Lying to those you love is like any other form of pain, after a while it becomes chronic. You get used to living with and around it simply because you have to.
A few weeks in Gemma has found some helpful workarounds such as: avoiding Agnes, her father, Hari, Isabella, and anyone else who might know her well enough to ask awkward questions. Instead she talks to the receptionist, to Peter Rabbit, to Rafik, to the cleaner, once or twice to Mrs Weston over the telephone, and to various people at her gym near home.
She stops going to the one near the office so she won't bump into Frank.
One person who's not asking awkward questions is Dylan, because he's still very much ghosting her. So whenever she's not worrying about losing Queen Bees she worries about losing him instead. Since the phone-borrowing incident Agnes won't talk about him, says it's best for both of them.
Conveniently, Agnes is still busy with Hari in the lab. They're working hard at her new bee venom concoctions, hoping to have them ready to hit the shelves for the French launch. None of this will ever see the light of day of course but hey, for the time being it keeps Agnes and Hari happy and out of Gemma's hair, so let them dream.
Gemma herself escapes into the company accounts. She pores over them for hours as one does over a spell-book, looking for the incantation, the secret potion for "paying for stuff you shouldn't have bought because you can't afford it". She's not come across the magic formula yet, but she's found about a tenth of the cost of the robotic warehouse hiding here and there, in late receivables not being chased and inventory that could be shifted faster.
It means that whenever she and Agnes go bankrupt, or they get bought out then sacked, at least the receivables will have been received and the inventories will be that little closer to just in time. Dylan was right about this too: it's not exactly a tight ship she's been running. But to this day it's always been a safe and happy one.
That ship's not quite lost, not yet. Rob's doing a sterling job stalling the sale of warrants. He's got so fed up with Gemma calling him every night to check, he calls her every day before he leaves the office, so she won't interfere with his extra-marital activities. She's also got him looking into raising more debt, though they both know they can never raise enough for a robotic warehouse. But doing something, however futile, gives them both a pleasant illusion of control over what remains a doomsday scenario.
As a result of this first-class stalling, Geoff's probably-fictional daughter is failing to recover from her definitely-fictional jet ski accident. Thus signing the deal is being pushed back at weekly intervals. Funny how no one's suggested they all fly to Barbados, or wherever Geoff is supposed to be, and sign there. Perhaps Gemma will suggest it, next time she has the misfortune to meet Frank in person, and see what fresh nonsense he comes up with. Who wouldn't he throw under a bus, jet-ski or out of a plane, for Montage's sake?
On the plus side, Frank must be keeping the French warehouse guys in the loop, because they've not pressed Queen Bees on delivery or payment dates yet, which is just as well.
The worst part of a month goes by in this unpleasant fashion, until one Saturday Gemma exits Peter Rabbit's car wearing her highest heels and Dylan's favourite dress. It's a little blue wraparound number that's perfect for her complexion, but unforgiving at the waist. Thankfully if there's one thing Gemma's not had to worry about of late, it's her weight. Guilt, fear and food aren't a good mix so she's largely been staying off the latter, and it's working wonders for her waistline.
Tonight Adrienne and Agnes have invited their friends to the foosball bar to celebrate their engagement. This will be Gemma's first chance to see Dylan – and to let him see her - since the ghosting started. She knows he's not going to make it easy for her but with this extra trim waist in this dress, with those heels and with a bit of luck and a lot of apologising, begging and grovelling, she just might…
x
Break her heart all over again, she realises when she sees him.
It's not like Agnes didn't try to warn her. She kept telling her not to get her hopes up, and dropping hints about asking Frank along. Hints as light and subtle as lead balloons.
As if.
"Darling, there you are!" Isabella says.
Lucky coincidence, or planned ambush? Gemma didn't even know her sister was coming tonight, that's how well she's done at avoiding people who know her too well. And Isabella's just darlinged her so yes, probably an ambush. And thank goodness for it, because Gemma's going to need all the help she can get tonight.
