Two brood cycles later, on the rooftop of Queen Bees' offices
Gemma's overheating and her arms are aching, but she can't bear to put the frame down.
"She was here a minute ago, I swear I saw her!"
Agnes is standing with her arms crossed on the other side of the open hive. She shakes her head behind her netted hood.
"She's not walked onto this side, have another look."
Gemma scans the frame again, paying close attention to the edges, where the comb tapers into the wood of the frame, creating the perfect hiding place for a shy, recently mated queen.
"Don't look for her. Look for a pattern."
What?
"The bees will tell you where she is."
"The bees may speak to you, Agnes, but I don't speak bee."
"They don't speak they dance, but it's all the same. You listen with your eyes. Watch them move, and see whether some of them are moving differently. That's the retinue. Somewhere around the edge of the brood."
"Are you sure she's not on your side?"
"Shut up and focus."
Agnes in the apiary is the same Agnes who picked up the pieces the day Dylan cast Gemma out of his life. She radiates quiet authority. Gemma questioning it just now was a bad move, one of many tonight, which Agnes points out without losing her cool for a nano-second, because that would scare the bees and because fear leads to anger and no one, not even Agnes Leroy, likes bees when they are angry.
The good news is that Gemma's new queen is laying. Gemma has seen eggs, tiny little white commas at the bottom of some pale yellow comb the bees only built a couple of weeks ago, one egg per cell. Eggs are quite hard to see when the sun's not bright, but at least they are stationary. Real queen bees are anything but, and though Gemma could swear, in fact has sworn, that she saw a flash of her new one lumbering her large abdomen around the comb when she first pulled this frame out of the hive, there's no finding her now. Perhaps she's fallen back down into the brood box?
Gemma lowers her arms down a fraction to give her shoulders a rest, careful to keep the upside-down frame vertical, and shuts her eyes for one breath, as Agnes taught her to last week. That, of all the things Agnes has been trying to teach her, has been the hardest.
Supers are heavy lifting, sure, but this hive's been so busy drawing new brood comb all year there's hardly anything above the queen excluder and besides, what's the point of doing cardio barre twice a week if you can't brace your pelvic floor to lift a 25lb box of honey?
Lighting the smoker is trickier. Drop the cardboard in too quickly and it peters out, too late and it burns out before getting the lavender and wood chippings going: Gemma's has yet to last a whole inspection but Agnes says it will come with practice so Gemma tries. She practices.
Prising the first frame out of the hive is another skill that Gemma still struggles with. According to Agnes she's always using either too little smoke or too much, not giving the bees enough time to settle, or using smoke that's too hot, or too cold, and she keeps starting on her dominant side instead of the other way around.
Agnes is right to stop and correct her. Starting on the side you're holding your hive tool seems natural, until you have to swap hands with the tool whilst holding one end of a frame an inch above the top of the brood box, which is indeed dead awkward.
Agnes points all this out, week after week, with saintly patience and, nowadays, with a hand resting under her almost-bulging belly and a brand new quiet smile.
Nor is queen spotting, evidently, going to be Gemma's party trick but closing her eyes for a whole breath? That is hardest of all, still.
"Don't think of him," she hears Agnes say.
How did she know?
"Keep your eyes closed for another breath and don't think of Dylan. Just listen to your bees, that's what they're really for, remember?"
Gemma tries. She does try but she fails, again, and somehow Agnes, with her all-seeing eyes, spots it through both their face nets.
"One more breath, Gem, come on. You can do this. Just listen to them, bring the frame closer and breathe in."
Gemma listens, with her eyes closed she dares to bring the frame closer and she breathes in, and listens with her nose. First comes the beautiful, resiny smell of propolis, then the sweet flowery gloriousness of the nectar and last, underneath it all, the wet, organic smell of the baby bees themselves, those powerless little white grubs curling in white crescents at the bottom of their cells.
"OK you're ready now."
Gemma opens her eyes, forgetting to look for the queen.
"I see her! I see her I see her I see her!"
"OK, OK calm down or you're going to scare her off again. But don't take your eye off her or we're going to be here all night. Where's your crown of thorns?"
"It's in my…"
Oh dear: balls-up number 23 and a three quarters – on tonight's tally:
"It's in my trug."
"Keep your eyes on her!" Agnes laughs, and walks to Gemma's trug, coming back moments later. She sets a blue marker onto the edge of the hive, together with a two-inch ring of wood with wire netting over the top, and a circle of sharp nails sticking out underneath. Gemma's very own Calvary moment is about to begin.
"OK Gem, A – get a proper toolbox for your stuff. We're not lady gardeners, here. B – always have your crown of thorns ready in your pocket."
"Yes, Agnes, I'm sorry."
"Don't forget to take it out to wash your suit though. This turns into a bit of a shredder at 60 degrees. And then Adrienne gets very cross."
Gemma smiles.
"OK now lower the frame, keep your eyes on her, rest one end of the top-bar onto the hive."
Gemma's shoulders thank Agnes as the top of the brood box takes the frame's weight. It is now resting upside down on one corner, the queen on Gemma's side.
"OK now grab the crown of thorns, use your good hand."
Gemma takes a gingerly hand to the netted ring of nails, whilst trying hard to keep her eyes on the queen and her frame upright using only one, less good, knackered hand.
"Well done, Gem, that's never easy."
Oh good, it's not just her then.
