Butterfly Summer by Anne-Marie Conway
It didn’t seem possible, but the temperature actually climbed a couple of degrees each day. You could feel the heat pressing down like a heavy blanket. I spent as much time as I could at the Butterfly Garden with Rosa May, hunting for the Silver-studded Blue. We came up with a different plan every day, searching for ants and eggs along the way. We were so caught up in our quest that we hardly noticed the time slip by. Stella kept promising Mack would drop by to show me round, but I guess he was too busy with his own mates. I wasn’t all that bothered to be honest. I was having such a brilliant time with Rosa May; I didn’t feel as if I needed anyone else.
Sometimes we’d abandon the hunt altogether and make up games to play. We’d choose a colour – say, orange – and then see how many orange butterflies we could spot in a five-minute period. Or we’d pick one particular butterfly and follow it wherever it flew for as long as possible until we lost sight of it again. And when we weren’t butterfly hunting, or playing games, we’d lie in the tall grass, talking.
I talked to Rosa May more in those first few weeks than I’d ever talked to anyone. There was something so intense about the time we spent together. Laura and I used to talk, obviously, but this was different. Rosa May wanted to know everything about me; school, friends, family. She hung on every word as if she couldn’t bear to miss a single detail. I told her all about my life before we moved to Oakbridge. About Mum and her headaches and how stressed she was, especially since she started her new job. I even told her about my dad. Not much. Just that I’d never met him.
“That must be hard,” she said. “I’m really close to my dad, I always have been. There’s a kind of special connection between us.”
I smiled but my stomach felt hollow, like when you’re starving but you don’t know what to eat. A gaping hole that nothing could fill. She was so lucky, I don’t think she even realized.
She was usually in the lake when I arrived, gliding through the water or floating on her back, her arms and legs spread out like a star. She kept on at me to swim with her but I didn’t even like watching – particularly when she disappeared underwater, holding her breath for minutes at a time. Sometimes I think she did it to wind me up – not to be mean or anything, but just to show me what I was missing.
“You’re not scared of the water, are you, Becky?” she asked me one Saturday afternoon. We were lying under the trees, talking about the heat and trying to work out how many days had passed since it last rained.
“Of course I’m not scared.”
“I wish you’d stop being such a wimp then, and come in with me!”
“I am not a wimp!” I rolled onto my front, pulling at the grass, willing her to change the subject.
“Please, Becky. Just a quick dip. I’ll be your best friend for ever.”
I curled my hands into fists. “For goodness’ sake, stop banging on about it all the time! Just because you swim like a fish! I don’t even like swimming. I’m not scared of it, I just don’t like it!”
“Okay, I get the message!” she shouted back. “I thought it would be fun, that’s all.”
She turned away from me. Neither of us spoke. The thrumming of insects rose to fill the silence between us.
“We could always do something else,” I said after a bit, trying to get her to look back round. “Why don’t we search for ants? Or you could pretend to be my guide again – tell me the rest of that amazing legend. Remember?”
She didn’t say anything – she just lay there. “Look, I’m really sorry. Come on, Rosa May.” I’d never seen her so upset. It was like the sun had gone in.
“Hey, Rosa May, do you want to know a secret?” I said, desperate to get a reaction.
She peered over her shoulder. “You haven’t got a secret. You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not, seriously. It’s about my mum.”
She spun right round. “Does anyone else know?”
“No one. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
We locked eyes. My heart was hammering in my chest. I swallowed hard and started to speak before I could change my mind.
“A couple of weeks ago, the day before I met you actually, I found this box under my mum’s bed and there was a photo inside.”
Her eyes widened. “A photo of what?”
“My mum,” I said. I hesitated for a moment. “With a baby.”
“What baby? Was it you?”
“No, it definitely wasn’t me. And before you ask, it couldn’t be. It was taken twelve years before I was born.”
It sounded even worse saying it out loud. A secret baby. My mum’s secret baby.
“Are you sure, Becky?”
I nodded, tears welling up.
“And does she know you’ve seen it?”
I shook my head. “No one knows. I want to tell her but I’m scared. She’s kept it hidden from me for all these years and I keep thinking about what that could mean. She’s always found it difficult to talk about my dad, about what happened before I was born, but this is something else.”
Rosa May was quiet for a long time. The words floated around above us. I closed my eyes to make them disappear.
“I don’t think you should say anything,” she said in the end. She sat up, agitated. “I mean, think about it, Becky. If she’s lied to you about something so important, kept it secret all these years, she might be hiding all sorts of other stuff.”
“But I can’t bear it,” I said. “I’ve got to find out the truth. You’d want to know if you had a sister, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would, but if you force her to talk you might make everything worse. You said yourself that she’s in a state, stressed all the time. If you tell her you found the photo, she might be so angry you were looking through her stuff that she grounds you – and if you’re grounded we won’t be able to see each other any more.”
I turned away, shrugging. “I know she’s stressed, but she’s not that bad.”
“Look, I’m serious!” She grabbed my shoulders and turned me back round. “What if the baby died? What if you ask her about it and she can’t cope? Swear to me you won’t say anything.” Her face was so intense for a second it was almost scary, but then she cuddled in close. “Don’t tell her, Becky. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I’d be lost without you.”
