Butterfly Summer by Anne-Marie Conway
“We’re in the kitchen,” she called out as I came through the front door. “Come and see what I got for your mum.”
They were sitting at the table, sorting the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. It was one of those really big ones that take years and years to finish.
“I’ll never be able to do it,” groaned Mum. “It’s got 5,000 pieces and they’re nearly all blue.”
“But you’re the puzzle queen, Tracy, my love. That’s why I bought it for you. Lots of sky. That was your speciality, wasn’t it?”
Mum shook her head, her hands flying over the tiny pieces as she made little piles of blue all over the table.
“She used to spend half her life doing puzzles,” said Stella, looking over at me. “She was puzzle-mad for a while, your mum.”
“I know,” I said.
Mum’s head snapped up. “What do you mean, you know? I haven’t done a puzzle in years. Not since I left Oakbridge.”
I shrugged. “I just know. You must’ve told me once.” I turned on the tap and splashed my face with water to cool down. “Why did you stop doing them anyway?”
I could feel her eyes on my back. “Look at the state of you!” she said, changing the subject. “Where have you been all day? You’re covered in grass.”
“She’s just been out having fun, eh, Becky?” Stella winked at me, grinning. “It’s too bloomin’ hot to do anything else except lie in the grass on a day like this.”
I sat down at the table and scooped up a pile of puzzle pieces to sort. The picture on the box was of a field of scarlet poppies with lots and lots of sky, some of it deep blue, some lighter blue and some cloudy. “I’ll start separating the red pieces,” I said, “but I’m starving, Mum. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”
Mum got busy heating some baked beans on the stove. She’d changed out of her suit into an old sundress and her hair was scraped back off her face. I tried to imagine her young and happy, like in the photo, but it was impossible. “How was work?” I asked. “Did it take you long to get there?”
She pulled a face. “The journey was fine but the rest of the day was a bit daunting to be honest. The people seem really nice but I’ve never been in that position before, you know, in charge. It’s all so different from what I’m used to. I spent most of the day trying to remember everyone’s names.”
“Well it’s only the first day,” I said. “I’m sure it’ll be better tomorrow.”
“I just hope I wasn’t too timid,” she went on, her voice getting higher. “I mean, I am supposed to be heading up the department but I thought it would be best to ease myself in slowly, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, but you must assert yourself, Trace,” said Stella. “Show them who’s boss!”
I couldn’t imagine my mum showing anyone she was boss. She was the sort of person who said sorry if someone pushed in front of her to get on the bus.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she sighed, stirring the beans. “I suppose you’re right...”
“Of course I’m right! It’s like I always say to my Mack, No one’s going to believe in you if you don’t believe in yourself. Not that he listens, mind.”
“He didn’t come over here this morning, did he?” I asked, blushing a bit. “Only someone rang the bell...” I bit my lip, embarrassed.
“Not this morning, love. He’s staying with his dad for a couple of days. They’ve gone camping. Male bonding or something, his dad said.” She roared with laughter, banging her hand on the table. “It’s ever since we broke up, he’s always dragging poor Mack off for some deep and meaningful experience that’s supposed to bring them closer. I’ll get him to pop over as soon as he gets back, I promise.”
I thought about showing them the mystery note, but I didn’t want Mum to freak out. If she thought for a second that I’d gone off to meet a total stranger at the Butterfly Garden, she’d probably lock me in my room – or worse, get someone to come and look after me while she was at work. The note must’ve been for her, or for the people who lived in the house before us.
Stella ended up staying for ages. We all had baked beans on toast with melted cheese, and then she popped down to the pub and bought a bottle of wine for her and Mum to share. I nearly asked Mum about the photo while Stella was at the pub, but I didn’t know how long she’d be. I knew I was putting it off, stalling, but I had to be sure it was the right moment.
When Stella got back they ended up having this big discussion about Take That and whether or not they should’ve let Robbie rejoin the band. They jabbered on about it for ages and then Mum dug out an old CD and they sang every song, getting louder and louder, waving their wine glasses in the air. I tried to listen and look interested, but inside my stomach was churning over. It was great being with Stella, but I really needed to talk to Mum alone.
It was after ten by the time she left. The second Mum shut the door behind her, it was as if all the lights had gone off. The house felt dark and empty.
“Isn’t Stella brilliant?” sighed Mum. “She’s always been such a good friend.”
“Why did you lose touch with her?”
Mum shrugged. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I moved away from Oakbridge, and I was busy working and looking after you. It was just one of those things I suppose... I think I’ll go up now, though. I’m dead on my feet. It hasn’t been the easiest day.”
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, turning back to me.
“You know, I really hope I haven’t made a big mistake.” She was talking about work, about the new job, but I wondered how many other mistakes she’d made. Like not telling me the truth about her past for a start. I thought about the list in my pocket scribbled on the back of her note. All those questions swirling about in my head. Who is the baby? Is she my sister? Where is she now? Why don’t I know about her? I followed her up, thinking maybe I could just test the water.
