To Catch a Butterfly Read online

  “Yes, we are, we just have to do one thing at a time.”

  “What if one of Frank’s friends comes over while you’re here, what will we say?” Helen began to panic.

  “Are they likely to? I mean, we’ll be out of here soon, within the hour.” Catherine asked, trying to focus on the next part of this plan.

  “I don’t know, maybe, I mean he’d normally be down the pub by now.” Helen looked at her watch, eight twenty. “I’m so scared Catherine.” She was shaking, looking around the kitchen for nothing in particular; everything around her looked different, unfamiliar.

  “Okay, look, I’ll take his Landrover, drive to my house, get some things together and I’ll come back and get you, that will save us some time, if anyone turns up just tell them Frank’s gone to look at a job or do some deal or something.” She held Helen’s arms, trying to keep her focused. “Okay?”

  “Okay.” Helen nodded. She took the keys to the Landrover from the dresser and handed them to Catherine, “Please don’t be long.”

  ‘I won’t.” She kissed her forehead.

  “Catherine.” Helen called her back. “We are doing the right thing aren’t we?”

  ‘Yes, yes we are, we’ll be alright, I promise. I love you.” Catherine smiled, the smile lost on them both.

  “I know.” Helen grabbed her tightly and kissed her cheek, then watched as she climbed into Frank’s Landrover and disappeared back down the lane towards the main road.

  Catherine stopped as she reached the end of the lane, her heart was beating so fast she thought she would pass out, her eyes filled with tears, her whole life had changed this night, everything would be different, she was putting everything on the line for this woman. Everything. And now she was an accessory, she had played her part, in the eyes of the law, she was just as guilty as Helen. The law didn’t give a fuck that Frank Samuels was a piece of shit wife beater, a man who had repeatedly raped and abused the woman who had promised to, ‘love, honour and obey, for better for worse.’ All the law would care about would be locking them away for the rest of their natural lives. Apart. They would never see each other again. And that was simply not an option for Catherine, she loved Helen, loved her deeply and it was that love that she relied on to see them through this.

  She pulled onto the main road, frowning, trying to make out the road in front of her, she couldn’t remember rain quite like this, the inadequate windscreen wipers were worn and barely cleared the water away. Catherine tried to get her head straight, her mind filling with the things she would need to collect from her house. The house where she and Helen had spent afternoons locked away from the world outside, a world that often struggled to accept a love like theirs. As she drove, she thought about her father, his innocent simple life. Her life would never be either again.

  As Catherine manoeuvred a bend in the road, she felt the back of the Landrover slip on the oily wet road and as she corrected the wheels, she saw the car ahead of her, which was stopped, waiting at the railway crossing and before she had time to think, or brake, she hit it, slamming into the back of it, her head smacked into the steering wheel and her foot slipped off of the pedal, the force of the impact ramming her knee up under the steering column. When the Landrover stopped, she looked up, she could just make out the train as it passed, thundering down the track. The car was gone and she knew instantly that the train had struck it, carried it down the track. Steam and smoke poured out from the smashed bonnet, obscuring her view ahead. The engine hissed and caught fire, quickly flames licked upwards. She pulled herself out and stumbled across the road, her head spun and she felt sick, a searing pain in her leg causing her to limp heavily. She put a hand to her head as she tried to run, her eyes stung with pain.

  As she reached the trees that lined the road, she grabbed a branch to steady herself; looking back she could hear the train screaming to a stop. She tried to catch her breath, but the adrenaline that ran through her veins pushed her to run, run as fast as she could back to Helen. She had to get back to her, she was waiting, she trusted her, she had to get back.

