They drove for a long while without a word passing between them, then out of the blue Billy said, ‘Amazing things, bees.’
Karen looked at him. ‘Did you know much about them before you worked on this experiment?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. It was a steep learning curve. But, you know, totally fucking fascinating. The hive, the colony, it’s completely run by women.’ He turned to grin at her, but winced in pain and raised a rueful hand to his mouth. ‘Shit,’ he muttered. Then, with both hands back on the wheel, ‘After all, it’s a queen bee, not a king. And the women do everything. They clean the hive, they nurse the young, they guard the entrance, and when they’re old enough they go out and do the foraging, bringing back the pollen and the nectar for storage.’ He chuckled. ‘That’s why they’re called the workers. The poor bitches only live for about a month, and never have any sex.’
‘That doesn’t sound fair. What about the men?’
‘Ah, well, the guys really have it cushy. Drones, they’re called. They just hang around doing fuck all, eating and making a lot of noise.’
Karen laughed. ‘Sounds like most guys I know. So what’s the point of them?’
‘Same as the male of any species. To get the females pregnant. Or, in the case of bees, one female. The queen. She goes on a week-long fuckfest when she’s still a pretty young thing. It’s the only time she leaves the hive. Flies off looking for drones, who usually hang around high spots like church towers so they can see her coming. Imagine their excitement. Finally going to get their end away.’ He laughed. ‘Almost literally. Cos what they don’t know is that they only get to do it once. Their tackle is barbed, you see, and gets stuck inside the queen, ripping away their insides as she flies off. She’ll screw a dozen or more of these daft drones, and you’ll often see her flying around with their remains dangling from her doodah.’
Karen wrinkled her nose. ‘That sounds vile.’
‘Yeah, but what a way to go!’ He glanced at her, eyes shining. ‘Don’t you think?’
‘I think I’d rather be the queen.’
‘Nah, I doubt if you would. She has a pretty tough life, as well. After a week of screwing around, she has enough sperm inside her to lay fertilised eggs for two or three years. And that’s all she does. Goes back to the hive and lays eggs. And when she starts running out, the other women kill her and feed up one of their own with royal jelly to make a new queen.’
‘And the men?’
‘Like I said, they just hang around the hive, feasting and spitballing until the end of the season, when the women figure they have served their purpose and kick them out to die.’
Karen blew air through her lips. ‘That’s pretty brutal. Don’t think I much fancy being a bee, of either sex.’
He grinned. ‘You’re never alone, though. There’s anything up to sixty thousand bees in a hive. And all of them your relatives. Imagine writing the Christmas cards for that lot!’
Karen laughed out loud.
There was very little traffic on the Skye bridge as they swept down to cruise across the first stretch of it, before seeing it rise ahead of them in a perfect arch over the waters below. Mountains shimmered darkly against a distant blue sky as they looped down through Breakish and Broadford, turning north then and heading for Portree.
They had driven for perhaps another twenty minutes in silence before Karen glanced at Billy. ‘How can you afford a big four-wheel drive like this?’ she said.
‘Needed a big beast to get up and down to the cottage,’ he said. ‘Especially in the wet and the snow. Our sponsor covers the costs.’
‘Sponsor?’
‘Well, we couldn’t have done it without one, could we? I mean, financing the three of us for two years apiece, never mind the equipment we had to fork out for, and the lab tests in Edinburgh... It’s all cost a bloody fortune.’ He glanced at her. ‘We get our funding from an environmental campaign organisation.’
She nodded. ‘OneWorld.’
‘Bet Deloit was not best pleased when you turned up threatening to blow the whole thing.’
‘I wasn’t threatening to blow anything!’ Karen said, indignant. ‘I was looking for my dad.’
‘Aye, who everyone thinks is dead, and who wants to stay dead till this is over.’
She threw him a look.
‘I mean, see it from their point of view, Karen. They’ve put out a small fortune on this. If Ergo cottoned on to what was happening, and where, it would be a total disaster. They could wreck the whole thing in any number of ways. Not least by exposing your dad as a liar and a fraud.’
‘I’m not going to blow anything,’ Karen said huffily. ‘No one even knows I’m here. All I want to do is see him.’
‘Well... we’ll see what Sam says.’
At Borve they turned off the main A87 on to the road for Dunvegan, winding through rolling, treeless green countryside, across the River Snizort, then heading west until they reached the turn-off for Waternish. The island was dazzling in the late September sun, still purple with heather, but mixed now with the golds and browns of autumn. The road north along the west side of the Waternish peninsula rapidly turned into single-track with passing places. But they only had to pull in a couple of times to let oncoming cars past.
After a while, they saw sunlight coruscating across the clear blue waters of Loch Bay, off to their left, passing the tiny communities of Waternish and Lusta and Stein. A single whitesailed yacht cut a straight line through the sea loch, leaving a spreading white wash in its wake. Billy slowed down, glanced several times beyond Karen to the waters below. ‘Perfect day to be out sailing,’ he said. ‘Wish it was me.’
She looked at him, surprised. ‘You sail?’
He turned resentful eyes on her. ‘Why? You think sailing’s too middle class for a boy from Balornock? That’s a bit elitist, isn’t it?’
Karen was startled by his sudden umbrage. ‘No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just didn’t think you were the type, that’s all. My dad was a great sailor.’
‘I know. He ran the sailing club at the Geddes. That’s how I got into it. There were only about a dozen of us, but your dad got an instructor in from the Scottish RYA to coach us. Out on the firth almost every weekend. A really nice guy, Neal Maclean. Poor bugger died not long before your dad got kicked out. Heart attack. You’d never believe it, a guy that fit.’ And he fell into what felt to Karen like a sulky silence.
The road dipped down, mid-peninsula, and they passed the homes that incomers had made in pristine whitewashed cottages nestling in anonymity behind shrubs and small trees splashed autumn red and yellow. Billy slowed down and took a tight right turn towards a place called Geary, or Gearràidh as it was signposted in the Gaelic, and the road climbed steeply uphill across virgin moor tinted mauve with heather in bloom. As they crested the hill, and passed a sign for schoolchildren crossing, a spectacular view across Uig Bay fell away below them towards the Trotternish Peninsula and the village of Uig itself. It was from there that the ferries left for Harris and South Uist, and the islands of the Outer Hebrides could be seen clearly, simmering darkly along the horizon. A little white schoolhouse sat on their left, and Karen marvelled at the thought of going to a school with such a view. She would never have paid the least attention to any of her lessons.
Beyond the school they turned right, descending steeply then to pass through and leave behind them the small settlement of Gillen, houses hiding discreetly behind trees and tall shrubs. Less than half a mile later, Billy took a sharp, unexpected right turn on to what was little more than a dirt track, leading them up through a scattering of Scots pines into the shadow of hills rising steeply to the west. They bumped over ruts and potholes, and a crude wooden bridge across a tiny gushing stream, cresting a rise then and dropping suddenly into a small hidden valley where an old shepherd’s cottage stood among a clutch of trees, glowing white in the sunlight that washed down from the peaks.