To Catch a Butterfly Page 16

  CHAPTER SIXTY ONE

  It was five thirty in the morning and the ticking of the clock seemed louder than usual, tick tock against the stillness and silence in the room.

  “What happened to Frank Samuels? When they caught him I mean?” Stevie finally spoke.

  “They’ve never caught him.” Marie’s voice was hoarse.

  “Don’t they know where he went to after he ran away from the crash?” Stevie stretched out her legs.

  “No, he just disappeared. They said that he never even went home afterwards, his wife said that she never saw him, I think they’d had a row or something and he stormed off, probably driving like a maniac, it was pissing…it was pouring down with rain, really heavily and they said that he must have come round the corner too fast, couldn’t stop, hit your car and then, well, you know.” Marie spoke quickly, matter of factly.

  “His wife could have been lying, maybe she hid him from the police, people do that don’t they, for their husbands, their children, cover up for them.” Stevie burst into tears, her body shook “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it!” She put her face in her hands and sobbed.

  Marie didn’t move. “Please forgive me Stevie, I’ve never meant to hurt you or make you feel like I didn’t love you, because I did, I really did. I just found it hard to cope sometimes, I mean, we took you in and raised you as best we could as ours, Will would have done anything for you, he loved you so much.” Her words fell on deaf ears. She put an arm out to Stevie, who immediately pushed it away “Were they buried or cremated?” She coughed, trying to get the words out.

  “They were buried, together.” Marie said.

  “I can’t believe I had a brother, I always wanted a brother. He’d be twenty now.”

  ‘Yeah.”

  “You should have told me before.” Stevie gingerly got up, her words were tinged with anger, controlled anger, but anger all the same.

  “I know I should, but I only kept it from you to protect you. Not to hurt you.” Marie got up “I’m going to make some coffee, do you want some?” She stood, waiting for Stevie to answer.

  “No. I don’t want coffee, I want to know everything about what happened, and I want to know why this Samuels bloke hasn’t been caught. Where are they buried?” She sat on the sofa, pulling her knees up under her chin.

  “In Hampshire, where you lived at the time.” Marie was desperate for a cup of coffee but felt it inappropriate to make one.

  “So all this time, you lot have been going to their grave and I never even knew they had existed”

  “No, that’s not how it was at all.” She sat in her armchair. “For the first few years, Stan and Cynthia used to go on anniversaries, birthdays and stuff, they’d travel over on the ferry, but it used to upset them so much and now they don’t go, I think it’s been about five, six years. They moved to the island to be closer to you, so they could see more of you. Harry and Elizabeth have always lived here, they don’t go anymore either. It’s just too upsetting for everyone Stevie.”

  “I go to my dad’s grave all the time, it upsets me, but I still go. Still put flowers there.” Stevie looked up at Marie, her reference to Will being her dad was acknowledged by Marie.

  “In a sense he was your dad, he thought of you as his daughter.”

  “But I wasn’t, was I?” She put a hand through her hair and leant her head back. “I want to know everything, I want to know every detail and I want to go to their grave.” She looked straight at Marie. “And you can’t do anything to stop me. Because you’re not my mother.”

  Marie knew deep down that she deserved that and she nodded, “Of course.”

  Stevie looked down at the photographs, pictures of a family she never knew had existed, pictures of her parents, by the seaside, her brother sitting in front of a Christmas tree, surrounded by presents. Pictures of her mother lifting him over her head, pictures of her father sitting outside a pub drinking beer. Her family. Her dead family.

  “I’m going out.” Stevie stood up.

  “Where are you going at this time?” Marie stopped short of asking her to pick her up a packet of cigarettes.

  “Out.” She pulled her coat off the back of the sofa.

  And Stevie left. Marie picked up the whisky bottle, unscrewed the cap and took a swig. And then another.

  Stevie’s pace was slow and she felt dizzy. The night running through her head. She made her way to Adam’s house, ignoring the Sunday morning dog walker who said a cheery ‘good morning’ to her as he passed. She passed Laura’s house and noticed the front room light was on, Shaun Halliday and his broken nose came into her mind. She should have hit him harder, she thought. Should have broken his stupid fucking jaw.