  Catherine was disorientated, but kept going, she made her way unsteadily through dense vegetation, dead branches and twigs snapping beneath her feet, she spotted the road through a gap in the trees and headed for it. As she reached the pavement, she put her head down and walked as calmly as she could, trying to work out where she was. She saw the familiar black railings of Fourbridge park ahead of her and spotted the gates were open, she quickly looked around, no one was about and she walked through the gates and into the brick building that housed the ladies toilets. She stepped inside, went into the first cubicle and vomited down the pan, her head pounding as she wretched. When she’d finished she stood upright and stepped over to the mirror that was screwed to the wall and looked at herself, the right side of her forehead was swollen. She put her hands on the sink and tried to calm her breathing; she filled her hands with water from the tap and washed out the taste in her mouth. She tried to gain some sort of control in her mind, but nothing made sense, it was like a nightmare that went from one bizarre event to another, Frank was dead, buried by his killer, the evidence wiped away by a combination of calculated deceit and the worst rain, it seemed, since records began. And now this, now she was running from this accident. She thought about the car she had ploughed into. She tried to recall what had happened, but it was already a blur in her mind. She looked again at herself in the mirror, what the hell was going on? How could life just turn like that, in a moment? How the hell could this have happened?

  She thought of Helen, waiting for her, and she left, making her way slowly through empty streets, keeping to the side roads, stopping and standing in the shadows, waiting while police cars and fire engines wailed past her, staying hidden until she was sure it was safe to carry on. She walked slowly, back to her love, back to her Helen. In the distance, more sirens wailed, and she prayed for whoever had been in the car.

  As she finally reached Elson’s lane, she stopped, dead in her tracks, a police car was parked outside Helen’s house. She took a deep breath and stepped off the main track, hiding in the dense bushes that lined the path. The sight of the police car brought with it the realisation that Helen had called them, decided that she would admit what she had done. Catherine slid down, her back against a tree, and sat, her head in her hands.

  Helen had called the police, she was probably in the house with them now, confessing all, confessing that she had killed and buried her husband, with Catherine’s help. Catherine thought that Helen had trusted her; maybe it had been too much to ask. She sat with her head buried in her hands. So this was it, all over. She breathed heavily, deeply, she tried to get up but her legs were shaking so much, she remained where she was. Car headlights made her blink, another police car arrived. She pushed her back against the tree and put a hand into the soft wet ground, slowly pushing herself up, she saw the car door open and looked up to see a police officer appear from round the back of the house. She hesitated for a moment.

  “Alright Mick, how’s it going?” The first police officer called over to his colleague.

  “Bloody soaked.” The second officer called back, shaking his head.

  “I heard on the radio, no joy here.”

  “No, place was empty when we got here, the skipper’s over at his in-laws’ place, maybe he turned up there.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” The first officer looked around him, Catherine stood rigid, holding her breath.

  “Did you hear the baby girl in the car was alright, fucking miracle if you ask me, not a bloody mark on her, someone must have been looking down on her eh?”

  “Yeah, shame he wasn’t looking down on all of them. Bloody terrible, I tell you it’s nights like this that I wonder why I do this bloody job.”

  “Yeah.”

  Catherine waited for them to walk away before she dared move. She retraced her steps and made her way home, carefully, slowly, her mind going over the officers’ conversation. ‘Place was empty when
we got here’. So where the hell was Helen? As Catherine walked, she realised that Helen may have made her way to Catherine’s house and Catherine picked up her pace. Her legs ached, but the thought of Helen waiting for her pushed her on. Her chest hurt, she thought about the baby girl that the officers had talked of. She had done something unthinkable, something unforgivable; she had brought tragedy into this tiny child’s life. Everything that had happened didn’t seem real, it couldn’t be real. But it was real. Every part of it. Again, the officer’s words, ‘Skipper’s over at his in-laws’ place, maybe he turned up there.’ And then it hit her, suddenly it hit her smack in the face. The police must have thought that Frank had been driving the Landrover. Catherine hadn’t seen anyone at the crossing, maybe no-one saw her, the police just presumed it was Frank. It was his vehicle after all. But where was Helen? Had she seen the police cars pull up? Run out of the house, had she run to Catherine’s? Was she waiting there?

