To Catch a Butterfly

  TO CATCH A BUTTERFLY

  BY T.M PAYNE

  March 3rd 1979

  Jack Colman closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. The pain seared through his head and he winced at its ferocity. He slowly straightened himself up and laid the palm of his hand on his forehead, instinctively checking for blood. None. Knowing he probably wasn’t about to die seemed to instantly make the pain subside and he smiled a little. “Idiot.” He mumbled to himself. Attempting thirty press-ups in thirty seconds using the desk as a bench just to prove to himself that he ‘could still do it’ hadn’t really panned out for him. On reaching sixteen, his hands had slipped and he had smacked his stupid head on the stupid desk and proven only that he actually ‘couldn’t still do it’.

  Eight hours in the signal box of a quiet Hampshire railway station often presented opportunities to discover yourself. Jack had, over the years found out that he could eat a whole packet of fig rolls without taking a drink and he could throw wet tissue over his shoulder and hit the clock on the wall from the other side of the office. Okay, it was a fairly small office but credit where credit’s due. He looked at his watch, before peering out of the signal box straining to see down the track. He could just make out the lights of the 20.47 express from London to Portsmouth; he heard the clunk of the barrier as it dropped down into place. A monsoon rain lashed against the windows and the inadequate heater did little to warm him. He instinctively pulled his collar up around his neck before turning, immediately spotting Max Brannigan staggering up the road towards the lowered barrier, recognisable in the darkness only by his faithful old black cap and his usual lack of sobriety. Jack smiled as he watched him stop, attempting but failing miserably to stand still, swaying forward then backward, hindered tonight by the shocking weather. He could do with a drink himself, it had been a long shift and the thought of a large whisky immediately cheered him. Jack watched as a car pulled up to the barrier and stopped, Max turned and laid a steadying hand on its roof and leant down to the driver’s window. Jack knew that old Max was harmless enough, unlike his missus who was quite probably going to batter him when he eventually rolled in his front door three sheets to the wind.

  “Good evening!” Max tilted his cap and smiled, the driver wound down his window just enough to reply.

  “Good evening, lovely weather!” He smiled back and regretted opening the window as rain spattered into the car.

  Max looked skyward, water dripped off his cap and into his eyes.

  “Shocking!” He shook his head, peering over to the passenger, “Hello there beautiful, you know my missus looked like you once, about a hundred years ago!” He slurred, “She’s going to kill me when I get home!” He winked at the passenger, who smiled and turned in her seat, it was then that Max noticed the little boy and baby in the back. “Hello there!” Max gave a cheerful wave, the little boy grinned shyly before focusing his attention on the little bundle wrapped and secured, sleeping beside him.

  Max stepped backwards, then readjusted his feet and steadied himself,

  “I’ve had a few Sherries, the wife won’t be too pleased, I shall be in the doghouse, that’s for sure!” He threw his head back and laughed before turning to look up at the signal box, he threw a wave at Jack who raised his hand in return, the throbbing in his head subsiding.

  “Dan, there’s water coming in, can you put the window up a bit darling?” The woman tilted her head and peered up at Max, hoping he wouldn’t take it as her being rude.

  “Sorry mate, I’m going to have to shut the window, I’d give you a lift but there’s no room.” The driver looked sympathetically at Max, “Have you got far to go?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me son, the walk will sober me up a bit!” Max grinned, again resting his hand on the roof. “Anyway, I can’t get any wetter!” His comment amused Dan and his wife.

  “You picked a rough night to go out for a drink!” Dan commented as he rolled the window up, just leaving a tiny gap at the top.

  Max, oblivious to the remark, stood flicking rain from his cap.

  Dan turned to his wife, “When we’re old, if I went out and got drunk would you be mad at me?” He kept his voice low.

  She smiled, “Yes I would.” She leaned over to him and kissed him full on the lips.

  “He’s right though, what he said about you.” Dan looked at her.

  “Who?” She sat back.

