And I was aware of the baby above me, crowding against the walls. I didn’t want to look. “Ah, there you are,” said the queen. “It’s so exciting. He’s almost ready. Look!” Reluctantly I looked. Somehow the baby had turned in its nest and was upside down, bum near the ceiling and its bald head closest to me. The moment I saw its face, the chicken coop smell disappeared and a beautiful fragrance filled the nest: Theo’s head after his bath, a smell so intense, you wanted to kiss that head again and again. “You’re doing something,” I said to the queen. “Changing the smells. Something to do with pheromones.” “Pheromones! That’s a big word. Well done. Who’s been telling you about pheromones?” “Vanessa.” Immediately I regretted saying her name. I didn’t like the wasps knowing about people in my life. “She’s a clever one. But we all produce pheromones. How do you know they’re not your own? Triggered by the baby, telling you to love him and care for him.”
