To Catch a Butterfly Read online

  “One more day?” Her tired eyes twinkled.

  Peter shook his head, “One.” he lifted his finger, “One.” He repeated. Then without a word being spoken they both remembered the reason for his absence from work and they sat with quiet thoughts.

  An hour later they were in bed, heady from the wine, they fell into welcome sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Stan Buchanan creaked open Stevie’s bedroom door allowing a shaft of light into the room.

  “You awake Stevie?” He whispered “It’s grandpa Stan.”

  He opened the door a little further “Can I come in?”

  Stevie turned over and pushed the duvet away from her face, blinking, she sat up and grandpa Stan stepped into the room perching himself on the edge of her bed.

  ‘How you doing kiddo?” His voice was rattling.

  Stevie knelt up and threw her arms around his neck, he held her tightly with tears rolling down his face, his chest tightened and he rocked her gently back and forth.

  “Don’t cry grandpa Stan.” Stevie leant back and put her hand on his cheek.

  “Sorry.” He took a deep breath “I’m sorry sweetheart.” He wiped a big hand over his face and smiled, a sorrowful, false smile.

  “Where’s mum?” Stevie asked, sitting back on her pillow.

  “She’s downstairs.”

  ‘Is she alright?”

  “She’s going to be fine, in time, and so are you. We’re going to stay with you for a bit, to help out with things.” He held Stevie’s hand.

  ‘Have you had some tea?”

  “No I’m not hungry.” Stevie’s bottom lip wobbled and grandpa Stan pulled her towards him, cradling her in his big arms. She felt so small, so vulnerable. And so did he.

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

  “So what happens now?” Catherine stubbed out her cigarette and looked down at Scruffy Boy, rolling his paw across his face in satisfaction, then lifting his back leg high in the air he began the ceremony of licking his fur in one direction and then the other.

  Catherine shook her head, “That’s not really cleaning anything is it?” She smiled and stood up, picking up the bone china plate from the kitchen floor and placing the empty tin of salmon into the bin, much appreciated by his royal highness.

  “Well I can’t leave the back door open all night, you’ll have to stay outside I suppose.” Scruffy Boy looked up at her, his tongue still sticking out, Catherine grinned and decided to have a coffee.

  Half an hour later she stood up “I’ve got to go to bed Scruffy Boy.” She stepped over him and opened the back door “Come on, out you go.” He looked up at her, then outside, then looked away. Catherine bent down and picked him up and instantly felt him purring. “I’m sorry boy, you can come back tomorrow if you want.” And with that she set him down outside and stepped back, locking the kitchen door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  John and Vera Blake waved back at Marie as they drove away, Marie watched until their car had turned the corner, then with a glimpse up at the sky she went back inside the house.

  Will’s parents were in the kitchen, Cynthia busied herself with the washing up, Stan sat at the kitchen table watching her. He had waited until Stevie had finally found sleep before he’d settled her back into bed.

  Marie lit a cigarette and held the packet up to Cynthia who was drying her hands on a tea towel.

  “No thanks, I’ve given up.”

  “Why?” Marie snapped “Because it might kill you?”

  “No, I just decided to give up.” Cynthia pulled out a chair and sat down, weary and numb.

  “Everybody dies, whether they smoke or not, look at Will, never touched a cigarette in his life and where is he now?” Marie’s voice rose.

  “Marie, please, we’re all terribly upset, Will was our son.” Cynthia brushed her hair back from her face.

  “He was my husband, I’m a widow, I’m thirty two years old and I’m a fucking widow!”

  Cynthia bowed her head “Marie please..”

  “Marie please what?” Marie put her hand on her hip and took a long drag from her cigarette, “Marie what?” She exhaled “You’ve still got your husband, mine’s gone, dead and gone, so you come and talk to me when you know how that feels.”