Dylan has put a lot of care in his appearance too, which for him is unusual. He's wearing her favourite jeans, a pair that's faded and soft and cut just right for his big frame. The very pair she last set eyes on as she chucked them onto his bedroom floor. Happy days.
Day, really. One night. Gone is the favourite time-travelling pink t-shirt, probably both shredded and burnt by now. Instead Dylan is wearing a stripy orange and black rugby shirt, a pair of bouncy antennae, and a matching girlfriend.
It's not fair. To say that the woman's a bombshell would be an insult to bombshells. Also, bombshells normally look and behave like they know they are bombshells, whereas this one has a sweet unselfconsciousness about her own gorgeousness that makes it even more gorgeous. She's stunning, but cute. In a bodycon dress she'd be gorgeous, in skinny jeans a rugby top and a pair of antennae she's simply adorable. Her skin is a touch darker than Dylan's, and there's a perfect little dimple on one of her cheeks. The top of her raven curly hair brushes into the side of his beard. They are holding hands, and wearing matching stuff, and close enough to each other that this perfect, lucky specimen of womanhood will be able to smell Dylan's lovely smell.
In hindsight waterproof mascara would have been a good call tonight. Why did Gemma have to go and use the fuller-lash one instead? Oh that's right, Dylan. She turns her back to him , the better to dab at her eyes before the stuff's all over her face.
"You're OK, Gem," Isabella is saying, "You're fine. It's going to be fine."
"No it's not."
"It is, because it's going to have to be, that's why I'm here."
Gemma is still shaking her head and dabbing at her eyes.
"Look, I know it's a bit of a shock but it's not Agnes' fault. Dylan made her promise not to tell you anything beforehand."
"Why?"
"I guess he's paying you back for when he got that photo … look I'm not saying it's grown up or anything but…"
"But it's fair enough, yes, I suppose it is," Gemma says bitterly, "Except that I never consented to that photo being taken let alone sent, and I wasn't around when he received it, whereas he and… well, people don't end up in matching bee-themed rugby shirts by accident, do they?"
"Life's not fair, Gemma, it is what it is, we both know that. The point is I'm here for you, OK? Don't get me wrong, I'm pleased for Agnes and Ade and everything, but tonight I'm here for you and everything is going to be fine, OK?"
She's giving Gemma the Dr Woodhouse pre-op chat, her voice and eyes steady and reassuring. Gemma nods, as she nodded at the foot of the Eiffel tower when Isa was telling her not to be scared. Except that time she wasn't scared at all and now she is. Terrified, in a primal don't-even-go-there way, like when she was little and Mrs Weston would walk in with the bath towel and the shampoo that made her eyes sting, even when she tried to keep them shut tight.
Now as then, she's going to have to open her eyes and face some serious stinging:
"Have you talked to them yet? What's she like?"
"Nice enough. Her name is Katiya, he calls her Kat, she's not as young as she looks, almost your age. She's a quant like him but she works on ESG indices, whatever that means."
Gemma's heart sinks:
"It means she's analysing companies' environmental and social credentials. Just about the only ethical job you can do and still earn a bankers' pay, she's… gosh, this is so unfair, Isa: this woman is the Queen Bee of money!"
Isa thinks about it for a bit. She doesn't look convinced:
"Hmm, either that or she's a good old fashioned queen bitch, I still can't be sure."
Predisposed though she is to hate Dylan's girlfriend, Gemma can't condone the use of that B-word. Besides:
"But you said she was nice?"
"She is but come on: they're laying it on a bit thick with the matching tops. I mean I can see why he'd want to rub it in your face – not saying it's grown up, but I can see where he's coming from. But her? Acting like she owns him on their third date together…"
"Their what?!"
"What?"
"Did you say third date?"
"Aha," Isabella says with a nod that's dismissive of dates in general, and Dylan's third date in particular.
"He's taken her on two dates, and now he's taking her on a third?"
"Aha."
"Isa, the man doesn't do dating! Look at him, he doesn't need to! Take my word for it: I'm not the only woman who's very willingly slept with him without being taken out to dinner first."