She was in her room, lying across the bed, her arm draped over her eyes. “Turn the light off, would you, love? I think I can feel one of my migraines coming on.” I stood by the door, my hand hovering over the switch. The questions seemed difficult suddenly, dangerous even.
“Please, Becky, switch it off.” Mum propped herself up to see what I was doing. I opened my mouth but the words got jumbled up. I couldn’t figure out the right order, or how to make my voice work properly. “Why did you tell Mrs. Jackson that I can’t swim?” was all I managed in the end.
Something flickered across her face. It was there and then it was gone. Fear, or guilt...I’m not sure. She lay back down, rolling over to face the wall. “I’m sorry,” she said after a bit. “I really am. We were talking the other day and it just slipped out.”
“Mum! You know I never tell anyone.”
“I’ll make it up to you, Becky,” she mumbled, her voice full of sleep. “Honest.”
I switched off the light and closed her door. I couldn’t ask her about the photo. Not right then.
I found it much harder to fall asleep than Mum. I lay there in the heat, with my eyes closed tight, trying to picture my dad on the doorstep, but something was bugging me. I went through everything that had happened since last night: finding the photo, the mystery note, Mrs. Jackson’s comment about the lake, meeting Rosa May. I retraced every moment since I found the box hidden under Mum’s bed, but I still couldn’t grasp what it was. It was like the new puzzle – except the pieces didn’t quite fit together. And then, just as I was drifting off to sleep, it came to me.
It was what Rosa May said at the Butterfly Garden when I showed her the note.
You mean you’ve come here to meet someone you don’t even know? That’s what she’d said when we were talking about Mack. I flicked on my light, fished the note out of my jeans pocket and smoothed it out in front of me on the bed.
Meet me at the Butterfly Garden – any time after eleven this morning.
It wasn’t from Mack, he was away camping. But there was one other person from Oakbridge who might want to meet me. One othe
My heart started to thump.
It suddenly made perfect sense.
The note had to be from my dad.
I only know three things about my dad. I was bugging Mum about him on my seventh birthday and in a weak moment she said, “His name is Ben, he’s very tall, and he’s a conservationist.” I didn’t know what conservationist meant – I couldn’t even say it properly then – but in the dictionary it said, Someone who works to protect the environment from destruction or pollution. I remember thinking that was really cool, like he was a superhero or something, off saving the rainforests or making sure that white tigers didn’t become extinct.
That was enough for me for a while. I raced around the playground at school, pretending we were in the Amazon together, planting trees and looking after gorillas and other rainforest wildlife. I got a camera when I was nine and I’d crawl around the garden taking pictures of every insect I could find. We were both conservationists and we had important work to do.
The adventures we had grew dangerous and exciting, and they saw me right through my time at junior school, but eventually I wanted to know more. Little everyday details like his favourite pudding, and whether he liked cats better, or dogs, and most important of all, if he was ever coming back – but Mum wouldn’t tell me. She said that talking about him made her remember stuff that she didn’t want to think about any more, and there didn’t seem to be anything I could do to change her mind.
She’d already gone to work by the time I got up the next morning. She must’ve rushed off in a hurry because the kitchen was a mess. The plates were stacked up in the sink with cold, dried-up baked beans stuck to them, and it took me ages to scrub the pan clean. I tidied around the puzzle, leaving the little piles of blue where Mum had left them the night before, and then made myself some toast. The house was deathly quiet again. I sat at the table, thinking about the note, half of me wanting the doorbell to ring and half of me dreading it.
I was tempted to wait in all day, just in case, but I’d promised Rosa May I’d meet her at ten, and apart from that I really didn’t like being in the house by myself. It just felt far too empty. I set out along the lane, past the Jacksons’ shop and down to Amble Cross. It was another gorgeous day; the sky so blue it looked as if it had been freshly painted that morning – almost too blue to be true.
I was about halfway to the Garden when my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a message from Laura. She’d attached a beautiful photo that she’d taken on holiday: it was a spider’s web covered in glistening, early-morning dew, with a small spider sitting in the middle. I texted straight back to say that the signal in Oakbridge was rubbish – the spiders miles bigger – and that I’d discovered an amazing place for when she came to visit.
“Back again?” said the wrinkly lady at the entrance. “We do like to see young people using the Garden. I’m Maggie, by the way, and the lady in the shop is my sister Joan.
“I’m Becky,” I said shyly. “I only moved to Oakbridge a few weeks ago.”
She smiled, waving me through to the tiny shop where Joan was ready with her stamp.
“Have I told you about the number of species we’ve got this summer?” she asked as I held out my hand. “It’s the heat, you see – we’ve never seen anything like it!”
I nodded, edging towards the door, impatient to see Rosa May. “I’d better go, I’m meeting my friend.”
“Oh good!” said Joan. “That’ll be so much more fun than wandering around by yourself.”
I spotted Rosa May long before she realized I was there. She was up on the bridge, her knees bent, poised to dive into the lake. I stood and watched – she was so graceful, swooping down towards the water like some sort of exotic bird. I waited for her to come up. I knew she’d stay under for as long as she could, testing her lungs to the absolute limit. I closed my eyes for a second, counting. “One...two...three...four...” The words came out as a whisper. The longer she stayed under, the harder I found it to breathe.
