I will try to finish Anna Karenina, and occasionally get manicures.
I am sorry that by the end I could not hear you or give you time
or accept the love I knew was real and mine
and secret and sickening and something
I never felt worthy of receiving.
Before you, I lurched through life
thinking I could be happy if I was good.
You made me very bad, Connor.
And I am so glad.
I have been looking for you everywhere else.
You have been here all the time, waiting.
Is she with you? Our little fluttering?
You knew I would come.
And I have.
But I will have to leave.
I will have to be brave and bad again.
I’m sorry I never said you were beautiful.
I was too ashamed to describe you that way.
But you were.
So beautiful.
I am sorry for it all, Connor.
At the gates to the cemetery, Rebecca is climbing out of a taxi.
She spots me and waves.
‘Ana! Gosh, this is a surprise.’
She hugs me, smelling of shampoo.
‘I come every week.
I didn’t know you had someone here too,’ she says.
‘Are you alright?
You left so suddenly the other night.’
I want to tell her,
to drop to my knees, envelop her
and ask forgiveness, share the weight.
You are so heavy.
But there is no need for dramatic declarations
because Rebecca is staring at my hands,
at her blue leather gloves,
and knows everything,
or at least she will later on
when this scene settles within her.
‘Rebecca … ’ I try.
‘I should go in,’ she says, unable to smile.
Roses jut from the top of her tote bag.
A gift.
Maybe you would have preferred some shamrock.
But I hope she will lay them down for you anyway.
‘Goodbye,’ she says.
The children are asleep.
Paul is marking a stack of books.
We have not spoken in several days.
I lean on him.
‘I love someone else,’ I say.
He puts down his pen. ‘Who?’
‘He’s gone now.’
‘Where has he gone?’
‘Just gone.’
I am crying, hoping Paul will not shout and wake the children.
He takes my thumb between his fingers.
‘Sit down,’ he says. ‘And talk to me.’
A NOTE ON THE AUTHOR
SARAH CROSSAN has lived in Dublin, London and New York, and now lives in Hertfordshire. She graduated with a degree in Philosophy and Literature before training as an English and drama teacher at the University of Cambridge. Crossan was the Laureate na nÓg (Ireland’s Children’s Literature Laureate) from 2018 to 2020. Here is the Beehive is her first novel for adults.
@SarahCrossan
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First published in Great Britain 2020
Copyright © Sarah Crossan, 2020
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ISBN: HB: 978-1-5266-1949-5; TPB: 978-1-5266-1951-8; eBook: 978-1-5266-1953-2
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