The Butterfly Storm (15 page)

The pub door is open and I duck through and hover while my eyes adjust to the gloom.
There’s a low-beamed ceiling and an open fireplace at the far end of the room which is
filled with dried flowers, much like the ones in Mum’s workroom. I can’t see an empty table
anywhere. The bar is loud with conversation. The French windows at the back of the pub
open out into a conservatory filled with people eating. I work my way to the L-shaped
bar. The two women behind the bar look hot and flustered. A door to my right swings
open followed by a gush of steam and a waitress carrying plates. What if Robert invited
me just to be polite? Maybe I should leave them to it; the place is busy enough without
me.

‘What can I get you?’ One of the bar women is in front of me, wiping the wood down with a
cloth.

‘Is Robert around?’ I ask.

She glances at me and her eyes linger for a moment. Her cheeks are flushed and her forehead glows
beneath the spotlights. ‘You must be Leila’s daughter,’ she says, in a thick Norfolk accent. ‘I’m Marcy.
Robert said you’d be down for dinner. He’s outside, but he’ll be back in soon. Can I get you a
drink?’

‘Lager, please.’ I reach into my bag and pull out my purse.

‘Don’t you worry about that,’ Marcy says. ‘Will Stella do you?’

I nod. She blows air from her lips over her face while she pours me my pint. She’s not
wearing any make-up; her hair is brown and streaked with grey, scraped off her forehead by a
band.

‘Take a seat at the bar. We’ve no spare tables tonight. It’s Sophie, right?’

She leaves me on the end stool with a cold pint and a menu. Robert was right about it being busy.
There are sunburnt families tucking into dinner, young couples holding hands, older couples deep in
conversation, even a couple of local men with flat caps and wax jackets on the other arm of the bar,
drinking their pints. I rarely drink pints in Greece, but it feels good, sipping a cold pint in a hot pub. It
feels good actually being in a pub, a proper English pub with different beers and lagers to choose
from and packets of scampi crisps and dry roasted peanuts on display at the back of the
bar.

‘Good, you’ve got a drink.’ Robert says, appearing round the corner of the bar. ‘Have you been here
long?’

‘No. It’s a great place you’ve got here.’

‘Not bad is it,’ he says, with a broad grin. ‘What would you like to eat?’

‘I’ve heard the steak’s good.’

‘I’ll let them know in the kitchen. How would you like it done?’

‘Medium-rare, please.’

The other woman behind the bar shouts for Robert. He puts his thumbs up, nods and turns back to
me. ‘I feel terrible inviting you and leaving you by yourself.’

‘Don’t worry. I more than understand.’

I perch on my barstool and can see into the kitchen and behind the bar. Robert does a great job of
working the room, not being too intrusive yet helping out with the orders. I can hear his booming laugh
above everyone’s conversations. My meal arrives and I eat it up at the bar. The steak is juicy, the chips
crispy on the outside and soft in the middle. Marcy silently re-fills my pint mid-mouthful so I can only
nod my thanks.

‘I didn’t realise you were here.’ Ben appears in the doorway on the other side of the bar. He looks
pale. His hair is ruffled, his T-shirt is creased and he’s in grey tracksuit bottoms.

‘Your Dad drove me down today,’ I say with a mouthful of steak.

‘I bet he invited you for a meal too.’

I wipe my mouth on my napkin and swallow. ‘He insisted.’

He pours himself a pint of lemonade and drops an ice cube in. ‘Like it’s not busy enough.’

I don’t quite know what to say to that. Ben watches me from over the top of his pint
glass as he takes a sip. ‘Shame you’ve had to sit up at the bar with Itchy and Scratchy
over there.’ He nods his head towards the two flat-capped men at the opposite end of the
bar.

‘Who?’

‘Watch them,’ he says. ‘Well, enjoy yourself. I’ve got paperwork to do for Dad. Just as well really, I
can’t stand it when it’s busy. Too many obnoxious people.’ And you’re one of them, I think, as he
escapes through the bar door. I’m shocked he didn’t get rid of all the customers when Robert was in
Norwich.

I finish the steak and mop the tomato and mushroom juice from the bottom of the plate with the
last couple of chips.

‘The pints are just going straight through me,’ I say, when Marcy heads my way to refill my
glass.

