Chapter 02: Exit, Pursued By A Bee

Ten miles from Glastonbury languished the sleepy seaside resort of Weston-Super-Mare, where Kallandra and Derek had booked a spacious guesthouse room for their week’s break from the Johnson Space Centre, Houston. Weston had been a popular resort for the British in Victorian times until the lure of cheap flights to the Mediterranean won the tourist battle. An extensive beach overlaid with trucked-in sand entertained few since the 1970s such that the thinning sand each season supported the unkind epitaph of Weston-Super-Mud. But its lack of crassness and heaving multitudes drew Kallandra and Derek. A perfect respite for over-stretched astronauts.

Kallandra bubble-bathed her wounds. Those wicked blackthorn barbs had drawn blood. But the sandalwood and cinnamon candles helped her to relax while the Tea Tree oil in the water worked its magic on scratches and midge bites.

Through mountainous foam her green eyes inspected her reflection in the mirror tiles. Symmetrical at worst, a beauty at best, she thought as she turned her tanned face one-way then the other. A slightly turned-up nose, large eyes and ruddy cheeks from the day’s excitement. Her hazelnut-brown hair, calmed now wet, didn’t reach her shoulders. She smiled at the blue highlights, then again at the scolding at them from her mother in El Paso. She enjoyed the electrifying look they presented to surprised friends. Maybe her raspberry nipples were a little too long but with a wave of her hand the foam hid them, so that was fine.

Exhaling a long breath she looked around the bathroom. A cobweb in a ceiling corner helped to control the fly population. They’d need a telescopic feather duster to reach that one above the twelve-feet-tall apple-white walls. Derek came in, saw her and backed out again.

“It’s OK, Derek, come and join me. This bath’s huge enough for us to have a swimming race.”

“Maybe later,” he said, as he returned with his iPaq, tuned to the BBC News.

“Oo, any news of Glastonbury. Funny that only ten miles away we can’t feel a thing. Perhaps the tremors have stopped.”

“Can I get a word in? The local news mentions it. The village has been evacuated, the hill is cordoned off, and worst of all…”

“What? It’s made the beer flat in Weston?”

“The Festival organisers have been told to send everyone home. There’ll be thousands of annoyed youngsters coming here.” He stared at a lump of earwax he’d unscrewed from his left ear with the nail on his little finger.

“Really? Do they expect the hill to explode? Maybe they think it is a volcano after all. Derek, you are not going to put that into your mouth.”

“I don’t know who your ‘theys’ are. As far as I can tell the army have been summoned but only local police are there so far.”

Kallandra stood, sending waves over the side of the bath and a foam glider gave Derek a face wash. “Sorry, love, but we gotta get back there to see what’s happening.”

“No we don’t, Kal. We’re safer here. Look, it’s seven. It’ll be dark soon.”

“You revolting man. How many times do I tell you not to eat your ear excretions? Anyway, back to the Tor. At the moment we are the experts. This is awesome stuff. Don’t you feel it?”