I walked home slowly that afternoon, going over and over what Rosa May had said. Her reaction was weird, totally over the top, but maybe she was right. Maybe I would regret it if I forced Mum to talk. Some days it felt as if my life outside the Garden, especially the time I spent with Mum, was just something to get through until Rosa May and I were together again. I didn’t want to risk losing her, not for anything.
I popped into the Jacksons’ on the way back to buy a drink. Mrs. Jackson was behind the counter, talking to Mrs. Wilson from the church. “Hello, Becky, my love. What do you think of this heat then? We were just saying we don’t remember a summer like it. It’s playing havoc with my hay fever.” As if on cue, she let out a deep wheezy sneeze. “Have you met Mrs. Wilson?” she asked, when she’d recovered. “We’ve been making the arrangements for little Albert’s christening.”
I nodded, holding out the money for my lemonade.
“I hope we’ll see you at church tomorrow,” said Mrs. Wilson. “You and your mother. We’re a small community here in Oakbridge and we do like to come together once a week to give thanks.”
“Erm...I’ll ask my mum,” I said, edging out of the shop. I hated the way she looked at me, as if there was a nasty smell under her nose. “What time should we come?”
“It starts at ten. Father Hill will be taking the service. So I’ll see you both tomorrow then?”
I backed out of the door, nodding, anxious to escape as fast as I could.
The house was empty when I got in. Mum had gone out with Stella for the day, but I was really hoping she’d be back. I sat at the table and fiddled around with the puzzle while I waited. I only managed to do one piece, but it took my mind off things for
“We had such a good time,” said Mum, when she came in. “We went to the new shopping centre in Farnsbury and Stella had me trying on all sorts of outrageous clothes. You should’ve come, Becky! Honestly, she carries on like we’re still teenagers. And look, I bought you this necklace.” She handed me a string of purple, hand-painted beads.
“Oh, Mum, it’s lovely,” I said, slipping it round my neck. “It’s my favourite colour as well. Thank you!”
She turned on the radio and sang along while she chopped up some vegetables for tea. It was great to see her so happy for a change. She didn’t have any best friends where we lived before. There were a few people she saw from work, but no one she was close to like Stella. I used to think it was normal – that she wasn’t really bothered – but maybe there was more to it than that.
“I bumped into Mrs. Wilson this afternoon,” I said, picking up a blue jigsaw piece and trying to match it to the piece I’d just done. Mum glanced up. “She wants us to go to church tomorrow. She said something about Father Hill taking the service.”
Mum grasped hold of the worktop, swaying slightly.
“What’s the matter? I didn’t say we’d go. I just said I’d ask you.”
“No, it’s okay.” She steadied herself, reaching for an onion. “We’ll go, if you want.”
“I don’t want to go, I was just mentioning it.”
“Make your mind up!” she snapped. “Do you want to go or not?” She carried on chopping, her hand going faster and faster until I could barely see the knife move.
“Calm down, Mum, you’re going to hurt yourself! Why are you so upset? Do you know Mrs. Wilson from when you lived here before?”
“No, I don’t know her.” She was gripping the knife so tight her hand was white. “I’ve never met her in my life, apart from the day when she came round. It’s not Mrs. Wilson, it’s just...it’s just...” She took a shuddering breath.
“It’s just what?”
She stopped chopping, her eyes searching my face. I held my breath. “It’s just that when I lived in Oakbridge before...well, what I mean is, the reason I left, the reason I had to leave...” She trailed off, staring back down at the chopping board.
“What is it, Mum? Why did you have to leave? Was it because of my dad?”
She shook her head, and started chopping again. Tears were streaming down her face.
“What’s the matter? Why are you crying?”
“It’s nothing, Becky, really. I’m sorry. It’s just this onion, it’s so bloody strong.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “We’ll go to church tomorrow if that’s what you want.”
It was so hot that night, I ended up in Mum’s bed. Her room was slightly cooler than mine and I’d been trying to get to sleep for ages. I used to climb in with her for a cuddle all the time when I was younger but I hadn’t done it in years.
“This is nice,” she said, rolling over to give me a hug. We lay in the dark for a bit. I could tell she was still awake by her breathing, but neither of us said anything. It was so nice to feel her arms around me. I felt closer to her than I had in ages, as if I could say anything and it wouldn’t matter. I don’t know why. Maybe because it was the middle of the night and I couldn’t see her face.
I kept thinking about earlier, about how she’d been on the verge of saying something about my dad and why she left Oakbridge. I snuggled in, pulling her arms even tighter. “I was just wondering, Mum, I know I’ve asked you before, but does my dad still live here, in the village?”
Mum stiffened. “Not this again.” Her voice was brittle.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I just wanted to know if he’s still around, you know, in case I bump into him or something. I’ve just had the strongest feeling ever since we moved to Oakbridge that he’s really close by.” It sounded so stupid but I didn’t know how else to explain.