"Hey, he bought you enough coffees," Isabella says, then quickly adds: "Sorry, Sis, I'm sorry."
"I can't believe he's dating her. I mean, if he's going to date anyone I can see why it would be her but, what, is he going to go and marry her next?"
Aaaand: here's that mascara running again. A tissue materialises out of Isa's magic jumpsuit. Trust her to find eveningwear with pockets in it, stuff said pockets with tissues, and still look catwalk-stunning while handing them out.
"Look, Gemma" she is saying, "I don't like to be the one to tell you this, but Agnes couldn't, so here goes: Dylan might very well marry this Kat some day, yes. And as you point out, he could do a lot worse. As to you, you've had years to pounce on him if you'd wanted to, but you haven't. So if you've suddenly developed an interest in dating, well, he's not the only man around. Plenty more fish in the sea, and some of them hot and dead keen too, from what I hear."
"But…"
"No buts."
"But you're the one who's been telling me I should patch things up with Dylan!"
"And that's exactly what we're going to do. You and I. I've got your back and he's not blanking me out, I've checked. So we're going to go and talk to him, and you two are going to behave like grown-ups who care for each other in a healthy way. Like friends."
Isabella lets this sink in. Gemma, like many of her sister's patients before her, knows Dr Woodhouse is going to have her way in the end. But that doesn't mean she's got to like it. At least Isabella's patients get to sleep through the rest of the procedure. Gosh, wouldn't that be nice, yes: to go to sleep, and wake up to things being back the way they used to be, somehow…
"Gemma, come on now. You've been not his girlfriend forever. Sleeping with him wasn't a regret-free experience, from what I recall. So what's changed?"
As in: that big needle? Don't worry, I'm only shoving that in after I've knocked you out using this very slightly smaller one. Isabella's right though. She's going to have to do this at some point. And it's all her own stupid fault for driving Dylan away in the first place.
"OK…"
Isabella's already gone off ahead. Gemma follows, barely breathing, but grateful she's not doing this on her own.
x
"Hey guys!" Isabella waves at them from a few yards' distance. Dylan leans to say something into Katiya's ear while keeping his hand tight on hers, and his eyes on the Woodhouse sisters.
"Hi," Gemma manages when they get there. Dylan's looking at her the way he used to look at Hari, while Katiya looks the way you do when looking polite is a very much conscious effort.
Whilst also looking both gorgeous and cute, of course, and whilst being a brainbox too. Since the floor is stubbornly refusing to open up and swallow her, Gemma follows with:
"Katiya, is it?"
She nods.
"What a lovely name. I'm Gemma. Woodhouse. It's very nice to meet you."
Dylan's still giving her the kind of look they could use to freeze-dry space rations. Gemma's insides are withering by the second. Oh, but that the floor would open up!
"Isabella's my sister. Dylan and I were on she same grad-training programme together."
Katiya nods again with a very, extremely, a murderously polite smile.
"We were on our way to the bar, can we get you anything?" Isabella asks.
"Thanks, Isa, we're good. But thanks for the offer," Dylan says, markedly smiling at her.
Gemma feels herself pulled at the elbow, and they walk off.
x
"So that was brutal," Isabella says, pulling her in tighter.
"You think? I was going to go with humiliating," Gemma replies, wriggling herself free.
"That too, yes. Well we tried. Forget him: he's being a jerk, it's a good job he's moving away."
"What?"
"Moving away, to Switzerland. With the fund. You knew that, right?"
"What? I knew he might but…"
"Well he is, and apparently Queen Bitch happens to be getting a transfer there soon as well."
In summary: Dylan is moving away. With the Queen Bee of Money. How is Gemma supposed to live through this? How can the world still be spinning around, how can everyone go about their business of drinking and catching up and playing foosball, when she's losing Dylan forever?
Gemma closes her eyes to make it go away. It almost does, for a moment, but closing her eyes also makes it more difficult not to start crying, so she reopens them and when she does it's as if someone's turned the dimmer switch on life. Everything's muted, quiet. Well, that's gone and done it: Gemma is losing her mind.