  She reached Adam’s house and stopped. What the hell was she going to say to him? She noticed his car wasn’t parked outside and then remembered he was going to visit his grandmother. Shit. She walked up to the front door, tears welled up and she rang the doorbell, she had nowhere else to go, nowhere else she wanted to go. She just knew she wanted to be here.

  The door opened and Beth stood there, “Stevie?” She saw the look on Stevie's face “What’s happened?”

  Stevie hung her head and Beth instinctively reached out and threw her arms around her. “Come in, come in.” She ushered Stevie through the front door. Peter appeared at the top of the stairs; Beth looked up at him and shrugged her shoulders.

  Beth guided Stevie into the living room, moving a basket of laundry off of the sofa for her to sit down.

  “I’m sorry Beth I didn’t know where else to go.”

  Beth sat next to her and took her hands, rubbing them gently.

  “It’s okay, you know you can always come here. Are you hurt?”

  “No. I don’t know where to start.” She leant forward and Beth pulled her towards her chest.

  “Just take your time, you’re safe now, whatever’s happened, you’re always safe here.” Beth held her tightly while she wept. Peter joined them and sat quietly and patiently until Stevie began to tell them the story.

  CHAPTER SIXTY TWO

  Marie set the receiver down and stared at it. She had told them, she had told them all. Stevie knew. No more whispered conversations among the family, no more avoiding the subject, no more lies about how old Marie was when she gave birth to Stevie, no more hiding away her birth certificate. But Marie felt no relief, no weight off her shoulders. She felt empty. Will had gone and now Stevie would go too. She looked around the room, memories echoed around her. But Marie stopped short of kidding herself that they were good memories; they were false memories built around a lie, a secret. A secret kept for eighteen years. A secret that was now out, out in the open, for all to see. And for Stevie to comprehend, and to try and make sense of. Somehow. This was not the end, this was simply the beginning. Now was when it started. Marie ran into the kitchen and puked into the sink. She felt like shit. She looked like shit.

  She threw water over her face and thought of Stevie, probably sitting in Adam’s house, being enveloped in fucking sympathy and love. Fuck ‘em. She puked again. When she’d finished she wiped her face with a tea towel and finished off the whisky. As she got up to go to the toilet, steadying herself as she went, the doorbell rang, “Here we go.” She said out loud. She opened the front door, gripping the door frame to keep herself upright. Two police officers were standing there; their uniforms glistened from the drizzling rain that fell gently and persistently.

  “Mrs Buchanan?” The female officer asked, realizing immediately that the woman before her was extremely drunk.

  “Yes.” Marie seemed completely unperturbed to see them.

  “Is Stevie in?”

  “No she’s not.” Marie over pronounced her words in a futile attempt to sound sober.

  “Do you know where we could find her, we need to speak to her quite urgently?” The officer watched as Marie stepped backwards and grabbed the door to steady herself.

  “Can we come in?” The male officer asked as rain dripped
down his neck.

  “It’s not a good time, family crisis.” Marie blinked hard and focused on the officer’s face.

  “Is everything alright Mrs Buchanan?”

  “Oh, everything’s fine, just a personal family crisis.” Marie swayed. “She’ll be at Adam’s house.” She pointed in the general direction, almost hitting the male officer in the face with her finger.

  The officers looked at each other, bemused that she hadn’t even asked what brought them there.

  Marie gave them Adam’s address and shut the door.

  CHAPTER SIXTY THREE

  Catherine picked up her umbrella as she left the house and made her way to the cemetery. Dark skies threatened rain above her. She walked through the gates and headed for Jack and Ellen Harrington’s grave. The white headstone looked immaculate after Catherine had scrubbed it a few weeks before, the grass around it as flat and perfect as a bowling green. Since Jack had died, Catherine had noticed, unsurprised, that no one had visited the graveside. The few flowers that were left after the funeral had soon withered and Catherine had disposed of them, none had been left since.

  Tending the grave had become a weekly undertaking for Catherine. She often wondered if Jack would mind her taking over where he had left off and she concluded that he would be fine with it. She just felt that after all the years he worked at keeping the little plot so immaculate, that it would be a crime to let it become unruly.