Mum was silent for a moment and then she pulled back the covers. “Come on, back to bed. I really don’t want to get into this now.” She bundled me off the bed and out of the room. “I don’t know where your dad is. We’re not in touch. I haven’t heard from him in years.” Even in the dark of the landing, I could see tears welling in her eyes again. “Why are you asking me about this now? Why do you keep bringing stuff up?”
“Look, I’m sorry – don’t get upset, Mum, please.”
“What do you mean, ‘don’t get upset’? I’m working day and night but I still can’t keep up with everything they’re expecting me to do, and then there’s you, with these constant questions about the past.” Her face crumpled and she turned away from me, stumbling back into her room. “I’m sorry,” she said through the closed door. “We will talk, Becky. We will, but not tonight.”
Not tonight. Not right now. Not this minute. Not EVER. Mum was never going to tell me about my dad. I sat on the edge of my bed, digging my nails into my palm, so angry I wanted to shake the truth out of her. Shake her and shake her until it came pouring out. Force her to tell me where he was, and why he left, and why she was so determined to keep it all hidden from me.
We both slept in the next morning. I didn’t get up until eleven and Mum was still in bed. I threw on some clothes and was halfway through a bowl of cereal when the door bell rang. I was certain it was Mrs. Wilson – that she’d come to see why we hadn’t made it to church. I traipsed to the front door, rehearsing excuses in my head as I pulled it open. My mum wasn’t feeling well...we had a late night...we’ll definitely come next week...
But it wasn’t Mrs. Wilson at all.
It was a boy.
A really cute boy with floppy brown hair and the cheekiest grin.
“You must be Becky,” he said, bowing slightly. “Mack Williams at your service!”
Just at that moment I heard Mum’s bedroom door open behind me. I leaned forward quickly, blocking Mack’s view up the stairs.
“I can’t really ask you in or anything, my mum’s not feeling very well.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “I’ve come to show you round Oakbridge. It has so many hidden treasures, you wouldn’t believe.” He grinned his cheeky grin and I couldn’t help smiling back.
“Do you mean right now?”
“Well, right now would be good, unless you’ve got to wash your hair or take your dog to the vet.”
“I haven’t got a dog,” I said, still grinning.
“Sorted then,” he said. “Let’s go.”
I backed into the hall. “Give me a second; I’ll just get my stuff.”
Mum emerged from the shadows. “Who’s that?” she asked. She was standing at the top of the stairs, her hair mussed up from too much sleep.
“It’s just Stella’s son, Mack. I’m going for a walk.” I grabbed my phone and flip-flops. “Why don’t you go back to bed? We’ve missed church now anyway.”
“I wish you wouldn’t talk to me like that, Becky. I’m not an invalid.”
“Mum, I know. That’s not what I meant. Look, I’ll see you later.”
I slipped out of the door before she could stop me. The last thing I wanted was another row. Mack had crossed to the other side of the lane. He was sitting on a low, drystone wall, playing around with his phone. Stella had mentioned that he was going into Year Nine, but he looked older, tall with really strong arms. My tummy flipped over as he glanced up and caught me staring. I’d never been out with a boy I didn’t know, not even for a walk.
“Where shall we start?” he said, as I crossed the lane to join him. “The village green? Or how about the village green?” He spread his arms out wide. “The choices are endless!”
“Anywhere except for the church,” I said hurriedly. “I don’t want to risk bumping into Mrs. Wilson.”
“Ah, the lovely Mrs. Wilson.” He smiled. “I bet you didn’t know that in her spare time Mrs. Wilson is in charge of the local r
“No she doesn’t,” I said, laughing.
Mack laughed as well. “You’re right, she doesn’t – but I have heard rumours that she goes into people’s houses to cast out demons.”
“What, you mean, like, exorcisms? The same Mrs. Wilson who keeps asking me to go to church?” I wrapped my arms around myself, shuddering. No wonder she was so creepy. She’d probably come over that time to check things out – see if there were any evil spirits to get rid of.
“Earth to Becky.” Mack waved his hand in front of my face.
“Sorry, that freaked me out a bit. It’s just that I’m scared of spirits and haunted houses and stuff like that, and I hate horror movies.” I glanced up at him, embarrassed. I probably sounded like the world’s biggest wimp. “What do you do around here then?” I said quickly, to change the subject. “Do you play rugby?”
“Yep. Every Saturday morning.” He flexed his arms like a bodybuilder. “Training on Saturdays and matches on Sundays – but not in this sort of heat.”
We set off from the green, trailing up one of the small, winding lanes. The sun was high in the sky and burning hot. I’d always been shy around boys. At my old school, the cool guys were a million miles out of reach. They were so in love with themselves, they’d never pay the slightest attention to someone like me. But Mack seemed different. He was cool and very cute, but he made me laugh.
We criss-crossed our way around Oakbridge, past the village hall and across a field of sheep. I was more than happy to let Mack lead the way as long as we didn’t end up at the church. He chatted on as if we’d known each other for years – funny stories about school and rugby and life in a small village. He somehow made Oakbridge sound as if it was the most interesting place on earth.
We must’ve gone round in a massive circle because after an hour or so we ended up back at the green. It was sweltering hot and I was dying for a drink. Mack grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the Jacksons’.
“There’s one more place I want to take you, but we’ll need provisions.”