The Boy Who Taught The Beekeeper To Read - Plot & Excerpts
Kay was turning a face flannel over and over between her hands, quite pointlessly. ‘Dying. Do you mean about dying?’ ‘That. Yes.’ They were silent, contemplating it, the truth sinking in at last with the speaking of the word. In the room across the landing their mother was dying. ‘I really meant Father.’ Naturally they had always seemed happy. Theirs had been the closest of families for thirty-seven years, Raymond and Elinor, Nita and Kay the two little girls. People used to point them out: ‘The happy family.’ So they had taken it for granted that he loved her, as they loved her, fiercely and full of pride in her charm and her warmth and her skill, loved her more than they loved him, if they had ever had to choose. Not that they did not love their father. But he was a man, and that itself set him outside their magic ring. They simply did not know him. Not as they knew one another, and knew her. ‘But not this.’ Not this desperate, choking, terrified devotion, this anguish by her bed, this distraught clinging.
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