  As Catherine got to her front door, she looked around. No-one. She went inside and fell to her knees. Everything was wrong. She sat with her back against the hallway wall. Her hands shook uncontrollably. She tried to think. Should she wait here? Maybe Helen would come. Maybe they could run to France like they’d planned. If the police were looking for Frank in connection with the accident then they wouldn’t be searching for a body. Catherine thought of her father. How would he ever comprehend what she had done? If she handed herself in, he would never see her again. Maybe she should go to be with him, maybe Helen would find his cottage in Brittany, Catherine had talked about it often enough, had she ever mentioned where it was? Would Helen remember?

  If Catherine handed herself in to the police then it would be discovered that Frank was dead. Helen would go to prison. She would go to prison. She deserved to go to prison, Helen did not. She sat on the floor for hours, her mind full of questions. She waited for the knock on the door or the telephone to ring, but neither came.

  She stayed in the house for two days. Still, no one came. And so, on the third day, she packed her things and left. She’d read the newspaper pushed through her letter box and it was confirmed. The police were searching for ‘local man’ Frank Samuels in connection with the accident. The baby who had somehow survived was Stephanie Buchanan. She was being looked after by relatives. No-one would ever know that it was Catherine who was responsible for killing her family. No-one except Helen.

  Catherine’s guilt consumed her. She locked herself away within the rooms of her father’s cottage. She knew that she would return one day and find this girl, tell her the truth, the whole story. It would mean waiting until the girl was old enough to understand, old enough to try and comprehend. Catherine had contacted an estate agent in Fourbridge and clearly outlined that she wanted to purchase a property that looked out onto the cemetery. It was the one place she believed that the girl would go to, and Catherine would wait there for her. For as long as it took.

  Shortly after Catherine’s father died, she received details of the property she had waited for, it was perfect. Catherine knew that although the little girl would only be nine years old, she had to buy the house, if she didn’t, she may have lost her only opportunity. And so she had returned to England, moved in, and waited. She never tried to find Helen or make contact with her. She felt that she didn’t deserve the love that Helen would have given her, she didn’t deserve the happiness, she didn’t deserve to enjoy her life.

  She would never love again, never take another lover.

  And so it was, she had waited for eighteen years and now, the story told, it was over, she would be taken to prison to spend the rest of her days behind cold walls. The only comfort she felt was that she had had the chance to tell Stevie exactly what had happened, save her the trouble of spending endless years trying to find a man who was already dead.

  CHAPTER EIGHTY EIGHT

  Stevie felt numb. She stared at Catherine and felt Scruffy Boy purring on her lap. She looked down through her tears at the photograph of Catherine.

  “So, that’s what you meant, the guy at the railway crossing saw you, not Frank, running from the accident. You were both tall with dark hair, he thought he’d seen a man and the police presumed it was Frank seeing as it was his Landrover.” She stared at the picture and wiped her face. Now she understood what it was about the photograph that didn’t seem quite right. The photograph of a woman, tall, handsome, but at a glance it could so easily have been a man. In the dark and in the pouring rain it would have been hard to tell.

  “Yes.” Catherine ran her hand through her hair and sat back. “That’s exactly it.”

  “But, why didn’t you just come and find me, instead of waiting here?” Stevie put the picture on the table. “I mean, I wouldn’t have been that hard to find, surely.”

  “Probably not, but I had no way of knowing at what point in your life your family would tell you about the accident and what happened to your parents and brother. If I’d found out where you were and turned up on your doorstep, what would I have said, it was for them to tell you, not me. But I knew that when you turned up at the cemetery that they must have told you and that’s why I waited here.” Catherine choked back and let tears the fall, “There are no words for me to explain how I feel about what I’ve done, I can’t tell you how sorry I am, I deserve to go to prison and I know that’s where I’ll end up, I’ve always known that, that’s why I’ve always been ready to leave here, never settled.”