  “Him, he said you were beautiful.” Dan pointed a thumb towards Max.

  “He’s drunk!” She laughed, “It doesn’t count.”

  Headlights suddenly lit up the inside of their car and they both turned to see another vehicle come up behind them, travelling too fast to have any chance of stopping. “Oh God.” Dan looked at his wife who instinctively reached behind her to grab the children just as the vehicle smashed into them, shunting their car through the barrier and straight into the path of the 20.47 express.

  Max too had seen the vehicle coming and had jumped aside, the sudden movement causing him to fall hard onto the ground, and from there, he watched as the first car was split into pieces and glass and twisted metal were dragged down the line, white and orange against the darkness. Only the sound of brakes clamping down onto the rail drowned out his cries. He slowly got to his feet, looking to his left at the second vehicle, just as fire flew up from its engine, Max stepped back from the heat, covering his mouth with his cap as thick smoke poured out from the wreckage. He stepped forward as the driver’s door slowly opened, the heat burning his face and the rain ineffective in extinguishing the fire that was rapidly taking hold. He watched as the driver emerged, stepping out and stumbling, Max called out “Are you alright mate?”

  Without answering, the driver limped across the road and disappeared into the trees that lined the pathway. Max stood riveted to the spot disbelieving all that he had just seen. He looked up at Jack Colman, who was staring down at the scene, his hands on his head, his mouth open.

  CHAPTER ONE

  August 1988

  The three children stared down at the dead body, Adam waved an annoying fly away from his screwed up face, Stevie removed the strand of soggy grass from between her teeth and Laura carefully put down the jar of minnows she had been carrying, her eyes wide at the sight before her.

  “Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?” Stevie finally broke the silence; Adam shrugged his shoulders, “Dunno.” He looked at Laura, unsure if she was going to cry, her mouth was slightly open and her face was damp with sweat from the afternoon sun. He looked back at the little body lying on its side, maybe he should poke it just to make sure it was dead, but what if it wasn’t? What if it moved or made a noise? He knew that if it did, Laura would certainly faint. Laura fainted a lot.

  He remembered when they all went fishing the previous summer and Stevie got a hook caught in her arm as a result of Adam’s efforts to cast off from their apparent vantage point in the oak tree which hung over Blackhurst River. They had had to persuade Laura to climb down from her narrow branch using the ruse that Adam had dropped his penknife, before climbing down themselves and removing the hook, without Laura seeing. Except Laura did see, and promptly fainted. Adam and Stevie had calmly flicked water on Laura’s face and gently pinched her earlobes, which usually did the trick.

  Adam’s thoughts returned to the current situation as he realised that Stevie was now on her knees, rummaging through a nearby bush, she eventually emerged holding a long stick and after quickly brushing away a leaf that had become entangled in her hair, she began to gently prod at the body laying on the dusty ground. She started at its head, nothing. She then continued to run the stick down its back and then along its stomach, sending a team of bugs scurrying away. Adam screwed up his face again. Stevie discarded the stick. Laura fainted.


  “Who do you think it belongs to?” Stevie asked, dropping water from the minnow jar onto Laura’s eyelids while Adam squeezed her earlobe, “Maybe it doesn’t belong to anyone, it hasn’t got a collar on.”

  Stevie looked back at the dead cat, “Oh yeah.” she replied, “We could put a card in Mr Lewis’s shop window though, just in case, hey we might get a reward!” She raised her eyebrows.

  “For a dead cat?” Adam retorted, Stevie smiled, her green eyes glistening as she looked at Adam, who was grinning back at her. Just then, Laura opened her eyes and gingerly raised herself up onto her elbows.

  “You okay?” Stevie asked, moving the minnow jar to one side.

  “Yes, I’m fine thanks.” Laura always felt embarrassed once she had come round from one of her ‘little spells’ as her mother called them and Stevie and Adam knew not to make too much fuss about it. Adam stood up first and as always, offered his hand which Laura accepted, embarrassment aside, she liked to hold Adam’s hand, even if it was only for a moment.

