A Bee in her Bonnet Chapter 15: The Sting, an emma fanfic

Once again Gemma finds herself standing well away from the hives on the rooftop of the Nelson Mandela Academy (A Grant-Maintained School, Established: 2003). Once again she is in the company of its Headteacher, who is extolling to Frank the many benefits beekeeping has brought over the year both to its brightest, and to its most challenging pupils:

"The main thing they take out of it," the Headmaster says, "is that regardless of background or academic abilities they all come to realise sooner or later that bees don't live their lives as individuals. The ancient Greeks were the first to describe the bee colony as the archetypical superorganism and that's how I like to think of the Nelson Mandela Academy too: a superorganism. A community," he says, with emphatic hand gestures, "working together to foster and support individual learning outcomes. Now this type of experience is particularly beneficial to our kinesthetic learners, of which…"

Frank is clearly more entertained than educated by this potted introduction to 21st century pedagogy. Sure, headteachers didn't take themselves half so seriously when she or Frank went to secondary. But back then school also wasn't half as much fun – or indeed use - for kids like Agnes. So perhaps Frank, for all of his elegant French nonchalance, would do well to not to dismiss "communities" of "kinesthetic learners" out of hand.

At the opposite end of the roof there are two first-time beekeepers in the apiary today. Vikas and Hari have both eagerly and, indeed, almost stylishly donned their pink Queen Bees-monogrammed boiler suits. Vikas is presently holding a frame while Hari, by the look of it, has just been told off for clapping her hands with glee: one does not clap around open beehives, no matter how gleeful one may feel.

Unfortunately for Gemma, Frank has gallantly offered to stay back with her. Gosh, it's a good job the sun is shining! Not only is this the first truly warm day of the year, capable as it turns out of bringing the beginning of a glow even to the still-shivering heart of one recently dumped by her bosom friend of twelve years, but it also provides Gemma with the perfect excuse to hide behind those marvellous oversized Tiffany's sunglasses Isabella bought her for her last birthday. This way only the bottom half of her face has to pretend that she doesn't want to tear out Frank's pretty, ever-laughing eyes.

She almost called him on Monday evening to give him what for, but Agnes talked her out of it and in hindsight Gemma's glad she didn't call him. Let him laugh, let him make fun of the hard working, enterprising and yes, wordy and comically frumpy Headteacher of the Nelson Mandela Academy. She won't be putting up with this for much longer now. Geoff will be back some time next week, Frank wasn't quite sure what day, but sooner or later Geoff will be back and this, too, shall pass. Aptly the Headteacher has switched to explaining how:

"… especially with the more challenging students, look at them, they just have to control themselves. They won't do it for their parents, they won't even do it for their friends. Trust me, it's their best friends they get into the worst fights with. And they certainly won't bottle it up for my sake," he laughs then, pointing at the hives: "but your Agnes and her bees? Now the kids have to control themselves around them, don't they, and it's a start. With positive reinforcement..."

Frank raises a hand in interruption as his trouser pocket buzzes, and he excuses himself to go and take a call out of earshot.

"Couldn't have wished for better weather," Gemma smiles at the Headteacher, this time with the whole of her face. She shuts her eyes and turns her face to the sun - it's OK, she put factor 50 on this morning. It's just warm enough and for a moment she manages to forget about throttling Frank.

When she reopens her eyes she sees Frank waving at Vikas, who walks over and soon the two of them are leaning over Frank's phone. One of them is wearing a navy suit sharp as the finest Italian razor blade, the other a baby pink boiler suit with a gold crown embroidered on the breast pocket. It must be a heated conversation, because Vikas unzips his netted hood and throws one sleeve off. He is looking flustered, wiping at his face and neck. Then she sees him swat at something and then Frank does the same and by the time Vikas shouts, or rather tries to shout, but lets out some weird pathetic wet gurgle instead, Gemma's already running towards them.