  She’d placed a pot containing winter pansies in front of the headstone and admired their colour. She picked a dead leaf from the headstone and she was done.

  She wondered for a moment as she stood there if there really was a heaven and if, when you die, you are reunited with the ones you’ve loved in life. She thought about Jack and Ellen, were they looking down at her and wondering who the hell she was and what she was doing. But that could be said of a lot of those who were buried there. Over the years Catherine had taken to tidying and maintaining several unvisited graves, nothing too drastic, just a quick tidy up, keep the rose bushes trimmed, disposing of dead, fallen leaves that lay wet and heavy in piles, whipped up and dumped by the wind. Some graves, she’d noticed were visited only on the anniversary’s of when the loved ones had died, or their birthday perhaps, and then nothing for the rest of the year. The cemetery was vast so she stuck to the graves near her bench and those around Jack and Ellen.

  The rain started and she headed home, straightening a fallen ornament on her way out. Scruffy greeted her as she got indoors, she picked him up and he purred loudly, she kissed his head, her faithful friend, always there, always the same.

  Catherine jumped at the knock at the door and gently set Scruffy down, Marilyn smiled as the door was opened, “Haven’t disturbed you have I, Len’s asleep, thought I’d pop over while I’ve got the chance, you ok?” She asked, scratching Scruffy’s head.

  “Yes we’re fine, is Len ok?” The two women went into the kitchen, followed by Scruffy.

  “Oh, you know, up and down.”

  “Do you want a coffee?”

  “Love one.” Marilyn sat at the table and Scruffy promptly jumped on her knee, swishing his tail into her face. “He nearly burnt the house down this morning.”

  Catherine turned around “How?”

  “He tried to light the gas fire with a lit piece of paper, except the fire was already on and he dropped the paper on the carpet and walked away.”

  “He hasn’t done that before has he?”

  “No but he’s doing more bizarre things more regularly.” Marilyn ran her hand along Scruffy’s back and down his tail.

  It had been almost a year since Len was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and he had got progressively worse. At first Marilyn noticed how forgetful he was becoming and put it down to the onset of old age, but at 67 he had remained otherwise active. When he started making cups of tea without boiling the kettle, and putting two shirts on, one on top of the other, Marilyn persuaded him to get to the doctors.

  “He called me Violet this morning.”

  “Who’s Violet?” Catherine put Marilyn’s coffee on the table.

  “Thanks. I have no idea, if I didn’t know better I’d be checking his collar for lipstick though.” She quipped, making Catherine smile, albeit it a sympathetic one. She admired Marilyn’s strength of character; she never complained and tried to always stay positive.

  “Ooh Scruffy, you’re putting holes in me.” Marilyn’s stroking had sent Scruffy into a purring frenzy and his claws dug deeply into her legs in satisfaction. Marilyn stopped stroking him and reached for her coffee, prompting Scruffy to jump down and head towards his cat flap. Catherine turned to watch him as he poked his head through, checking the weather conditions before deciding if he wanted to venture out, a fine rain was falling and he decided he could cope with that, Catherine suddenly noticed a spray of water coming from over the six foot fence that separated her and Marilyn’s gardens and stood up to investigate “What the hell’s that?” She stood, hands on hips leaning toward the window.

  “What?” Marilyn looked at her.

  “That!” Catherine pointed and Marilyn joined her at the window.

  “Oh Christ, he’s watering the garden…”

  “Oh.” Catherine looked at her.

  “I’d better go, thanks for the coffee!” Marilyn made a dash for the front door and Catherine watched as a fountain of water poured onto her patio.

  CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR

  The two police officers explained to Stevie that Laura had been found by a local man out walking his dogs. She had a broken jaw and a fractured eye socket and had regained consciousness long enough to say that Shaun Halliday was responsible. She had also mentioned something about him being angry that Stevie had hit him.

  Beth and Peter sat either side of her as she tried to absorb it all. Beth wondered and worried how much more Stevie could possibly take.

  “I punched him and he fell over.” Stevie explained, “Shit. Laura told me that he would be annoyed, I was just so angry at him for getting her into..” She stopped.

  “It’s okay Stevie, we found a small lump of Cannabis in Laura’s jeans pocket, we’re not interested in that right now.” The female officer reassured her.

