To Catch a Butterfly Page 4

  “The good news first, no, no the bad news first.” She lit a cigarette and drew deeply on it.

  “Well..” William started.

  “No wait, the good news first, yeah definitely the good news.”

  “Well, Harry got a huge contract confirmed today, he’s offered me two months work on a new housing development, and the pay is treble what I’m bringing in at the moment.” He raised his eyebrows.

  “That’s brilliant, what’s the bad news, don’t tell me, it’s in China?” Marie flicked her ash.

  “No, London, which means we’ll be staying there.” His eyes moved to Stevie, who was studying the bubbles in her glass.

  “You’ll be away for two months?” Marie stubbed out her half smoked cigarette. “The whole two months?” She frowned.

  “Yeah, but the money’s too good to turn down, we could put some by for Christmas, buy a new tree, new decorations, lots of nice presents, eh Stevie?” William put his hands on his knees. There was silence for a moment, William looked at the floor.

  “Why don’t maggots eat teeth and bones?” Stevie’s question hung in the air, William and Marie looked at her then at each other and burst out laughing. William stood up, walked over to Stevie and after carefully placing her drink on the draining board he scooped her up in his arms and kissed her firmly on the forehead. “Pumpkin, you do ask some strange questions.” He squeezed her tightly and shifted her round to his hip, her legs wrapped around his waist. He reached out and pulled Marie towards him with his free hand, “I love you both so much.” He planted a kiss on Marie’s forehead. “When do you leave?” Her voice was quiet.

  “Day after tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Catherine Stone stepped out of her front door, blinking in the morning sun; she looked around at a sea of yellow marigolds which adorned her front garden. In the correspondence between her and the estate agents over the last few years she had made it clear what she wanted. It was quite simple; she wanted a property that looked out onto Whyteleafe cemetery, nothing else. At first, this request wasn’t questioned, but after three years of sending her details on ‘A lovely property with a separate garage in good order just a fifteen minute walk from the cemetery.’ and ‘Well, this one’s a steal, it’s just had all new windows installed and the cemetery is only a five minute drive away.’ Finally Rob Higgins, the pimply young trainee had slipped into the conversation his question about why she insisted that she could see the cemetery from her window and anyway, why this cemetery, what about the little one down Brockenoak Lane?

  ‘Mr Higgins, I am an artist and artists like inspiration, I am inspired by cemeteries and the butterflies, birds and squirrels that gather in them and I want to be inspired when I am looking out of my window, or when I leave my house and can be there in a moment, anyway the cemetery in Brockenoak Lane has no houses looking onto it.’ Catherine had answered him. Rob Higgins didn’t understand all that arty farty stuff, but he delivered all the same.

  “Lovely aren’t they?” Catherine’s thoughts were pricked by the voice nearby and she looked up to see a plump woman with dark brown wavy hair and equally brown eyes walking up her path.

  “Sorry?”

  “The marigolds, the couple that lived here before were keen gardeners but practically everything was yellow, kept the place nice and bright though. They put those in just before they moved out, bit like a welcoming present.” She smiled, “I’m Marilyn Haines.” She had a warm face and Catherine couldn’t help but smile back.

  “Catherine.” She paused. “Stone, Catherine Stone.”

  “Nice to meet you, I’m just next door if you need anything, it’s just me and my husband Len.”

  “Thank you.” Catherine felt her answer was short and quickly tried to think of something else to say, “How long have you lived here?”

  “Donkey’s years, our daughter lives three miles away with her family, she thought about buying your house actually, but it was a bit over her price range, they’re only a young couple, you know how it is.” There was that warm smile again.

  “Oh, well I..” Catherine still struggled to reply.

  “I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do, like I said just shout if you need anything.” Marilyn took another glimpse at the marigolds, reaching out to touch one and then she was gone. Catherine stood watching her turn left out of her gate, she was usually a good judge of people’s characters, she just knew soon after meeting someone if she would like them and she had a feeling that Marilyn Haines was alright. She leant down and sniffed at the flowers, the sun warming the leaves and reflecting bright yellow off the petals.