"Ah, speeches," Isabella says.
x
Oh, so perhaps Gemma isn't going mad after all.
Shame. Losing her mind seemed like a pretty attractive option.
Adrienne, Agnes and some guy with a short greying beard are, with the staff's assistance, climbing on top the bar, the better to address the crowd. Agnes and Adrienne are wearing matching crowns, antennae and wing sets. Adrienne speaks first.
"Good evening everyone! My future spouse and myself wanted to thank you all for coming and celebrating with us tonight."
Whoop whoop, goes the crowd, and sad though she is not even Gemma can help clapping and smiling a poor, pathetic little smile.
"And we wanted to thank this guy, my bro," she says, holding the poor man's hand up in the air, "My actual brother, ladies and gentlemen: this is Hansi!"
Poor mortified Hansi gets a round of applause. He is in his very late thirties and looks like he really would rather be called Hans in public. Very much a younger sibling, Gemma thinks, who can relate to his predicament.
"Hansi has been kind enough to come and stay with us for the last two weeks, taking leave from his very important job back in Hamburg. Hansi is an accountant, people!"
People duly laugh, not least those in the crowd who are accountants too, or married to accountants, or both.
"But we love him, and he's been incredibly generous and so he's come with a gift for both of us. It's the most amazing gift that there is, friends, a gift no amount of money can buy. Hansi came to give us his sperm!"
The crowd, understandably, fall silent.
"So yes," Agnes takes over, "it's not been half awkward at times, living with straight porn in the bathroom. I mean, yuk, right? But I've watched queens being artificially inseminated and believe me, this was a lot less fiddly. We found ways to have fun with that baster in the end, didn't we Ade?"
Adrienne shakes her head but she's beaming, and the crowd is laughing again.
"And now, thanks to Hans, we have this!" Agnes says, brandishing a plastic stick, "This is the best lateral flow test I've had since I ruled out European Foul Brood in my rooftop hive in 2006."
No laughter this time. Poor Agnes must be nervous if she's bringing up EFB. But she recovers, brandishes the stick again and she and Ade shout:
"We're having Hansi's baby!"
There's whooping, and clapping, and chanting. And what's left of Gemma's mascara must be all over her face by now but it's nice to have an excuse to cry it all out. Isabella produces a clean tissue, and one for herself, and they look at each other and smile.
"It's amazing. Amazing news. She's going to be such a great Mum."
"They both will."
"I should go and congratulate them. Gosh this is good. This is good news."
"Let's go."
x
Isabella congratulates the brides and mothers to be, then Agnes and Gemma fall into each other's arms while Ade natters away to Hans in German and Isabella goes to queue for a drink.
"That's so amazing, Agnes, when did you find out?"
"Literally yesterday. We weren't planning on announcing anything today but we did, like, five tests. Passed all of them first time!"
"And you feel alright?"
"Touch wood, yes, I'm missing the fags something horrid though. Ade says it'll only be a couple of weeks but I'm missing nicotine, Gemma. Missing her big time."
"Are you allowed the gums or patches or something?"
"Naaah, this one's growing organic, thank you very much," Agnes says with a hand on her flatboard tummy, "I'll just have to breathe and do more yoga, Ade's got me in hand. Anyway how are you, girlfriend? Have you…"
A nod in the general direction of the matching rugby shirts completes the sentence. Gemma pinches her lips and shakes her head.
"Is he being a dickhead?"
"You could put it that way."
"Hey, I'm sorry I couldn't say anything to you before. I did try to warn you, and for the record Ade and I have both been telling him to play nice and make up with you before he goes. But I guess he's as stubborn as you are."
From the mouths of babes…
"Thanks anyway," Gemma says. "And for inviting Isa, she's been amazing."
"Best Mum ever, isn't she? Did she have tissues for you?"
Gemma smiles, and nods, and for the first time in her life asks herself who ever carried tissues for Isabella, other than Isabella. Who checked whether she'd be scared on the Eiffel Tower? Who had a quiet word with Mrs Weston about changing shampoos and keeping the shower's water off her face?
