Wasp Season

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Beth rose early the next day. She’d started teaching four mornings a week at Waverley Downs, a local equestrian school, and she enjoyed the work. The modest wage helped to buy the family some little extras: the latest Brumby Mountain book for Sarah, a computer game for Rick, a special bottle of wine to share with her friend, Karen.

That morning Beth took a group of young riders and worked with them on their own horses. They were a talented bunch. She loved watching them establish the elusive bond that developed with time between rider and mount.

After some parting advice to her pupils, Beth turned to leave. A voice hailed her. Noah. He managed Waverley Downs for the middle-aged owners, who left the day-to-day running of the place to him. She supposed that made Noah her boss. Not that you’d know it. His relaxed management style created an atmosphere of harmony and loyalty among everyone who worked there. And his dazzling horsemanship left Beth open-mouthed with admiration.

Noah was about her own age – a long, lean man with a face bronzed by wind and sun. He was also the first man that Beth had fancied since she’d broken up with Mark. She didn’t expect anything to come of it. She kept her attraction well controlled, but it was there.

Noah grinned and gestured towards the stables. ‘I want to show you something.’ He pointed to a stall containing Tango, the school’s new horse. Beth had seen the fat piebald mare being unloaded from a float earlier that morning.

She joined Noah, who was leaning on the stable door watching Tango munch some sweet lucerne hay. ‘What do you think of our latest addition?’ he asked.

‘She’s pretty, but she could lose a little weight.’

His clear blue eyes crinkled with pleasure. ‘I don’t think that will be a problem.’ Noah opened the door and waved for her to follow him inside. He squatted beside the mare and Beth crouched beside him. ‘Feel there. No, lower on her belly.’ He took her hand and gently guided it. When Noah let go of her hand, Beth felt an unexpected twinge of disappointment. Tango’s glossy black flank rippled beneath her fingers, and Beth distinctly felt a kick from the inside. Her eyes widened. ‘You mean …?’

Noah put his cheek against the mare’s flank. ‘Hello little fella. How’re you doing in there?’ Beth couldn’t stifle a smile. ‘What?’ he said to her in mock indignation. ‘I always talk to them. They come out trusting me that way, knowing my voice.’

‘What use is a pregnant mare to a riding school?’ asked Beth, delighted to feel another strong kick.

‘She was sold as a gypsy cob suitable for beginners,’ said Noah. ‘No mention of her being in foal. The owners bought her without consulting me.’ He chuckled. ‘I bet they won’t do that again.’

‘So you don’t know when she’s due?’

‘She’s waxing up.’ Noah pointed to Tango’s udder. A pale substance was oozing from each teat, forming what looked like little icicles. ‘I’d say she’ll drop within forty-eight hours.’

Beth felt a flush of excitement. She turned to see Noah watching her instead of Tango. Her flush deepened. He looked very handsome, with his sandy, sun-streaked hair and his mouth curled as if always on the edge of laughter. A complete contrast to Mark’s brooding good looks.

Noah stood up, the strength of his thighs evident beneath his breeches. He reached out a hand and helped Beth to her feet. ‘I can’t wait for the birth,’ she said. ‘Is it okay to bring my kids along when the foal is born?’

Noah grinned again, filling the stall with warmth and good humour. ‘I’ll call you when it happens.’

Beth waved goodbye and headed for her car, thinking of the coming foal and thinking of Noah. She liked him, and he seemed to like her. For the first time, she wondered if he was interested in something more than friendship. Karen said that after being single for two years it was time for her to move on. Beth wasn’t sure she was ready, but when she was, Noah was just the sort of man she’d choose.

Beth drove home dusty, tired and happy, intending to go for a ride herself after lunch. The long weekend stretched invitingly before her. But when she went into the kitchen, one glance out of the window glued her to the spot. Buzzing uncertainly within the confines of the small trap were four wasps. Circumnavigating the trap were half a dozen more. Beth watched the increasing panic of the trapped insects with decidedly mixed emotions. Hovering in confusion above the sweet liquid, one wasp dipped a little too low …

Beth was astonished at the energy with which the wasp began to swim. Her first instinct was to rush out and rescue it, as she did with butterflies and beetles that fell into the birdbaths dotted around her garden. But she couldn’t do that, could she? The whole point of the exercise was to kill the wasps. She’d deliberately set the trap for that very purpose. All she could do was watch as the powerful insect swam and swam, hoping to gain some foothold on the sides. But the walls were smooth and curved, designed to give no purchase to tiny, hooked feet.

A second, then a third wasp hit the water. One managed by sheer wing power to lift free of the surface tension. Momentarily, Beth felt thrilled that it was safe. But of course it was doomed. After several minutes of fruitless, frantic buzzing within the trap, each insect, due to a combination of battered wings and exhaustion, dropped into the water.

Beth could no longer watch. She made herself a coffee and left the kitchen. The wasps were just doing their job, she thought sadly; collecting food for their queen and larvae. Curiosity compelled her to take a book about insects off her shelf. She owned a decent collection of field guides. They helped her to identify the myriad birds, small mammals and invertebrates that lived at Benbullen. She wondered if European wasps organised their nests like honeybees.

Vespula germanica, she read. Each nest is founded by a mated female who rears the first generation of all-female brood by herself. These become workers and take over the task of nest building and collecting food for the young. The queen then confines herself to egg-laying. Colony defence and the day-to-day perils of foraging often result in the death of these worker wasps.

Beth was genuinely inspired by this self-sacrifice and devotion to duty. She imagined the wasps setting out each day, some never to return, a bit like bomber pilots during a war. But then her mind returned to the ruthless attack she’d witnessed on the emperor gum moth caterpillar. Few native insects would be a match for these powerful alien marauders. The thought helped her to justify the trap, but she still avoided looking at it. Instead, she went for a ride, leaving the helpless wasps to continue their futile swim into oblivion.