Being Bee Read Free Page B

Jazzi held out. Everyone told me how much like Dad I looked, how I had his eyes. It worried me, having eyes like Dad. His sagged underneath in great baggy circles and the corners werea mass of fine crinkles. Dad’s eyes had been like that ever since I could remember, and even in the photos of his wedding they were starting to sag and he was quite young back then.
    My mother’s mouth was the kind supermodels have – full and curvy. I had never thought of my mouth before.
    â€˜See?’ Jazzi traced her finger over my mother’s mouth on a photograph just of her, taken way before she married my dad. ‘And here,’ she said, ‘your forehead, Beatrice, with your little widow’s peak.’
    â€˜Yes,’ Nanna said, coming up behind her, ‘you’re quite right, Jazzi. I hadn’t noticed how much Bee has changed in the last couple of years. She used to be the dead spit of Nick, but now she’s much more like her mother. You’re growing up, Bee, see, I told you so. It’s lovely to hear you call her by her proper name, Jazzi. We’ve just all got lazy and now she’s so used to Bee, she won’t hear of us changing it back to what it should be.’
    â€˜I like Bee. Mum called me Bee, you know.’
    â€˜Your mum called you all sorts of things,’ Nanna said, putting her arm around my shoulders. ‘Mums always do. I heard her call you her little Beatrice many times when you were young. No, Bee was Nick’s name for you, mostly. His little busy bee, the constant buzz buzz, he’d say. That was when you were babbling. That’s what babies do when they’re learning to talk.Lindy liked the joke and made you a skirt with bees on it. Do you remember that? I knitted a little green vest to go with it.’
    â€˜You knit?’ Jazzi asked.
    â€˜Oh, yes. It’s back in fashion now, I believe. I’ve tried to teach Bee. She isn’t as patient as she could be.’
    â€˜I keep getting more stitches than I should have. It’s not patience.’
    â€˜Have you shown Jazzi your knitting? She’s doing a scarf. I don’t know why we always start with scarves, singularly boring if you ask me.’
    â€˜Everyone’s wearing them,’ I said, ‘and Lucy and Sal thought it was cool.’
    â€˜You’ll have to show me, Beatrice. I had no idea!’
    For the next hour I watched Nanna bring out photos and samples of her own knitting. Jazzi exclaimed over them, even the boring ones. I sat and yawned loudly on the couch, hoping they’d notice me.
    I missed my favourite television show because Nanna wouldn’t let me have the television on when there was a guest. By the time Jazzi was ready to go, I was grumpy.
    â€˜I really like Patricia,’ Jazzi said later to my dad. ‘All that knitting, and it’s quite beautiful. Really crafted, Nick. None of this kind of flash stuff we’re all doing, relying on novelty yarns, but great craft work. And she’s a lot of fun. They were playing poker with thenext-door neighbour when I arrived. He’s obviously crazy about her. I had the best afternoon!’
    â€˜I had the worst afternoon,’ I said, pushing Thai chicken salad with lime and chilli dressing around my plate. I didn’t like the little green leaves under the chicken or the beans or the snow peas. They all tasted too green. When I tried to explain that to Jazzi and Dad, they just looked exasperated. ‘I lost at poker and I had to miss Pony School and Feral Felines and Crazy Canines because Nanna and Jazzi were talking about boring old knitting. It’s always either kissing or knitting around here.’
    Dad shot me The Look and then actually shifted his chair a little so he was facing Jazzi square on and could only look at me sideways. It was so rude I didn’t bother showing Jazzi my scarf and I went to bed very early without being told, but no one even noticed that.

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