To Catch a Butterfly Page 5

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Adam rubbed his eyes and cried out, “Ahh!”

  “What’s wrong son?” Peter Daniels pushed open the bathroom door.

  “Soap, I’ve got soap in my eyes!” Adam smacked the water.

  “Let me see.” Peter knelt down beside the bath and took Adam’s chin in his hand, lifting it gently toward him, “Just open your eye for me.”

  Adam blinked several times, Peter could see it was red, “Ok, what I’ll do is I’ll pop out your eyeball, give it a rinse and then pop it back in, good as new.” He smiled, and Adam smiled back, “It really hurts though.”

  “I know.” Peter wiped bubbles from Adam’s forehead, “It’ll be sore for a while, try not to keep rubbing it.” He ran his hand over Adam’s wet hair.

  “I think ice cream would probably help.” Adam was still blinking.

  “Ice cream?” Peter leant backwards, removing his hand, “Ok, if you insist, I’ll rub some ice cream into your eyeball.”

  Adam giggled, “No, to eat.”

  “It’s nearly bedtime, we’ll have to check with your mother.” He stood up, shaking his head, both of them knowing full well that Beth would say yes. His son was a genius.

  Ten minutes later Adam was in his pyjamas, perched between Beth and Peter on the sofa, each of them tucking into a bowl of ‘chocolate chip surprise.’ Every now and then, Beth and Peter peering over him grinning at each other, “Gonna be a charmer.” Beth pointed her spoon at Adams head.

  “Yep.” Peter nodded in agreement as he watched Adam separating chocolate chips and putting them into the corner of his bowl to save until last.

  “Just like his father.” Beth winked at Peter. Peter nodded slowly, and they shared a look. The truth being he wasn’t Adam’s father at all. But he had felt like his own from the very moment he had seen the little bundle wrapped up in a huge blanket with just the top of his head and his baby blue eyes staring up at him. He had watched him take his first precarious steps, heard his first word, which Peter was sure was ‘accountant’ but had never convinced Beth who insisted it was actually ‘agadad’, had stayed up all night with Beth when he had a fever and picked him up when he fell off his first bike. Thirteen times.

  They had spent many an evening when Adam was tucked up in bed discussing when the right time would be to tell him that he was adopted. They agreed that they would start by telling him how much they loved him and how even though Beth didn’t give birth to him, that they had always felt that he was theirs. They had gone over and over the rest of the conversation and it changed every time they did it. The truth was that they didn’t really know what they would say or when they would say it. They had kept the newspaper cuttings to show him, the tragic story that had emerged. It had been a story that had shocked the neighbourhood and when the adoption papers had come through, Beth and Peter had already bought the house on the island and were ready to move away from the area that held the truth of Adam’s start in his short little life. They didn’t want him to be told what had happened by a neighbour, especially Mrs Coombes, or cockney Coombes as she was referred to, having moved from London’s East End “I was born under the sound of Bow bells me.” she would inform anyone who was listening, she knew everybody’s business and at every given opportunity would stop Beth in the street and say, “Marvellous what you’re doing for that poor mite, if I ‘ad room I’d take ‘im meself, but ya know ‘ow it is, still, best he goes to a good family, bring ‘im up proper, ‘spect you’ll ‘ave to tell ‘im one day though, you know about what happened to his poor….”

  ‘Yes Mrs Coombes, we will.” Beth would always have to cut her short or she would go over the whole story as if Beth didn’t know.

  It was encounters like these that made them decide to move away, far away from it all. They had been to the Isle of Wight a few years before when friends from Peter’s accountancy office had invited them on a sailing weekend. It was the first place they had both agreed on as soon as they had decided to move away. A new baby, new home, new start.

  They tucked Adam into bed after Beth had managed to remove a lump of chocolate chip from his pyjama top and watched him from the doorway as he fell quickly into sleep. The strange thing was Beth had seen photographs of Peter when he was a young boy and there was an uncanny resemblance between them. She had longed for a child as had Peter, and when they discovered that she couldn’t have one of her own, they had decided immediately to adopt. Adam was their beautiful son now and they would love and protect him for the rest of his life. They just couldn’t protect him from the truth forever. And they knew it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Laura walked up the path to Stevie's front door; the sun was already warm on her face as she reached for the doorbell. Marie opened it a moment later, blinking in the daylight, “Hello Laura.” She said quickly, dismissively.

  “Hello Mrs Buchanan, is Stevie coming out today?”

  “No not today, she’s not feeling very well, maybe tomorrow.” And with that the door was shut. Laura paused before turning round and walking slowly back down the path. She would call for Adam and they could go to the river together. Maybe he would hold her hand. Maybe he would kiss her on the cheek. Maybe he would ask her to marry him. Maybe she would say yes.

  Stevie opened her bedroom door just as the telephone rang, she could hear her mother’s voice, she sounded excited, shouting down the phone “Will, darling, how are you, I miss you so much!.” She ran her free hand through her hair as if making herself respectable for him. “Fine, we’re fine.” She turned to see Stevie coming down the stairs, “I hope you’re not working too hard, are you eating enough?”