"Go on,"
Gemma tries hard not to think of one of the nails skewering her brand new queen if she messes this up. She takes a deep breath and jabs the ring of nails into the comb. She hardly dares look as she takes her hand back off.
"I've got her!"
"Well done."
"But she's not enjoying this."
" 'course not. Is it pressed in or is she still moving?"
"Still moving."
"Press it in."
"I'm going to hurt her."
"You're not. It's her feet you want to worry about, not her wings. She's had her fun in the sun, now her flying days are over. Go on."
Gemma presses the cage into the wax comb until the queen stops moving – but not trying to. Her abdomen wiggles from side to side but her thorax is stuck by the grille. Naturally it's striated diagonally by one of the mesh wires, so she's going to end up with a black stripe across her blue dot. This is not how they show it in any of the beekeeping manuals Gemma's been putting herself to sleep with.
"Is she safe?" Agnes asks.
"I think so."
"OK let's check, flip the frame back"
Gemma picks the frame back up, still upside down and vertical. Then it's right hand down, swivel the top bar on a vertical axis, right hand back up, frame flipped. Try and flip a frame on a hot day the obvious way, flicking it through the horizontal plane, and the comb will collapse leaving you covered in sticky goo and angry bees.
"You're getting the hang of this," Agnes says.
"Thanks."
Minor victory number three on today's tally. Gemma also remembered to put the hive roof down upside down and in front of the entrance when she took it off. She has been generous to herself for once, and counted this as two minor victories.
Gemma now holds the frame the easy way, hanging upside up from its lugs, so Agnes can inspect the trapped queen.
"Well done. Now lower the frame back down, rest the bottom corner on the box and flip it again."
Gemma swivels the frame on its bottom corner, so it's now upside up, but with the queen facing her.
"Test the marker somewhere on the edge of the brood box."
This: now this could be Gemma's beekeeping party trick. These queen markers can't be more silly or temperamental than the metallic felt tips her younger nephews use to decorate home-made cards. With one hand still stabilising the frame, Gemma gives the marker pen a good shake with the lid on, then opens it one handed and dabs its nib onto the top of a frame until blue paint starts flowing, then stops gurgling out. The queen meanwhile has finally stopped wiggling under her cage.
"OK, marker pen down, give the frame a shake."
Gemma puts the pen down and grabs both the frame's lugs again. She holds it up and gives herself a pep talk. This has to be done with confidence, or not at all. The bees will just drop down. A few might fly at her face but generally they will just drop down. They will. Provided she does this decisively, with confidence.
Up three inches slowly, down two quickly.
Not quickly enough. Only a few bees drop off and down.
But on the plus side hardly any fly off, and of these, none at Gemma's face veil.
"Once more, with feeling," Agnes laughs.
Up three inches, down two and a half, a bit faster. Most remaining bees come off the frame, leaving the queen trapped under the crown of thorns with a few attendants.
"That'll have to do, now rest the frame down again and mark her."
Gemma grabs the marker, takes another deep breath and dabs twice at the queen's thorax until there's blue there but, thankfully, not all over the rest of her.
Minor victory number four.
"Great, now loosen the crown of thorns a bit. Best if she doesn't escape yet but it's not the end of the world if she does."
Gemma lifts the cage just enough for the queen to be able to walk around inside it again. Her majesty is not best pleased.
"Put the frame down inside the roof, with the hive folder over the top."
The upturned roof in front of the hive entrance already holds all the bits of the hive that have had to come off to reveal the queen and her new brood nest. These bits are called the crown board, super, queen excluder and, of course, the folder containing the hive's log. Gemma picks this up and carefully set it back on top her frame, covering the queen's blue dot of shame. Under the cover of darkness, the furious buzzing inside the cage abates somewhat.
"OK, well just grab the last page and update the notes, she'll be dry by the time you're done. If you release her back too soon they'll clean all the paint off her before it dries."
"OK."
Gemma extracts the last page from the folder, enters the day, time, weather and words she never thought she would get to write: "new queen in lay, marked blue". Agnes patiently instructs her how to release the queen back, put the hive back together and close it.
"No no, leave the crown board on top of the super and lift them both together."
"Sorry."
"We haven't got all night. Haven't you got a flat to visit?"
"Doesn't matter if I'm a bit late."
"Of course it does, better get a move on."
It's not like Agnes to be kicking them out of the rooftop apiary. Normally she could literally stay there for hours, deconstructing the inspection narrative.
Unless of course…
"I'm sorry, Agnes, do you need to pee again?"
Agnes smiles and picks up Gemma's trug.
"Naaah, I'm fine. I just… I have a good feeling about this flat."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Intuition? Pregnancy hormones. Oh, by the way, if she's still in lay next week you get to name your new queen. Have you thought of something?"
"I haven't. Isn't it bad luck to name her?"
"No come on, you've earnt it. She's all yours now, and she looks like a good'un. What are you going to pick?"
Gemma hadn't thought of this, but she doesn't need long:
"Floris. She's going to be queen Floris."
Agnes unzips her hood. Behind it she's beaming.
Copyright 2021 Mel Liffragh, All rights reserved
Hello everyone! After spending much of this week visiting schools to talk to kids about bees, here I am posting this bee-filled chapter to you, showing that if there's one thing bees teach you in life, it's patience with them - and with yourself.
But read on: I decided to post another chapter today to move the story a little closer to its conclusion. Then I can hardly believe it, but in two more weeks that'll be it. Well, I hope you've enjoyed the story (and the bees) so far, and here goes...
All the best
Mel