I’m distracted after a moment by a buzzing in my ear. I brush something away with my hand and notice it’s a flying ant.

“So,” Ben says, his voice suddenly brisk. “Back to romance.”

“I’m ready.” I try to match his tone. “I am actually very intrigued to hear your outlined suggestions about the parameters of the experiment and its projected outcomes.” Another ant flies past my face.

Ben stares at me. “We don’t need an outline,” he says gently, but with some exasperation in his voice. “This is a romantic picnic, Bea. Parameters and projected outcomes are not romantic.”

“Right,” I say, distracted by another ant. It occurs to me then that we have a more pressing problem. “Actually, Ben—”

“No, Bea,” he says, holding up a hand to stop me. “I know you think you can handle this like any of your other experiments, but in this instance, you have to admit that I know a little more than you…”

“Fine. But the thing is, Ben—” I try again, flicking my hand as yet another ant buzzes in front of my face.

“Bea,” he exclaims, “if you’re going to keep interrupting me then how am I supposed to concentrate? You’re the one who said you wanted romantic gestures and I’ve actually got several ideas.” He takes out a slim volume. “I thought perhaps some poetry,” he says. “I know you said it was a waste of time, but this – well, this will change your mind.”

I look up at the sky while he begins to read aloud from the book. Several crows wheel high above us, snapping at the air. I debate whether or not to try and point this out to him, but decide instead to simply sit back and let events unfold as they may.

“But thy eternal summer…” Ben breaks off, batting at his face.

“Yes?” I ask mildly.

“Thy eternal summer…” Ben tries again and stops, his hand flicking near his ear. “Oh, buzz off, you bloody things,” he mutters as several more insects join the first. “What the hell is going on?”

“Well,” I say. “As I was trying to tell you, I believe we might have disturbed a nest of Lasius niger during their nuptial flight.”

Ben looks at me as though I have sprouted an extra head.

“And in English, please?”

“Flying ants,” I reply.

“Of course,” he grumbles, snatching up the remains of the picnic and stuffing them hastily back in the basket as the cloud of ants grows in the sky overhead. “Try and take you anywhere and suddenly it’s swarms of flying locusts.”

“Locusts?” I chuckle, folding the blanket. “Oh, Ben, you really couldn’t be more wrong. A locust is part of the order of Orthoptera, while an ant belongs to the order of Hymenoptera along with wasps and bees.”

“Very interesting,” Ben says frostily.