  She stood up, took a deep breath and walked slowly down her path, less than a minute later she was standing at the gates of Whyteleafe cemetery. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed someone coming towards her and turned her head to see an elderly man shuffling up the pavement. Catherine noticed the rose of a watering can sticking out of the top of the green canvas bag he was carrying; he paused momentarily to say good morning and made his way through the large iron gates.

  Catherine watched as the elderly man made his way down the main path and then she followed him through the gates.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Stevie was awake, her head buried under her pillow, she had laid awake long after midnight, her father’s words repeating themselves over and over again. Two months, she wouldn’t see him for two whole months. She had cried silently until her head hurt and then she’d finally succumbed to her tiredness and with puffed eyes and an ache in her heart, she had fallen asleep.

  “Good morning sleepy head.” William’s face appeared around her bedroom door, “Are you in there somewhere?” He gently tugged on her pillow, which Stevie grasped tightly pulling her knees up under her chin.

  “Do you want some breakfast pumpkin?” William stepped back, “Your mum’s had to go to work again today.” His eyes worked their way around the little room, “So it’s just you and me.”

  There was no reaction from the little bundle on the bed, “Thought we could do something, whatever you want.” Still nothing, he sighed, “Stevie?”

  “Can I have ice cream for breakfast?” A muffled request at last.

  “Ice cream?” William raised his eyebrows, “For breakfast?”

  “With chocolate sauce on top.” Stevie pulled the pillow from her face and blinked at her father who was smiling down at her.

  “On one condition.” He lifted his index finger to reiterate the ‘one’.

  “I won’t tell her.” Stevie finally smiled back at him.

  “Good, ok now get up or I’ll throw a bucket of water over you.” He turned and made his way downstairs, grinning to himself.

  They spent the morning sitting in the small back garden, neither of them mentioning William’s impending departure. They talked about Christmas, Stevie loved Christmas time and William promised that this year would be the best ever, they would buy a big new tree, a real one, their old artificial one was practically threadbare and had lost its shape with years of unbending and bending back the branches, and it was missing a couple which had snapped completely off. They would buy brand new tinsel and a big silver star to go on top, there would be a huge turkey and they’d pull crackers with real presents inside.

  William listened as Stevie talked about what decorations they would hang around the house, he agreed that they could spray pretend snow in the corners of the windows, probably be best if they just sprayed it in her bedroom window, mum would possibly not go along with Stevie’s idea of spraying every window in the house. He listened to her chatting away and smiled to himself, aware that in the middle of this summer’s morning they had eaten ice cream for breakfast and were talking of Christmas snow.

  By early afternoon the conversation inevitably worked it’s way round to the two months ahead and William carefully explained that sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to, but it wasn’t forever and when he came home it would be October and two months aft
er that would be Stevie’s birthday and he would bring her back a special present all the way from London. As he spoke, he could see tears welling in her eyes and he tapped the side of his leg, “Come ‘ere pumpkin.”

  Stevie slid off of her little chair and sat on his knee, burying her head instantly into his chest. “I know sometimes your mum gets mad, but she loves you very much you know.” He wrapped an arm around her, his tanned skin glistening in the sun, his free hand gently rubbing her back, “She’d never hurt you Stevie, she only says things because she wants what’s best for you.”

  Stevie’s eyes filled with tears and she blinked hard, feeling droplets of water run down her face. She buried her head deeper into his chest, so close she could hear his heartbeat.

  “She’s never hurt you has she, she just tells you off sometimes right?” Will felt guilty just asking the question.

  And as though Marie were standing over her, Stevie replied, “No, she just tells me off if I’m bad.”

  Will allowed himself to believe her, dismissing the alternative.

  “I don’t want you to leave us dad.” Stevie’s voice was muffled, her face against his chest.

  “I’m only going to be away for a little while; I’ll be back before you know it pumpkin.” He squeezed her tightly. Stevie closed her eyes.