Searching the crowd for her sister, she sees that Hugo has arrived. They are talking to each other and Isa is smiling. This is costing them an evening's babysitting.
"But you're going to be OK, girlfriend. I know you are," Agnes says with a wink.
"Thanks."
"Hey, we'll all miss him."
"That's true,"
Well, apart from Kat, she won't have to. And the rest of them can go and visit, and vice versa. And text, and call…
"We all need a new start sometimes," Agnes says.
Gemma nods, though this feels a lot more like and ending than like a start:
"Well, what am I thinking? Hogging you, with all these people waiting to congratulate you? It's a great party, Agnes, and I'm so, so happy for you!"
They fall into another quick hug, then Gemma walks off in search of the next person to whom she owes an apology.
x
Martin is much harder to spot today, because neither he nor Hari have dressed up. In fact Gemma overlooks him a couple of times before she twigs that the orange and navy raglan sleeved tee is actually his. From the back she'd mistaken him for one of Ade's hipster yoga friends.
Hari reaches him before Gemma does, carrying his pint and her Gin & T. Gemma watches them for another moment. They look cautiously happy together. They remind her of the first time the two of them met here, probably because it's the only time she's ever seen them together and dressed sensibly.
She's wondering what nonsense they might be talking and how to approach them when she remembers the box of antennae on the bar. A minute ago Adrienne was trying to convince poor Hans to don a pair. By now a good third of the crowd are wearing them, which should make the thought of Dylan and Kat doing so less jarring, but doesn't.
By the time Gemma makes it back to the bar the box is almost empty. She walks off with two pairs then turns back and takes a third, and puts it on. It cannot but look utterly ridiculous on her, and that is precisely the point:
"Hi, Hari. Martin, it's so nice you were able to come."
"Hi," Martin says. She's forgotten how loud and deep his voice is, and how self-conscious he is about it.
"Hi boss, uh, you feeling OK?" Hari says, doubtfully eyeing her headgear.
"I am fine!" she lies, "Aren't those fabulous?" she lies again, and smiles and wags her head. Martin and Hari giggle, which was the idea.
"Saved you a pair each, go on!" she says, "It seemed a shame for you two not to be in some way coordinated tonight, of all nights."
While Martin is busy blushing Hari reaches for both pairs of antennae and hands him one:
"Do I look OK?" Hari asks Gemma.
"Why are you asking me? I'm no good at dressing up. Martin's your expert here, Hari, you'd better ask him."
Gemma watches Martin blush a little deeper, and gives him her best version of Dr Woodhouse's pre-op look. She watches on as Hari sets her large eyes on Martin and hears him say, or rather boom:
"You antennae are fine, Hari. You always look beautiful anyway."
Gemma's heart, what's left of it after Dylan's freeze dried it and then trampled on it, melts a little as she realises how hard it must be for a man to pay a woman a compliment in a voice that big. Hard to make it sound light, flirty, casual. Hard indeed not to blush.
"Oh thanks, Martin!" Hari cries, clapping her hands and then taking more time than necessary adjusting his antennae. "You look great too, now we can be Hutch and Aya!"
Martin swallows hard and shakes his head.
"Hutch the honeybee? Vintage Tatsunoko anime, wait," Hari says, already working the Google on her phone. She shows him a cartoon boy bee with red hair, and sometimes a bit of a red nose too. Bees with haircuts and noses: Agnes would have a fit. The cartoon girl bee is smaller – that at least is anatomically correct – and has a dark-blue-haired bob.
"You two could dress up as them, and Martin wouldn't even need a wig," Gemma says.
He blushes and Hari smiles as she sidles in closer to him:
"Yes! And I have a wig that blue at home!"
"I'll leave you two to plan it all," Gemma smiles, "But you should definitely take a selfie with your antennae on."
x
As she walks away Gemma can't help but look Dylan's way. Even from this distance he half withers her insides all over again, and she bumps into someone.
"This really has got to stop. People will talk," Frank says.
A Bee in her Bonnet is Copyright Mel Liffragh 2021, all rights reserved