  “What are we going to do about the cat?” Laura asked, brushing dust from her tee shirt.

  “We could put a card in Mr Lewis’s window.” Stevie stood up; “in case someone’s looking for it.” She looked up the lane and wondered if it had been hit by a car. Barrow lane was used as a cut through from the main housing estate down to Blackhurst River, not much more than a dirt track, it carried little traffic.

  The lane was skirted by grass verges either side which sloped up into the surrounding woods. It was a haven for the local children, dotted with makeshift camps and rope swings and depending on which way you were facing, walking along the lane usually meant you were either going fishing, or you were going home.

  As they began the latter journey, Stevie handed Adam the minnow jar, of the three of them, he was the only one who could return home with the day’s catch or interesting find, be it tadpoles, minnows, daddy long legs or an odd shaped stone. His mother would smile, gratefully accepting the jar, bottle or bag, rescuing anything that had survived and ceremoniously flushing down the toilet any casualties. His father would ruffle his son’s blond hair and listen intently to the stories of the day’s adventures.

  Had Laura taken anything like this home, her mother would spend an hour plucking up the courage to peer into the bag, bottle or jar, insist that whatever lurked inside was released out in the back garden and then sit Laura down for a lengthy discussion about catching diseases from bugs and the like and you shouldn’t bring stones home, even if they were shaped like hearts, because some animal had probably peed on it and ‘That’s how we get germs.’

  Stevie’s mother would simply have a blue fit.

  Laura spent the walk home brushing her clothes down and checking for grazes, she pulled a small twig from her mop of blonde curly hair and pulled up her socks. She would have to tell her mother about her ‘little

  spell’ so that they could report it back to Doctor Knowles. ‘It’s something she’ll grow out of Mrs Fielding, but we’ll keep an eye on it.’ Doctor Knowles had a reassuring tone and a warm smile which encouraged the lines around her eyes. Laura liked her and Laura’s mother trusted her.

  Stevie walked a pace behind her friends, she’d found another stick which she was dragging behind her. At nine years old, she was the youngest; Adam and Laura’s tenth birthdays had come and gone. Stevie had always looked forward to their big days more than her own. Adam’s parents would send her an invitation in an envelope with pictures of balloons and candles on the front, with her name written in fancy writing. The house would be decorated with banners and the big dining room table would be overflowing with sandwiches, jellies and cakes, and before the children all went home they would each be handed a bag of sweets. Stevie kept the bags from each party she went to and when she was sent to her room, she would take them all out and pretend to be the party host, handing a bagful of imaginary sweets to imaginary guests and thank them all for coming.

  She thought about the cat and wondered if they should have buried it. She would ask Adam when they had safely delivered Laura to her front door. She looked at the two of them walking ahead of her, they could have been brother and sister, golden skin, blonde hair, and today they even wore the same coloured shorts. Stevie wished that she had a brother or sister, Laura had an older sister, Elaine, who was thirteen. Laura was always saying, ‘My sister this.’ and ‘My sister that.’ Stevie thought that she would actually prefer a brother. Adam would be a good brother, an only child like her, Stevie liked Adam’s house, Adam’s mum and dad, Adam’s garden. His mum would let her feed the fish in the big tank in their lounge and his dad would let her hold the hose and sprinkle water on the flowers in their garden.

  Stevie caught up with them just as they reached the end of the lane, she threw the stick over her shoulder and looked back to see it bounce and land like a tiny caber, wondering to herself if it would still be there the next day. They turned left and crossed the road, Laura’s house was at the near end of the estate and as they reached her gate, they stood picking leaves off of the front hedge.

  “Are we going to the river tomorrow?” Stevie asked, staring intently at the little veins running through the leaf in her hand.

  “I can’t, I’m going shopping with my mum and my sister I’m getting new shoes for school.” Laura looked round as her front door opened,

  “Laura, tea’s ready, hello Stevie, hello Adam.” Rose Fielding waved cheerily.