  He let her sleep; every now and then he would lean down and kiss her forehead. Clouds moved slowly across the sun bringing a gentle darkness across her face, he knew she had probably cried herself to sleep the night before. He thought about the months ahead, he had to take this opportunity, Harry Palmer had always found William work, even when his business was struggling and he was laying others off; he would recommend William to other contractors. He had fought hard for this contract, he had been up against bigger companies, bigger fish, but they couldn’t supply a skilled team of builders and carpenters at such short notice. The truth of the matter was that Harry had just lost another contract and was about to break the news to his team when he got the call. He knew that he was asking a lot of his boys, drop everything and go to London for two months during the school summer holidays, be away from your families, oh yes and you have to go with a day’s notice. Harry was lucky that the contract was worth a small fortune, he could pay them well, and he would. William was the first person he had approached, Harry always looked after William, and he always teased Stevie when he came to their house, calling her Stephanie over and over until she hit him in the stomach with little punches. “It’s Stevie, S.T.E.V.I.E Stevie.” She would protest.

  “But that’s short for Stephanie isn’t it?” He would drive her mad and then produce a five pound note from behind her ear, with animated amazement he would inspect it, “I think this must be yours, it’s got ‘property of Stephanie Buchanan’ written on it, but if you say your name’s Stevie it can’t be yours can it?”

  Stevie would cock her head to the side and concede, “It’s short for Stephanie.”

  Harry Palmer would make the note disappear at least twice before handing it over to her, “Thank you Harry.” She would respond without prompting from her amused parents and Harry’s wife, Elizabeth.

  The sky above them began to darken, William looked up, he could hear the faint rumble of thunder in the distance, Stevie stirred and rubbing her face, she sat up. “Sounds like we’re gonna have a thunderstorm.” William checked the sky again; he could smell rain in the air.

  “Look!” Stevie pointed to a butterfly that had landed on the empty chair next to them, they watched as it opened and folded it’s wings, it was beautifully marked, a deep red orange in colour with rows of dots along the tips of it’s wings.

  Stevie slowly climbed down from her father’s lap, not taking her eyes off the creature before them, she slowly crept towards it cupping her hands in front of her.

  “Be careful you don’t hurt it.” William whispered as if it would hear him and flutter away.

  “I won’t.” Stevie whispered back, moving closer then as she was about to grasp it in her little hands it suddenly took off fluttering over her head, she turned, looked up and watched as it danced around the garden, swiftly changing direction without warning, leaving Stevie breathless as she chased it jumping over and then into the little square flower bed in the corner of the garden. William watched smiling and shaking his head. “You’ll never catch it Stevie.” Stevie didn’t reply but continued leaping around and waving her arms about. The sky above them was now dark with thick black full clouds which began to send heavy drops of rain, a clap of thunder boomed around them, “Come on Stevie, let’s get inside.” William stood up, “What will you do with it if you catch it anyway?” He started to collect up the breakfast cups and bowls to take them inside before they filled with rain water, when suddenly Stevie shouted “I’ve got it!”

  William looked round to see her slowly walking towards him, her cupped hands held out in front of her, “I’ve got it dad, look!” she cautiously opened her fingers to take a closer look, “It’s beautiful isn’t it?” She looked up at her father who was peering into the gap between her thumbs, “I think you’ve hurt its wing pumpkin.”

  Stevie looked closer and as she opened her hands fully she could see a large piece of the paper thin wing had been torn away, there was a layer of orange dust in the palm of her hand, “Is it dead dad?”

  “No I don’t think so, but it won’t be able to fly.” William gently touched it and carefully took it from Stevie and set it down on the garden table, its damaged wing flapping awkwardly.

  “I didn’t mean to hurt it; I just wanted to look at it.” Stevie stared at the helpless creature.

  “I know, but, well butterflies are very delicate, you have to be very careful if you touch them pumpkin, best leave it now eh?” William put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. A moment later he turned to go inside as fat raindrops as big as bumblebees thumped down onto them.

  “We can’t leave it here dad, it might die.” Stevie ignored the rain and the storm.

  “You can’t do anything for it now, come on sweetheart you’re going to get soaked.” William watched Stevie’s face crumble and big tears well up in her sad eyes, he stepped towards her and she flung her arms around his waist, he ushered her to the back door as huge blobs fell hard on the helpless butterfly, sticking it to the table, trapping it.

