn’t mean it, Dad. Did you, Pete?’
Pete had looked even angrier and Larry had stalked towards his son-in-law in a menacing manner, when Alan had stepped between them.
‘All artists are temperamental,’ he had exclaimed in a jovial voice. ‘Let’s take it from the top, shall we? Larry, your first line is: “Good morrow to you…” No, my mistake, sorry, that’s the original. Your new line is: “Hail, daughter, my beauty and grace, was I ever glad to see your face.”’
Larry had taken his position, casting a furious glare at Rachel before beginning.
‘Hail, daughter, my beauty and grace, was I ever glad to see your face. Your sister, the vulture, I’ve left behind. To stay with you won’t be such a grind.’
‘But, Father, dear, what say you now? Are you suggesting my sister’s a…’ She left a beat before continuing, ‘Not treating you with the love and devotion you crave?’
Alan had continued to mediate and as Caitlin considered the rest of the evening, which had passed without further mishap, she realised it was because Alan had taken over the directorial role.
The slow buzz of the bees drew her attention back to the hives and, with her checks complete, she replaced the lids.
‘Sleep well, my darlings,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll keep you updated on family news.’
Caitlin blew a kiss to each hive, before gathering her tools and walking back up the garden. She glanced at the spring as she passed but no ethereal figure hovered and she was relieved. The dream of the Three Sisters the previous evening had given her enough to consider.
Love, she thought, as she opened the back door and entered her kitchen, the sisters claim it’s always the answer. Where has the love in our family gone?
Caitlin had woken from the dream feeling a mixture of emotions, horrified by the idea of one person bearing the pain of every broken heart in eternity, joy for the sisters and a deep sadness to have reached the end of the story, for she knew in her heart she would never see the sisters again.
Was this part of the curse she had heard during her trip to the Everywhen?
The three women and their Arthurian-esque tale were strangers to her, they were not the Goneril, Regan and Cordelia she had seen in her visions.
Shadows, a voice whispered in her mind. A different path, different choices, the shadow daughters. We must all come together. The third is the fourth, she has the power, the Charmed One.
Caitlin shook her head, ever since she had drunk the henbane tea these strange whispers appeared in her consciousness when she least expected it. Was it Cordelia? No, she thought, it’s impossible, if she was ever real she was alive thousands of years ago, how could she whisper to me across time?
How did you travel to the Iron Age? came the whisper. Trust your intuition, the Everywhen is a path to the truth.
Her phone rang, Lee’s name and picture flashing up.
It was the day Lee was officially moving into the former King family home.
Although he had collected the keys a few weeks earlier, he had hired a team of builders to make alterations, including updating the bathrooms and painting the interior.
Caitlin had offered to help him settle into his new home, feeling she should reciprocate after he had stepped in when Stan had let her down.
‘The sofa, armchairs and other large pieces of furniture have been in storage and are being delivered at lunchtime,’ he had said. ‘You could come over once they’re in and help me arrange them or, if they’re already in place, have a cup of tea, if it won’t feel too odd.’
She had been grateful for his thoughtfulness but she had promised herself she would treat Lee’s purchase of their old home as a new beginning for them all.
‘Let me know when you’re ready for me,’ she had replied with determined cheerfulness.
‘Hey, Woody,’ she said now, glad of the distraction from her confusing thoughts about the past. ‘How’s the move going?’
‘All fine, the furniture’s arrived and in place,’ he said but he sounded nervous. ‘Are you able to come over?’
‘Yes, of course. What’s the matter?’ she asked.
‘I’ve found something of your dad’s and…’ He hesitated. ‘It would be better if I showed you.’
Disconcerted, Caitlin began peeling off her beekeeping suit as she spoke. ‘Ten minutes?’ she asked.
‘Perfect,’ he replied and she could hear relief in his voice.
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