‘What can I get you instead? Malibu? Whisky? Vodka?’

‘Vodka and orange, please.’

It reminds me of being at university in Falmouth, although I drank cheaper vodka then. The kind of
vodka that made me sick at the end of the night and left me with a thumping head, dizzy spells and
unable to scrape myself out of bed until the middle of the afternoon.

I don’t see Ben again until nearly eleven when he comes down and sits with me at the bar. He’s
changed into worn jeans and a long-sleeved top. His hair is still ruffled and his eyes are
red.

‘I didn’t think you’d still be here,’ he says. He seems in a better mood than earlier in the
evening.

‘I haven’t got anything else to do.’

He leans across the bar and pinches Marcy as she goes past. She playfully slaps the back of his
hands before chucking him a packet of dry roasted peanuts and pouring me another vodka
and orange on the sly. She winks. ‘One for the road,’ she says. I bet she gets on well with
Mum.

‘It’s always a late night on Fridays,’ Robert says, pulling a barstool up. There are lots of people
eating, some finishing off their blackcurrant cheesecakes and coffee, others still on their main
course.

‘Late?’ I say. ‘This is nothing compared to Greece. We’re lucky if the last customers are out by two
or three in the morning.’

‘I like my sleep,’ he says. His eyes are ringed by shadows and his hair looks greyer in the dull light of
the bar.

‘He overdoes it,’ Marcy says, giving Robert a mothering look.

‘I’m hands on,’ he replies.

‘He pulls pints like a demented robot on busy nights. Wears himself out, don’t he Ben?’ Ben carries
on munching peanuts. Marcy wipes the last couple of glasses. ‘Any plans for tomorrow,
Sophie?’

‘Not really. I feel like I should be doing something to the house, but it’s tidy.’

‘As soon as he heard about Leila he went and checked on everything, even put the Marigolds on and
did the washing up, didn’t you.’

Robert sighs and sips his whisky.

‘I fancy going to the beach,’ I say.

‘Take a walk to Blakeney Point. It’s beautiful up there,’ Marcy says.

‘It’s going to be good weather tomorrow,’ Robert says. ‘You could buy a fresh dressed crab for your
dinner.’

‘I might just do that, after a good night’s sleep.’ I try to stifle a yawn.

‘It’s been a long day,’ Robert says.

‘It’s been a long week,’ I reply. ‘All I’ve done is travel, from one country to another, then across
England and back again. I’m going to head off. Thank you for the meal, Robert.’

Robert scrapes his bar stool back and stands up. ‘Ben will walk you back.’

‘There’s no need, I’ll be fine.’

Robert and Marcy glance at each other.

‘If you say so,’ Ben says.

Marcy flashes me a wide, toothy grin. ‘See you again, Sophie.’

‘Goodnight.’

I close the heavy wooden door on the warmth. I’m met by the glow from the lamps outside and the
nip of autumn in the air. I shiver in my short sleeves and cropped trousers. I turn the corner past the
pub and all of a sudden it’s as if someone’s switched off all the lights. The darkness is blinding. I look
upwards but there’s no moon or stars. It’s disorientating and I might as well be walking with
my eyes closed. Taking tentative steps forward I strain to make out anything ahead – the
cottages or the hedges on either side. Did I leave a light on in Mum’s house? It didn’t cross
my mind when I left the house in sunshine. How am I supposed to find the lane, let alone
navigate my way through the front garden? I take tiny steps, edging my foot out, feeling
for solid ground. I feel ridiculous taking my phone from my pocket and seeing how much
light the white screen gives off. I wave my arms about in front of me but I can only make
out my own hand and not the road ahead. Behind me the darkness smothers everything. I
stand still and take a deep breath. I’ve never felt this isolated before. I step forward and a
beam of yellow light joins me, splitting the darkness. I watch a circle of light bob towards
me.

‘We were taking bets on how far you’d get,’ Ben says, bathing me in the torch beam. Despite the
relief of being able to see, he’s the last person I want saving me.

‘I was going to turn back but couldn’t see anything that way either.’

‘Dad said if you were as stubborn as Leila you might be camping out here until dawn.’

‘I can be stubborn but I’m not stupid,’ I say. The torchlight leads the way and, side by side,
we follow it along the middle of the road. ‘I suppose you get to know these things after a
while.’