  Cynthia looked up “I’ve lost my son.” She spoke deeply and slowly “My son, parents are not supposed to bury their children they are supposed to bury us, so don’t you stand there believing that you are the only one who is grieving or who has lost something, you can never know how I feel right now!” Cynthia banged her hands onto the table. “My God, you of all people know what we’ve lost, I can’t do this…”

  “That’s enough!” Stan cut in as Stevie appeared in the doorway; he turned to face Marie who stood furiously staring at Cynthia. “This is hard on everyone, but we need each other right now, we’re all devastated at what’s happened. We need to be strong.” He took Stevie’s hand and without speaking led her back upstairs.

  “Let’s have a cup of tea and talk this through calmly.” Cynthia took a deep breath.

  “I don’t want a cup of fucking tea I’m going to bed.” and with that Marie stormed from the kitchen. When she reached the landing she hesitated outside Stevie's bedroom door for a moment, she could hear Grandpa Stan whispering to her but didn’t stop to listen to what he was saying.

  “You okay?” Stan put his hands on his wife’s shoulders.

  “No I’m not okay, I feel empty and angry and I don’t know how I’m going to get through this.” Her words were barely audible.

  “I know.” Stan held her tightly as they stood in their son’s kitchen trying to find a reason why.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  Catherine switched on her bedside lamp and sat up. She had initially decided that Scruffy Boy’s wailing would not eat away at her conscience, but now nearly an hour later she could take it no more. She pushed back the bedcovers and got up, slipped on her dressing gown and went downstairs into the kitchen, she fumbled for the light switch before stomping over to the back door and retrieving the key from its hook she unlocked the door and slowly pulled it open. Scruffy Boy was sat big eyed looking up at her, he eventually stood up, meowed his disapproval at being left outside for quite so long and then stepped into the doorway swishing his tail back and forth, he hesitated looking back at something scurrying around in the darkness.

  “In your own time.” Catherine stood holding the door open letting in two moths and a flying daddy long legs, Scruffy Boy then decided to grace the house with his presence. Catherine closed the door, locked up and made her way upstairs “Don’t pee on my carpets!” She called behind her before settling back into bed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Stan Buchanan watched his wife sleeping, unsurprisingly to them both Marie had made no arrangements for where they would sleep, so when she had gone to bed they had rummaged through the airing cupboard and found a spare blanket and two sheets. Stan had insisted that Cynthia slept on the sofa, convincing her that he would prefer the floor. He lay propped up on cushions from the armchair looking at her. She had kept herself well over the years and he was as proud to have her on his arm now as he had been when they first met.

  He had built up, through years of blood sweat and debt, his own haulage business and decided that the office desperately needed organising. There was no filing system, no ordering system, no system in keeping the books or the staff in order. There was simply no system whatsoever. So he placed an advert in the local paper and four women applied. The first applicant had the air of a school mistress about her, and Stan decided that if he wanted to be bossed about he would find himself a wife. The second smelt of stale whisky and kept referring to him as ‘Mr Buckhannon’. The third had a deeper voice than him and although she clearly had all the qualifications required to fill the post, Stan could not take his eyes off of the inch thick layer of foundation smeared across her face and the way she sat like a builder and although she could type about a zillion words a minu
te, her hands were the size and texture of shovels. What amused Stan the most was her name, Dolly.

  By the time the fourth applicant Cynthia Mills arrived for her interview Stan had begun to give up all hope.

  Then at 5.30 with his aching head buried in his hands, there was a knock on his office door.

  “Come in.” He sighed heavily. The door opened and there she was, slim, with short tidy hair, bright grey eyes and a sunshine smile, “Hello, I’m Cynthia Mills are you Mr Buchanan?”

  “Yes, yes I am, please come in.” Stan stood up.

  Cynthia stepped into the cramped office and immediately tripped over the worn carpet and promptly smacked her head on the edge of Stan’s desk. Four hours and six stitches later, Stan pulled up outside Cynthia’s house.

  “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Stan asked for the tenth time.

  “Yes, honestly I’ll be fine, it’s just one of those things, stop worrying.” Cynthia smiled reassuringly “There is one thing I was going to ask though.”

  “Of course, anything.”