After what felt like an age, she broke the surface, and as soon as she saw me, she began swimming towards the bank. I raced across the field towards her as she pulled herself out, the water shimmering on her skin like tiny diamond droplets.
“Hey, Becky. Did you see? I broke my record. Three-and-a-half minutes without breathing. Actually, I have no idea if it really was three-and-a-half because I can’t time myself properly, but I was counting in my head.”
I forced the air back into my lungs. “Are you sure it was only three-and-a-half? It felt more like ten to me.”
“Ten? I’d be dead if it was ten! Why don’t you come in with me?” She grabbed my arm. “Come on, it’s so refreshing. We could time each other.”
I yanked my arm away and sat down. “I don’t want to right now. Anyway, I thought you were going to tell me about the Silver-studded Blue, remember?”
She flopped down next to me on the grass. “I’m so happy you’re here. I was sure you’d forget or find something better to do.”
“Of course I wouldn’t forget – but stop changing the subject! You promised you’d tell me, and the old lady in the shop mentioned it as well. So what is it? A butterfly?”
“Not any old butterfly,” she said dramatically. “The Silver-studded Blue is the rarest butterfly in the Garden. It only lives for two months a year, July and August.”
“So you mean we might find one this summer?”
“We might, but we’d have to be very lucky.” She lay back in the grass, spreading her wet hair out behind her. “There’s a story about the Silver-studded Blue. I don’t know if you’d call it a rumour or an old wives’ tale. Some people say it’s an ancient myth.”
I lay down next to her and we rolled in to face each other. Up close, she was so vivid I had to close my eyes for a second.
“What is it? What do they say?”
“They say that if you spot the first Silver-studded Blue of the summer then the person you love the most is on their way to see you. But...” She paused, looking serious for a moment. “If it lands on your shoulder, then that person has come to say goodbye for ever.”
My eyes widened. “No way! Has anyone spotted one yet this year?”
She sat up suddenly, staring out across the lake. “Not here at this Garden. I’ve been searching for years, every summer.”
“Let’s make it our mission then,” I said. “Let’s make a pact to spot the first Silver-studded Blue.”
Rosa May laughed. “Yes, let’s make a pact. A special promise.” She held up her hands and we laced our fingers together so that it was impossible to see where her hands started and mine ended.
“So who’s the person you love the most then, Becky?” she teased. “It’s not that boy Mack, is it?”
“Don’t be silly. I haven’t even met him yet.” I thought about showing her the note again, explaining about my dad and how he might still be living in Oakbridge. That maybe he was on his way to see me. Say the whole theory out loud to see if it felt as real and logical as it had last night in bed – but I couldn’t.
“We need to find out everything about the Silver-studded Blue,” I said instead. “Where they like to fly and which flowers they’re attracted to. I bet you know loads already, don’t you? Are they beautiful?”
“Very,” said Rosa May. “Deep blue with delicate silver edging around their wings, and more fragile than you can imagine.”
“Come on then, let’s get going straight away.” I pulled her up, excited. “Let’s cross the bridge and start at the back. I swear I saw a blue butterfly there yesterday, I think I took a photo of it...”
Rosa May skipped ahead, giggling. “There are loads of blue butterflies, Becky – all different species. The Common Blue and the Small Blue for a start.”
“How will we know if we see the Silver-studded Blue then?” I ran to catch up.
She grabbed my hand, smiling mysteriously. “We just will. Trust me.”
We
We started on the other side of the bridge where it was shady, crawling about on all fours in the long grass. Every few minutes one of us would shout, “ANT ALERT!” and we’d be off stalking the poor insects like a couple of mad detectives. I kept stopping to take photos. I loved the way the ants looked so busy, as if they knew exactly what they were doing and where they were going. Like they’d made up their minds long in advance and nothing was going to stand in their way.
“Look at these three,” Rosa May called out at one point. She was lying flat on her stomach, her chin resting on her hands. “I’ve been watching them for ages and they’re definitely together.” I crawled over and lay down facing her, so that our heads were touching. “I bet these two at the front are the parents and this one is their baby.” She pointed at the three ants. “Look how they keep stopping so that the baby can catch up. Did you know that ants are such social creatures they can’t actually live alone?”
“So what happens to them?” I asked, taking a picture of Rosa May and her little ant family. “What happens to the ones who get lost or separated from their colony?”
“They die,” she said, blinking suddenly as if she was going to cry. “Except for the really clever ones,” she added. “They always find their way back home.”
We didn’t get very far with our mission but we had a brilliant time. There was something about Rosa May. I know it sounds strange, but when I was with her, crawling through the grass or just lying on our backs, staring up at the sky, I felt charged up – almost as if there was an electric current passing between us. I was praying I’d be going to the same school as her in September – it would be amazing to start with a ready-made friend – but Rosa May didn’t want to talk about it.