  Stevie stopped on the bottom stair, her hand resting on the banister.

  “Good, yes, she’s here.” Marie waved Stevie over to her, “Dad wants to say hello.” Marie smiled, “She’s just coming, she’s been such a good girl Will, looking after her old mum, she’s been a little gem, haven’t you sweetheart?” She handed the receiver to Stevie and stood behind her, placing both hands heavily on Stevie's shoulders. “Hello dad, when are you coming home I go back to school in two weeks will you be home by then?” She felt Marie’s’ hands squeezing tighter “Yes, I’m being good, I miss you.”

  “I miss you too pumpkin, I’ve got you a present, it’s a special one. I was going to save it for Christmas but you can have it when I get home.”

  Stevie heard the pips go, her eyes fell to the floor, then the sound of her father’s voice again, “I’ve only got a bit of change left sweetheart, can you put mummy back on, I love you very much, be a good girl.”

  Marie was leaning down to Stevie and pulled the receiver from her hand, “Hello darling, promise you’ll ring again soon.”

  “Marie, don’t tell Stevie but I’m coming home at the weekend, we’re ahead of schedule and Harry’s said that I can come and spend the weekend with you, I want to surprise her.”

  “Oh Will that’s brilliant.” She looked at Stevie who was staring up at her and turned her back to her. “I can’t wait.” She whispered.

  “Me too, I’d better go, I’ll ring you tomorrow and I’ll see you Saturday, don’t forget how much I love you both.”

  “I know.” She held the receiver tight to her ear, “I love you too.” She had just finished the sentence when the pips went again,

  “I’ve got to go, give Stevie a kiss for me.”

  “Oh don’t worry I will.” She held the receiver until the line went dead.

  “Dad said you’ve got to be a good girl.” Marie replaced the receiver and walked into the kitchen, leaving Stevie standing alone in the front room.

  “What did dad say to you?” Marie called.

  “He said he’s bought me a special present and I don’t have to wait until Christmas for it.” Stevie mumbled as if she were talking to herself.

  “I wonder what it is?” Marie looked around the doorway, “Come and get your breakfast.”

  Stevie walked into the kitchen and sat at the table.


  “I told your dad you were being good, I don’t want you telling him that you stole that ice cream, so we’ll forget about it, it’s forgotten about now, so let’s put the whole thing behind us. Friends again eh?” Marie poured chocolate covered cereal into a bowl. Stevie didn’t reply.

  “Are you going to answer me young lady?” Marie put the bowl in front of Stevie and handed her the milk. “There you go.”

  “I didn’t steal it.” Stevie shook her head.

  “Stevie, I’m going to tell you something now, your father would be very upset if he knew what you’d done and he would have made you pay for it too.” Marie put her hands on the table and leaned down towards her face, “And I’ll tell you something else, dad told me he might come home at the weekend.” She watched Stevie's eyes widen and could see the excitement in her face, “But when he rings me tomorrow, I’m going to tell him not to come home unless you promise me that that this whole business is forgotten about, the whole silly incident.”

  “I promise, please don’t tell him not to come mum.” Stevie watched as her mother stood up straight and crossed her arms in front of her. “Then we can forget about the whole thing then?” Marie raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes, will you tell dad to come home now?”

  “Yes, I will, but you have to act like it’s a surprise, now eat your breakfast.” Marie tapped the table and nodded at Stevie’s cereal bowl.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Catherine Stone carried a mug of coffee out into her back garden, she stopped still for a moment and watched as a squirrel weaved it’s way around the branches of the large tree which stood, tall and strong, towards the rear of the garden, she remained motionless admiring its speed and agility as it jumped effortlessly from branch to branch, disappearing for a second and then reappearing further up, its silvery fur glistening in the sun. When it jumped onto her back fence and finally disappeared with a swish of its tail, she set her coffee mug down on the wooden bench, left there by the previous owners. The back garden, unlike the front, lacked colour, just varying shades of green. A vast lawn in need of mowing, which was skirted with conifers and evergreen shrubs. Dotted around the stone patio floor were broken terracotta pots, a couple containing dried compost and shrivelled herbs, brown parsley and thyme. The only one that was flourishing was the most delicate looking fennel, its feathery leaves swaying majestically in the gentle breeze that carried itself across the lawn. Catherine closed her eyes and in the quiet of the morning she let her mind wander. She was back in France sharing this beautiful morning with her father.

  He was a quiet man of very few words, with grey blue eyes. Eyes which had melted the heart of Catherine’s mother so many years before. The same eyes that watched her life slip away one Sunday morning in 1947. He had watched as his beautiful wife Jess, with her dark hair and faultless humour, gradually lose her strength, struck down with a brain tumour when Catherine was nine years old.

  “Mummy’s gone to be an angel now.” He told her, his voice trembling as he looked down at his little girl who was dropping a folded piece of paper into the open grave at her mothers funeral.