  “Did I get the job?”

  “Well I thought about that and I’ve decided to play it safe.”

  “What do you mean?” Cynthia turned in her seat to look at him.

  “Well, I either employ you or you sue me.” He looked straight ahead trying to hide a grin.

  “Deal, when do I start?”

  “Well, as soon as your head is better, so technically you’ll start tomorrow and immediately you’ll go off sick. You’re a terrible employee Miss Mills, this simply won’t do at all.”

  Cynthia smiled broadly and gingerly stepped out of the car, her head throbbed as she bent down to speak to Stan through the passenger window, “Thanks for the lift.”

  “Take care of that head.” He smiled and waited until she was safely inside the house before pulling away, taking with him the butterflies in his stomach.

  Two months later Stan proposed and Cynthia said yes, she moved out of her little rented terraced house and into his three bed roomed detached and six weeks later they were married. She cooked him hearty meals, kept an orderly house, ironed his shirts and loved him to pieces. She became the perfect wife. And Dolly became the perfect secretary.

  And now as he lay on the floor in the middle of the night, looking at his wife he wondered where it had all gone so very wrong. He wondered if they would ever get through this. With age came fatigue, his joints ached when he stood too long. But what did it matter he thought closing his eyes, he was alive and his boy was gone. So what did it matter if age had crept upon him while he looked the other way. He turned off the lamp and prayed for dreams of happier days.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  Catherine opened her eyes and yawned; she turned over and squinted at the little wooden clock on her bedside table, quarter past five. Misty rain was falling outside and the room felt chilly. August was nearly done, stepping aside gracefully to let the autumn creep in.

  She raised her arms above her head and stretched, then suddenly remembered Scruffy Boy. She lifted herself off the pillow onto her elbows, checking that he hadn’t been so bold as to make himself comfortable on her bed. As she got up she visualised little mounds of cat poo dotted around the house. She put on her slippers and quietly made her way downstairs into the kitchen. No cat poo there, no cat either. She filled the kettle and switched it on looking back into the hallway, nothing. No sign in the downstairs toilet or in the dining room, stacked with unpacked boxes. She began to wonder as she searched each room if he had got out somehow, then she remembered her bedroom window was open “Shit.” she put her hand on the banister and quickly made her way back upstairs, taking a deep breath as she walked into her bedroom. Then as she was about to peer out of the window to the ground below, assuring herself that cats have an uncanny ability to land on their feet, she spotted him, curled up in a matted ball of brown fluff amongst a pile of clothes in an open suitcase in the corner of the room. Catherine sat on the edge of her bed and looked at him. A little piece of her heart melting away at the sight of him. She leant forward, placing her hands on her knees “You keep me awake half the night and then have the cheek to sleep in.” With no response from her house guest Catherine got up and made her way downstairs thankful that she’d bought two tins of salmon.

  Half an hour had passed when Scruffy Boy finally rose. “Good morning your worship, I trust you slept well on my clean clothes?” Catherine opened the cupboard to retrieve Scruffy’s breakfast which he eagerly devoured and after a quick wash and brush up he sat by the back door. “It’s raining out there.” She informed him, opening the door. He took a look outside and then looked up at her “Go on then go and do your business.” Scruffy Boy meowed a response, a croaky meow at that, old man’s rattle, and cautiously tip toed outside, looking back at Catherine several times before disappearing around the side of the house. “I’ll get something nice for your dinner!” She called, as if the promise would guarantee his return.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

  Stevie sat at the table and watched her grandma making breakfast.

  “Would you like some toast darling?” Cynthia asked “Or cereal?”

  “What will happen to daddy now?” Stevie asked.

  “What do you mean?” Cynthia swallowed.

  “What happens to him, I mean where is he?”

  “I don’t know how to explain.” She paused. “Grandpa is going to see him today and then he’ll go to a place and then we’ll have a……funeral, where there’s lovely flowers and he’ll stay there and you can visit where he is.” Cynthia sat down next to Stevie. “Do you understand?” She asked softly.