  As they got back inside the house, Stevie began to sob, but William knew it was more than the fact that she had broken a butterfly’s wing that made her react this way, he knew she would never hurt anything, but she didn’t want him to go away, even with the promise of a special Christmas to look forward to. That in itself would seem so far away to her at this moment, when tomorrow would be seeming so near.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Catherine Stone sat down on the large wooden bench which was situated half way down the main path. She lit a cigarette and stared ahead of her, the cemetery was empty except for her and the old man who she could see packing away his little bag and shaking out the last drops from his watering can. She watched as he kissed the tips of his fingers then laid them for a moment on top of the headstone before turning and making his way back towards the main gate.

  Catherine closed her eyes, she could feel a cool breeze brushing her face and she listened as the tree beside her began to swish in the wind. When she opened her eyes, she could see dark clouds in the distance and heard the rumble of thunder; she drew on her cigarette and dropped it on the ground, grinding it out under her boot. She stood up, and looking to her right she could see the hallway window of her own house, she stared for a moment, imagining herself standing there looking out.

  She started walking, slowly reading each headstone, each brass plaque, every name carved into little hand made wooden crosses. As she walked her fingertips gently ran along the tops of granite memorials and marble stones, the sky turned black giving the place an eerie but somehow comforting feel about it. Then the rain came, hard and unforgiving, hitting her face as she inched her way through and over the grave
s that spread out before her. Hundreds and hundreds of them. All with their own stories to tell. And some with secrets taken to them.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Stevie focused on the bar of soap, her stomach churning at the thought of it.

  “Last chance Stevie. The truth.” Marie tapped the blade of the vegetable knife on the kitchen table, Stevie blinked; looking across at the tub of ice cream that she and her father had all but finished off two weeks before.

  “That’s it you look at it you little thief.” Marie nodded as she spoke, pointing the tip of the blade towards Stevie’s face.

  “When did you help yourself to your little treat eh, do you know how deceitful that is, thought you’d get away with it didn’t you, well you didn’t.”

  “I didn’t steal it.” Stevie gulped and closing her eyes she could see her father smiling at her she remembered her words “I won’t tell her.” she remembered their morning together before he went away.

  “Time’s up, open your mouth.” Marie picked up the bar of green soap and held it down on the table; she brought the blade of the knife down slowly. Stevie watched in horror as pieces of it crumbled onto the tabletop and her eyes welled up, “Please mum don’t I’m sorry.” The words were pitiful and her chin began to wobble.

  “Sorry? So you admit it now do you?” Marie set down the knife and as she raised her eyebrows a little smile of satisfaction crept across her face.

  “No, I didn’t steal it, I did eat it but I didn’t steal it mum.” Stevie wiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Suddenly Marie grabbed the back of her hair and snapped her head back hard, her free hand grabbing large crumbs of soap and pushing them against Stevie’s clenched teeth.

  “Open your fucking mouth.” Marie’s face was an inch from Stevie’s. “I swear if you don’t open it, I’ll break your fucking teeth.” She grabbed Stevie’s nose and pinched hard on the end, forcing Stevie’s mouth to open, she managed to cry out “No mum!’ before Marie forced chunks of soap into Stevie’s mouth, Stevie could feel her mothers fingers against her teeth and again and again Marie forced more in. Marie then grabbed under Stevie’s chin with one hand and wrapping her hair around her fist with the other, she snapped Stevie’s mouth shut. She watched as Stevie struggled to breathe, her eyes were wide and her hands grabbed at Marie’s desperately trying to make her let go. And then Stevie could do nothing except swallow, as soon as she did Marie let go and Stevie stood up, kicking away the chair she had been sat on, her head dropped and she vomited, watery soapy vomit fell onto the floor, she fell to her knees and sobbed as she was being sick, her hands slipping on the mess on the floor. Marie stepped over her, hesitating only for a moment, “You can clean that fucking mess up when you’ve finished.” She spat, snatching her cigarettes from the worktop as she left the room.