  Suddenly Scruffy Boy woke, yawned and got up; he stepped onto the table and walked over to Catherine, pushing his head against her hand. And through her tears she managed to say, “I only ask that you let me speak to my neighbour about my cat, she’ll look after him for me. That’s all I ask.” She broke down and Stevie watched her as she sobbed, her face wet with tears. “I’m so sorry, I’ve got no right to cry, I’m sorry.”

  Stevie didn’t answer her. She looked around the kitchen, waiting for Catherine to compose herself.

  “What if I hadn’t come to the cemetery, how long would you have waited, or did you hope deep down that I wouldn’t come?” Stevie asked, her eyes on Catherine.

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I ever thought that you wouldn’t come. I hadn’t thought past that I suppose.”

  “What happened to your car?” Stevie crossed her arms.

  “Sorry?” Catherine blinked hard.

  “Your sports car, what happened to it?”

  Catherine was taken aback, all that Stevie had just learned and she was asking her this. “I told the garage to sell it for me, told them I was working in France and didn’t know when I’d be back. Why?”

  “I just wondered.” Stevie took a deep breath. “Why are all those boxes packed in the other room?” She asked.

  “What do you mean?” Catherine blew her nose and let Scruffy climb onto her lap.

  “When I came in I noticed that you had packed, there’s all those boxes in the front room, you were going to run away again weren’t you?” Stevie said, trying to keep anger from her voice.

  “No, I wasn’t going to run, I’ve just never unpacked them, they’ve been there since I moved in.” Catherine looked straight at her, sincere.

  Stevie looked at Scruffy.

  “He just turned up one day, I didn’t plan on getting him, he showed up and made himself welcome, I’ve just let him stay.” Catherine explained without Stevie asking the question.

  Stevie stood up and walked around the kitchen, running her hand along the worktops. “This is too much.” She blew out her cheeks. “This is so much to take in, I can’t even describe how I feel.” She looked out of the window at the garden, “You expect me to believe that you haven’t tried to find Helen, I mean, surely you were curious to know where she is?” Stevie turned to look back at Catherine.

  “I swear to you, I haven’t. I have no idea where she is.”

  “You both got away with murder.” Stevie walked back round the table and sat down. Her voice was low, angry. “Why didn’t you just go to the pol
ice before, I mean hand yourself in?” Stevie crossed her arms.

  “I could have, but I had to protect Helen, I don’t want her getting into trouble, she doesn’t deserve that.”

  “But, when I go to the police, I’ll tell them what she did.”

  “And I’ll tell them it was me.” Catherine put Scruffy onto the floor. “I’ll tell them that I killed Frank and that she had no idea about it.” Catherine looked Stevie in the eye, “I will accept whatever I have coming to me, but I have to protect her, I have to Stevie.”

  “Why?” Stevie held Catherine’s look.

  Catherine sighed, “Because I loved her and I always told her that I would protect her. I’ll take the blame for everything.” Catherine looked away.

  There was a silence in the room; the only slight sound was Scruffy purring as he lay on his back offering his belly to Stevie, who resisted.

  “I have to go.” Stevie finally stood up. “I’ll be back soon. Best you get your story straight before I get back.” She looked at Catherine who nodded slowly.

  A moment after Stevie had gone, Catherine knocked on Marilyn’s door.

  “Hello, come in!” Marilyn was wiping her hands on a tea towel.

  “Can you come next door?” Catherine asked, her face gaunt.

  Marilyn looked at her, “Are you alright? You look terrible.”

  “Please, I need to speak to you.” Catherine stepped back.

  “Oh no, is it Scruffy Boy?” Marilyn flicked the tea towel over her shoulder.

  “No, it’s not Scruffy…” Catherine turned and walked back to her house, followed silently by Marilyn.

  Catherine walked through to the kitchen and lit a cigarette; Scruffy boy was sprawled out on the kitchen table.

  As Marilyn walked in she pulled out a chair and sat down, “What on earth’s the matter?”

  “I’m going away and I need you to look after Scruffy Boy for me.” Catherine held back tears.