  “Hello Mrs Fielding.” Stevie and Adam returned the greeting; Stevie dropped the leaf as Adam hid the minnow jar behind his back, making the water slop from side to side. Laura stepped inside her front door, Stevie turned and Adam followed her back to the main road,

  “Do you think we should have buried that dead cat?” Stevie asked

  “I’ll ask my dad.” Adam nodded as though acknowledging that it was a good idea. They continued the walk to Stevie’s house in silence. Stevie was always quiet as she neared home, she hoped her mother was in a good mood, and hoped her father was home from work.

  “See you tomorrow.” Adam interrupted her thoughts as they reached her path.

  “What time shall I come round?” Stevie looked down at the minnows and wondered if the ones floating on the top were alright.

  “’Bout nine?” Adam saw the net curtain move in the front room window.

  “Yeah okay, see ya.” Stevie smiled a half smile, turned and walked up to her front door.

  “See ya.” Adam turned and headed home.

  “Look at the state of you, what on earth have you been doing, go straight upstairs and clean yourself up for heaven’s sake!” Stevie’s mother was not in a good mood.

  “Is dad home yet?” Stevie asked jumping up the stairs with both feet together.

  “No he isn’t and walk properly and use the blue towel on the back of the door, not the white one.” Marie Buchanan was a pretty woman but looked older than her thirty two years. She had maintained a slim waist, and long brown hair hung around her shoulders. She worked part time as a receptionist at Dr Knowles’ surgery. Born and bred on the Isle of Wight, she had never stepped off of the island. She had met William Buchanan in 1973 while he was repairing the roof on her parents’ house. She was smitten, he was handsome and two years later, they were married. There had never been a thought in her mind of starting a family, so when Stevie came along three years later, Marie Buchanan was pissed off and she had been pissed off ever since.

  Stevie sat on the side of the bath, removed her socks and inspected the dirt between her toes. She popped in the plug and ran an inch of water before swishing her feet back and forth, watching the water change colour. A second inspection and she was done, swinging herself round, she heard the front door open.

  “Put the kettle on love, I’m gasping!” William dropped his workbag at the bottom of the stairs and pulled off his steel toe capped boots. Marie came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a tea towel and reached up to kiss him, “Good day?” She asked, returning to
the kitchen.

  “Yeah, you know, not bad.” He followed her and sat down heavily at the table, scratching his head of thick black hair. He was muscular and tanned from working outside in the sun, with deep warm green eyes and straight white teeth. “Stevie home yet?” He asked, blowing at the steam from his mug that was immediately and dutifully placed before him.

  “Yes, she’s upstairs cleaning all the shit off of herself, came home filthy she did, I wonder what she gets up to sometimes to get that dirty, honestly I think she does it on purpose.” Marie lit a cigarette and drew deeply on it before blowing the smoke out of her nostrils like a dragon.

  “Oh, come on love, you know what she’s like, she just doing what kids do at her age.” William sipped his tea and sat back.

  “Will, she does exactly what Adam and Laura do and they never look like she does.”

  William stood up and put his big hands on his wife’s narrow hips, she turned and dropped her cigarette into the ashtray behind her before turning back to find him with his tongue out and eyes crossed.

  “It’s not funny Will I’m….” her words were cut short as he planted a kiss on her lips.

  “What’s for tea?” He squeezed the tops of her arms.

  “Shit with sugar on.”

  “What again?”

  “Shut your face and go get washed.”

  He spun round and marched like a parading soldier from the kitchen.

  “And tell Stevie to hurry up!” she called after him.

  William sighed as he mounted the stairs; it sometimes occurred to him that Marie was less tolerant of Stevie than she should be. Stevie was just a kid after all. Kids get dirty; they scrape their knees and ruin their clothes. It had been a big decision when Stevie had come along, money was tight and sacrifices had to be made. But they did what all parents have to do; they coped. William more so than Marie. But the alternative had simply not been an option.