Butterfly Summer (7 page)

“
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 a bit. I still found the house creepy when I was there by myself – it was something about the silence. It seemed to fill up all the empty space until there was no air left to breathe.

“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 rugby team. Trains them up and everything.”

“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.