  “I wrote her a poem to take with her.” Catherine explained, “She’ll like that, she can read it everyday.”

  Her father’s jaw tightened and he finally let tears fall down his face, he had lost his wonderful wife, he would never see her again, never laugh with her, never lay with her. John Stone made a promise to himself that one day he would return to France where they had spent their honeymoon and live out his days, dreaming of the life he could have had. And in the winter of 1960, when Catherine was twenty two and making her own way in life, that’s what he did. He returned to Brittany. He never courted again; he had buried his heart when he buried Jess. He lived there alone in a cottage which was really far too big for him, but the location looked out onto fields that he had walked in with her. He lived a quiet life, kept himself to himself and rarely spoke when he ventured to the local town to stock up on groceries. He lived alone until Catherine arrived on his doorstep almost twenty years later. She never gave her reasons for leaving England and he never asked. He died warm in his bed seven years later, surrounded by photographs of Jess.

  Catherine blinked away a tear and realised her coffee had gone cold. She picked up her mug and tossed the contents across the lawn and with empty mug in hand she walked back into the house. She wandered from room to room, looking at unpacked boxes. She had hung her favourite pictures up on hooks that had been banged into the walls years before, most of them were too low and she allowed herself a smile at how ridiculous they looked. She looked around each room, a musty smell hung in the air and she pushed open the windows in the bedrooms. An hour later and she was sitting in Whyteleafe cemetery with the sun burning the back of her neck.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Adam opened the front door to Laura, “Hello Adam, do you want to go out?”

  “If you like.” Adam replied and stepped back from the door to let her in. As she walked into the hallway she wiped her feet, “Stevie's sick, she can’t come out today.” She closed the front door behind her.

  “Hello Laura.” Beth Daniels appeared from the kitchen, “What’s wrong with Stevie?” She asked.

  “Her mum said she wasn’t very well.” Laura peered into the fish tank “Is that one dead?” She stepped closer breathing onto the glass.

  “Let me see.” Beth put her hand on Laura’s shoulder and recognised the familiar sight of a little rigid body bobbing around at the bottom of the tank. She picked up the little net and expertly scooped it up.

  “Is it dead?” Laura asked again, trying to peer into the net as droplets fell from it onto Beth’s hand.

  “Yes but it was very old.” She lied, making her way upstairs to dispose of it down the toilet.

  Adam came out of the kitchen, “What’s wrong?” He responded to Laura’s horrified expression.

  “There was a dead fish in your tank.”

  “Oh.” Adam studied her face, half expecting her to crumble to the floor.

  “Where do you want to go today?” Laura asked, dead fish forgotten.

  “I don’t mind, is Stevie definitely not coming out?” He asked

  “ No, she’s sick.” Laura knew that Stevie was always more willing to participate in any adventure that Adam suggested and she made a conscious decision that today, she herself would do exactly that.

  “Did her mum say what was wrong?” Beth asked as she came down the stairs, empty net in hand.

  “No, but we can still go out.” Laura urged and Beth smiled, she knew full well that Laura had a little crush on Adam.

  “Adam, why don’t you take Laura fishing?” Beth suggested, placing the net back next to the tank ready for the next time.

  Adam looked at Laura expecting her to choose something else to do.

  “Yeah, we’ll go fishing.’ She smiled eagerly.

  “Ok.” Adam smiled, surprised at the ease of her acceptance, he opened the cupboard under the stairs to retrieve his fishing rods and net.

  “Did Stevie look really poorly?” Beth asked nonchalantly.

  “I didn’t see her, her mum answered the door, I didn’t go in.”

  “Oh, I see, well I’ll probably pop round in a bit, see if she’s alright.” Beth went back into the kitchen.

  Beth made Adam a packed lunch, Laura had brought her own, her mother wouldn’t dream of sending her out without one.

  Half an hour later they were fishing in Blackhurst River. “Do you think Stevie will come out tomorrow?” Adam asked, squinting as the sun reflected off the water.

  “I don’t know.” Laura replied, growing a little impatient that Adam had not yet mentioned marriage.

  “Do you think you’ll get married and have babies one day?” She blurted out without looking at him, pretending that she had spotted something in the river.

  “Dunno, probably won’t even get married.” Adam unknowingly breaking a little piece of Laura’s heart with his blunt reply.


  As the morning rolled into the afternoon, they ate their sandwiches, Laura talked about weddings and Adam talked about Stevie. After lunch they fished a while longer without catching anything, they rarely did. Most of the time was spent unhooking bits of rubbish that had been thrown in by other visitors, or a small fallen branch that had floated down river.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “What do you want for lunch?” Marie had been watching Stevie as she sat out in the back garden.

  “Don’t mind.” Stevie turned to look at her.

  “Do you want to give me a hand, I think I’ll do a salad?” Marie smiled and Stevie nodded, untucking her legs from beneath her. She got up from her chair and joined her mother, immediately spotting a jar of beetroot on the table.