  “Can I see her?” Stevie asked “This is all my fault.”

  “Her family is with her at the moment and I need to get all this down in a statement.”

  “Now?” Beth asked, conscious of how exhausted Stevie was.

  “I’m afraid so.” The officer said gently.

  “Has the boy been arrested yet?” Peter asked.

  “No not yet.” The male officer shook his head.

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t know where he is at the moment.” The male officer answered “But don’t worry, we’ll find him.” He said unconvincingly, nodding with a certain self confidence.

  CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE

  Shaun Halliday sat at the bar and stubbed out his cigarette, looking around he decided to move on. The place smelt of stale beer and the carpet was sticky under his feet. He stepped out into the cold and crossed the street, pausing at a shop display depicting a ski slope, a plastic Father Christmas in his sleigh suspended above it, reindeer with flashing noses pulling him along. Each reindeer held a card which spelt out the festive message ‘MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OUR CUSTOMERS’. He watched the people inside the store, struggling with bags full to the brim with gifts and wrapping paper. Five weeks until Christmas. He turned around and watched a stream of red buses driving past.

  “Got any spare change gov?” A filthy tramp that smelt of tuna fish held out a grubby hand to him.

  “No fuck off.” Shaun hissed at him, disgusted. “Fucking tramp, go and get a fucking job.”

  The tramp shuffled away muttering to himself “Wanker.”

  Shaun leant against the shop window, he needed to find somewhere to spend the night, he reached into his pocket and felt the wad of notes warm in his hand, then he pressed inside his jacket and felt the blade of his knife c
old against his skin. For a moment he thought about his parents, his mother would be disappointed when the police knocked on the door, his father would mumble some shit and not be surprised. Then he thought of Laura, pathetic little bitch, deserved what she got, served her right anyway. No one fucking hits Shaun Halliday, especially not some jumped up little bitch like Stevie Buchanan. They wouldn’t forget Shaun Halliday in a hurry. He didn’t give a shit if the pigs were looking for him; he thought as a police car drove slowly past, they wouldn’t find him here, not in a million years. He was too smart for that. He’d find a base, somewhere to start dealing from, get his contacts sorted and then he’d run these fucking streets. He’d change his name, hated fucking Shaun anyway, start again, new life. He’d be smart, one step ahead of the law, he smiled to himself, confident. He stepped out onto the kerb and watched the traffic crawl by. A stream of white lights going in one direction and a stream of red in the other. Horns honking as cyclists skilfully weaved in and out of the cars.

  Shaun sniffed and threw his bag over his shoulder. His face ached, a reminder of why he was here, walking the streets of London. He decided to have one more drink before looking for somewhere to stay, he turned down a side street, spotting a pub sign, swinging and creaking in the wind. THE BLACK DOG. He stepped inside, a quick look round, the place was empty except for a small group of suited business types, ties open, briefcases at their feet, laughing loudly and throwing back bottles of beer. Shaun plonked himself at the bar, ordered a pint from the miserable looking barman and lit a cigarette. He watched the suits slapping each other on the back for some job well done, some deal pulled off, some promotion. He watched as they abruptly stood up in unison and walked over to the fruit machine, which stood flashing in the corner. Shaun’s attention was drawn to the briefcase leant up against a chair leg, the furthest chair from where the suits now stood, feeding coins into the machine. He rolled his cigarette between his teeth and eyed the suits over his beer glass. Fucking idiot yuppies, he thought, easy pickings. He knew London would be prosperous but this was too sweet. Good choice Shauny, smart move to come here, he was going to enjoy being here, he thought. He looked at the barman, who was bent down behind the bar, refilling the fridge with mixers, Shaun picked up his cigarettes and bag and with one swift motion he got up from his barstool, walked casually over to the briefcase, picked it up and made his way straight to the door. Easy. As he pushed the door open he felt the wind whoosh in and went to turn right, get lost in the crowd. Then he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and he instinctively went to run, but felt himself being pulled forcefully back into the bar, immediately his arm was forced up his back and he was pushed up hard against the wall. “Get the fuck off me!” His face was pushed harder against the brown wallpaper.