And shouting, something she's never done before. Never dreamt of doing either. Don't people say shouting's supposed to be cathartic? It only hurts her throat:

"AGNES! EPI-PEN! NOOOW!"

One of the least tight boilers suits at the other end of the roof hears her, takes a few long but calm steps towards her, dragging a no-longer clapping newbie by the elbow. She makes Hari twirl and brushes some bees off her, then sends her running to Vikas and Gemma, Epipen in hand.

Vikas is by now lying limp on the floor - that is, the roof - and, Gemma can't help but notice, for once in his blessed existence Frank is not looking quite so pleased with himself. His pretty blue eyes are wide with panic and he is… Gemma grabs the Epipen from Hari and surveys the scene: Frank is being worse than useless.

"Hari, kneel down by his head, gently raise him back against you til his head's above his heart, that's it, very slowly. Frank for goodness's sake help her, he's still breathing, right?"

Hari nods and the Headteacher offers to call 911, which she was about to ask him to do:

"Say anaphylaxis and tell them we've given him one adult Epipen. Ask if they want us to give him a child one too, we usually carry a couple."

The headmaster nods while dialling.

"Frank, open his bee-suit down below the knee. And look for the sting, we've got to remove the sting. Vikas, just keep breathing, mate, we've got you, alright? No no, don't try and do anything just breathe on nicely, there," then to Frank, "Yes that'll do."

"But his trousers,"

"Oh, shut up!" she says, pulling the yellow plastic cap off the Epipen case. She throws it away without a first let alone a second thought for littering or plastic pollution, slides the injector out of its case and places her thumb over the blue trigger.

So this is strange: Gemma is at the same time completely focused, yet also observing herself from on high, and coming up with the most absurd internal live commentary. Never has she ever screamed out before and she didn't like it: her throat is still sore from it. Never has she ever told anyone to shut up – that part felt good - or called anyone "mate" – who knew she could pull that off? Not that Vikas was in any position to answer back if he didn't like being called "mate". And never has she ever administered epinephrine in an emergency, but she's been trained to so with a deep breath and a firm stab into Vikas's thigh and a one Mississippi and a two Mississippis and a three Mississippis, it's done.

She stands back up, steps back and considers passing out for a moment, shuts her eyes until the dizziness passes, and reopens them. Vikas is breathing better, Hari is holding him propped up close against her chest. His head is lolling back against her shoulder and he's still trying to talk, but what comes out is more like a croaky wet rasp. These two are just so cute together.

"Vikas, Vikas shush it's alright, it's fine we'll talk about all of that later," Frank is saying, whilst frantically patting Vikas's head and neck. "I can't find the sting!" he yelps at Gemma.

"Just shut up then!" she snaps, and again enjoys watching him cower at her feet. "Not you, Vikas, you're fine, keep breathing there, shush though, let me."

They finally all stop talking and she hears it, a tiny angry buzz coming from inside the thrown back hood of Vikas' bee suit, which is half caught between him and Hari, and half sticking out under his limp armpit.

"Is that the bee?" Frank asks, pointing at the source of the buzz.

"Oh for crying out loud, Frank!"

Thankfully Agnes has arrived, and is already squatting down onto her haunches next to Vikas. Within another second she's squashed the offending insect, still inside the hood, between her nicotine-stained thumb and index finger.

"For fuck's sake if it's still alive after stinging him it's not a bee it's a fucking wasp, you fucking moron," she spits down at him while standing back up. And then, just in case he didn't get it:

"Une putain d'guepe, OK?"

Thankfully for Frank, paramedics start storming the roof before Agnes or Gemma can indulge in any more bilingual swearing. All but Hari pull back as two green-clad paramedics lift Vikas onto a stretcher. Gemma runs and gives the empty injector to one of them before they disappear down the stairs with Frank in tow.

"So that just happened," Gemma says for the second time in three days, then realises that Hari is now about ready to pass out too.