  “In the ground, will he be in the ground in a grave?”

  “Yes, he’ll be in the ground.” Cynthia bit her bottom lip “And you can take flowers there.”

  “Is mum still in bed?” Stevie watched as Grandma Cynthia quickly busied herself with the breakfast.

  “Yes, I expect she’s tired, best let her sleep eh?” Cynthia sighed, remembering Marie’s words the night before “Would you like some juice or milk?”

  “Can I go round and see Adam?” Stevie asked.

  “Who’s Adam?”

  ‘My friend, please can I go, I won’t stay long I promise.”

  Grandpa Stan appeared in the doorway, “I think that would be fine.” He nodded to his wife.

  “Okay, but please eat some breakfast first, there’s a good girl.”

  Stevie managed a piece of toast and left for Adam’s.

  “Marie won’t like that.” Cynthia whispered as she cleared away the breakfast things.

  “We need to make some arrangements, best Stevie isn’t here, we need to discuss things with Marie, I don’t even know if she wants to come with me today.” He raised his eyebrows “Try not to worry about Marie, she’ll be fine.”

  Cynthia nodded, but deep down she knew that Marie was going to be far from fine, very far indeed.

  Stevie spent the morning sitting with Adam in his garden, the rain had cleared and everything smelt fresh. Few words passed between them, Adam not really knowing what to say and Stevie simply grateful for the peace and quiet.

  Beth watched them from the window and wondered how long it would be before Marie came banging on the door. She looked at Adam and worried about what all this was doing to him, as mature as he was, the simple fact remained that he was only ten years old. Part of her wanted to protect him from it all, from all the despair that life could throw at him. She wished Peter was here, he had had to go into work after all, apologising as he threw on his suit and grabbed his briefcase, after remembering that he had a meeting with a client that he really had to keep. “You call me if you need to, I’ll come home as soon as the meetings over. I promise.” He had kissed her on the forehead and hurried out of the house.

  Beth jumped at the thundering at the front door “Jesus Christ!” She turned and took a deep breath, she hurriedly made her way to answer it.

  “Where’s my fucking daughter!?” Marie’
s face was flushed, her eyes wild with anger.

  “Marie calm down, she’s just with Adam.” Beth stood back as Marie pushed her way into the house. “Stevie, come on we’re going home!” Marie shouted looking back at Beth ‘I don’t want her coming here again.” She spat, “You people just have to interfere don’t you, with your big fucking house you think you’re above us, think you can involve yourselves with everyone’s business!”

  “Marie stop it, you know that’s not true, we just want to be here for Stevie and for you.”

  “Well you can keep away from us, I don’t want you near my daughter or me or our house and she won’t be coming back here,..STEVIE!” Marie marched into the kitchen followed closely by Beth.

  “Watch your language around my son.” Beth put a firm hand on Marie’s shoulder, Marie swung round, “Watch my what? Watch my fucking language, fuck you, you and your perfect little life, go fuck yourself!”

  “Mum.” Stevie stood at the back door with Adam behind her.

  Marie lunged forward and grabbed Stevie’s arm “Come on, we’re going home.” Marie dragged a silent Stevie through the front room.

  “Marie please don’t.” Beth tried to get past them but Marie got to the front door first and pulled it open, Beth watched helplessly as Stevie looked back at her, a look of terror on her face.

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  Stevie watched as her father’s coffin was lowered into the ground, she stared until it disappeared. Blinking at tears she looked up at grandpa Stan, who was holding Cynthia’s hand tightly.

  John and Vera Blake stood opposite, John’s face showing little emotion, Vera wiping her face with a neatly folded handkerchief. Marie had told everyone else to stay away, the only evidence that there had been anyone else in Will’s life was the array of bouquets that had been sent, with their simple messages of love and respect. Harry and Elizabeth Palmer had attended against Marie’s wishes but stood silently, so far away from the tiny group that Marie was unaware of their presence. Up until the funeral Stevie had endured her mother’s rantings alone, her grandparents banished from the house.