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the end was slightly ajar. Mr Fisher’s voice was raised in a way that Darius had never heard from him before. They hesitated to go in.
    â€˜It’s all right for you!’ shouted Mr Fisher. ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you?’
    â€˜Andrew,’ replied Mr Deaver’s voice, ‘I keep telling you, it’s not our fault.’
    â€˜Not your fault! Whose fault is it, then? Mine? Do I keep the bees? Do I look after them? Am I the one who does that?’
    â€˜We don’t know what’s happened. We just . . . they’re all dead.’
    â€˜You’ve let them die.’
    â€˜What could we do?’
    â€˜Please, Andrew,’ said Mrs Deaver’s voice, ‘we’ve done everything we can. Don’t speak to Herbert like that.’
    â€˜How should I speak to him? It’s my flowers that provide your honey! You’d be nothing without me!’
    â€˜Andrew, to be fair, it’s our bees that pollinate your fruit.’
    â€˜Yes, but it’s all right for you, isn’t it? You can rebuild the colonies after the winter. You’ve still got your chickens and your eggs. That, and a little bit of money you’ve got put away, and no one else for you to look after. You’ll be all right. What about me? I’ve got nothing in the bank. What about my family? What about my two children? What am I going to tell Margue—’
    â€˜Daddy! Stop, please!’ cried Marguerite, pushing the door open.
    Mr Fisher turned, his face red, his eyes wide.
    â€˜Daddy, it’s not their fault. Why would they want their bees to die?’
    Mr Fisher’s mouth opened, as if he was searching for an answer, then suddenly he seemed to crumple. He hung his head. His shoulders sagged, his arms fell, his knees bent.
    Marguerite looked at the Deavers. ‘So it’s true? All the bees are dead?’
    They nodded.
    â€˜What happened?’
    â€˜We don’t know,’ replied Mr Deaver. ‘It must be some kind of disease. They’re all dead. Every single hive.’
    Mr Fisher straightened himself up. He faced the two beekeepers and took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry I shouted at you.’
    â€˜It’s all right,’ said Mr Deaver. ‘It’s a shock.’
    â€˜It’s a shock to us too,’ said Mrs Deaver. ‘We’ve never seen anything like it, Andrew. You go to the hives and they’re . . . empty. Just empty.’
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ said Mr Fisher. ‘That’s horrible.’ He took a deep breath. ‘When were you going to tell me? Did you want me to hear it from someone else?’
    â€˜No. We were just about to come over. We thought we’d wait until you’d finished work.’
    â€˜Work!’ Mr Fisher laughed painfully. ‘What difference does any of that make now?’
    â€˜I shouldn’t have told Mrs Simpson,’ said Mr Deaver. ‘You’re right, Andrew, I should have told you first. You shouldn’t have had to hear it from her.’
    â€˜From my daughter,’ said Mr Fisher.
    â€˜I’m sorry.’
    â€˜Well . . .’ Mr Fisher sighed. ‘I suppose it doesn’t really matter who I heard it from. It’s the same news, whether it’s one person who tells you or another. It doesn’t change the facts.’
    â€˜Daddy,’ said Marguerite, ‘perhaps bees from outside the estate will come and find the flowers.’
    Mr Fisher glanced at the beekeepers.
    Mr Deaver shook his head. ‘I’ve been speaking to other beekeepers. The same thing has happened to the bees all over the city. It’s not our fault, Andrew. Everyone’s hives are empty. It must be a disease, and whatever it is, it’s affecting us all.’
    â€˜Isn’t there anything else you can do?’
    The Deavers glanced at each other.
    â€˜No,’ said Mr Deaver. ‘Not until we rebuild the