"Come on, if we run we'll catch Frank before he's got into a cab for the hospital."

Two hours later Gemma and Hari are standing – barely in Hari's case - outside the North Middlesex Hospital, and praying they don't get mugged while they wait for their cab to arrive. Agnes went straight from Nelson Mandela back to the office to field a follow up call with the buyers from Monoprix, and Gemma almost went with her rather than with Hari, but is now glad she didn't.

Hari is in considerably worse a state than that in which they've just left Vikas, who recovered nicely after some oxygen and a few more doses of antihistamines. His cab left five minutes ago, carrying him and his lovely boyfriend Patrick back to the flat they share in Battersea. Hari has not stopped sobbing since.

"Come on now, Hari, you'll be OK."

She's not even known him a month, for goodness's sake! Plus this is a clear-cut case of: it's not her, it's Vikas. Try losing a friend of 12 years not because he's not heterosexually inclined, but because he's convinced that you're a horrible person.

"You tried to tell me, boss, you tried to tell me he was gay, didn't you?"

If anything Gemma can remember protesting the exact opposite, but that does not matter right now:

"There's no point dwelling on the past, Hari. What's done is done, better you found out today than later. And I thought you were truly brave back there. Not like Frank. Thank goodness we had you around. Everyone said so."

Hari dabs her eyes, Gemma offers her some water and she finally stops crying.

"You going to be OK? Do you want to take the rest of the day off?"

"No, boss, we should go back and get through those figures for Friday."

"That's the spirit," Gemma says as their cab finally arrives, "There's nothing like a nice big spreadsheet to keep you from thinking of people you shouldn't think about."

She should know.

Hari nods and asks:

"Mind if I play Animal Crossing? It soothes me and I think the tarantulas are out."

Gemma nods and starts checking her emails. They get back to the office, walk straight back to their respective desks, dive straight back into their respective spreadsheets, and do not speak again until Hari pops by to bid Gemma good night on her way out:

"Thanks again, Hari. Gosh it's late, thanks for staying on. I called Montage earlier, they said Vikas is fine, and to thank you. You did a great job today. And I don't just mean with those wax numbers."

"Thanks, boss. And you were right about spreadsheets: it was nice to take my mind off Vikas."

"Good."

But also: what's the last time Gemma was wrong about spreadsheets, any spreadsheet?

"Oh and by the way," she asks, "did you catch what Vikas was going on about with Frank before the ambulance arrived? Was he asking after Patrick?"

"No, he wasn't," Hari says. She stops and pouts at the ceiling for a moment, then frowns hard, then says:

"I think he was talking about varans."

"Varans?"

Hari nods at the ceiling.

"He was going on about giant lizards?" says Gemma: "Gosh, he must have been quite delirious..."

"Oh, is that what varans are?" Hari says, almost smiling again: "He was saying they must get the varans, get the varans, why couldn't they buy the varans? Geoff was going to go off on one if they didn't get the varans by next week, they couldn't do the deal without the varans!"

"Geoff?" Gemma smiles. She's never met Montage's co-founder, but there's fun imagining a man her father's age on an exotic corporate governance break, surrounded by deckchairs, umbrellas, cocktails - and monitor lizards. And then, out of nowhere, or perhaps out of that little word "deal":

"Wait, Hari, could he have been talking about warrants?"

"Warrants? Oh yes!" Hari lets out one of her delightful, crystalline giggles, "Yes you're right, that's what they were: warrants! Yes that makes more sense!"

Gemma freezes, but Hari doesn't notice because she's back to frowning at the ceiling:

"What's a warrant?" she asks when she looks back down.

"Nothing, nothing at all, just … utter nonsense, really. Good night, Hari, get on home, I'll just stay a little longer. Good night."

"Good night, boss."

Gemma watches her walk out and close the door behind her, and then she drops her head into her hands, and starts crying like she's never cried before.

Une putain d'guepe = a fuckin' wasp