‘You have to adjust to your environment.’

‘How long have you been living here?’

‘A few months.’

‘Not long then.’

‘It feels like a lifetime.’

We fall silent, guided by the light piercing the darkness. The only sound is our shoes scuffing the
tarmac.

‘I love the beach at Salthouse,’ Ben says after a while. We turn down the lane towards the
house.

‘What’s it like?’

‘Pebbly, and stretches as far as you can see. It’s always windy there. The sea’s cold, really
refreshing.’

‘Is it far?’

‘Not by car. I’d take you tomorrow, except I’ve got to go back to London. But if you’re around for a
while…’

‘I hope to be,’ I say, glancing at him. His face is cast in shadows. ‘What are you doing in
London?’

We turn into the gateway and the soundless muddy lane turns into a loud crunching
driveway.

‘I’ve got things to sort out,’ he says.

My mobile rings in my pocket. ‘Sorry,’ I say. The photo of Alekos holding the octopus flashes on to
the screen. ‘Hi.’

‘Finally,’ Alekos says. ‘I’ve been trying you all night.’

‘There’s not much reception here.’

‘Where are you?’

‘At Mum’s house. I’m staying here instead of the hotel.’

Ben shines the torch’s beam on to the front door while I fumble with the keys. There’s a click and
the door swings inwards.

Ben looks at me with raised eyebrows. ‘Okay?’

I nod. ‘Yes thanks.’

‘Who’s that?’ Alekos asks.

‘Mum’s friend. He just walked me home.’

Alekos is silent.

‘It’s so dark here you can’t see any further than a foot in front,’ I say.

Ben crunches back across the driveway and I wait for his torchlight to disappear.

‘Where have you been all evening?’ Alekos asks.

‘I had a meal at the pub. What about you? What were you doing earlier?’

‘At a volleyball match. We won again. Georgis gave me a lift home from Olympic Beach.’

‘You were celebrating instead of working?’ I go inside, close the door behind me and run my hand
across the wall to find the light switch. ‘Aleko?’ The line has died. I don’t fancy going back outside to
find reception again. I could phone him on Mum’s landline. Instead, I put the kettle on and find some
pear and apple flavoured tea in one of the cupboards. I let it brew, squeeze the teabag and
leave it with the other dried teabags on my ceramic leaf on the windowsill. I drag myself
upstairs and after a quick wash, undress and climb into bed. Alekos will have to wait until
tomorrow.

I sleep well and wake to birds singing, their shadows disturbing the daylight through the spare bedroom
blinds. It’s only 7.00 but I feel awake and refreshed. I pad across the floorboards and open the blinds. A
thin mist lies across the field at the end of the garden and the sun has almost reached the patio. Cool
air blows through the open window. I get back into bed and listen to the birds outside, to
the stillness within the house. I’ve longed for this, no doors slamming, no shouting and no
interruptions. I don’t even feel guilty that it’s Mum’s house I’m taking advantage of because I know
she’ll be home soon and everything will change. The dynamics of a place always change
with the arrival of someone else. I doze for a while and enjoy the rarity of being on my
own.

After a cup of freshly brewed coffee, I take Marcy’s advice and walk up the road to Blakeney. It’s as
if the place has come alive overnight. Cars rush past me filled with families off on Saturday morning
outings. The hill I can see from the cottage is deceptive. It’s not steep but it steadily keeps on going
up, winding round the corner beneath the shade of a wood before finally levelling off next
to the church. I cross a main road and find myself on a narrow lane packed with people
heading down to the patch of blue between the houses. It’s the same here as in Greece with
the last holidaymakers clinging to the remains of summer. Children pass by in shorts and
sandals clutching fishing nets and buckets. Despite the peppering of clouds and the cool
breeze, people are still dressed for mid-August. In Greece, the first hint of autumn sends
the locals reaching for their winter clothes. I understand the need in Britain to hang on
to every second of sunshine. I have so many memories of camping holidays with Mum.
The sound of rain drumming on a window always reminds me of being huddled inside our
tent.

I reach the end of the street and it opens on to a harbour filled with boats bobbing up and down on
the channel of water. The marshes stretch so far out I can’t even see the sea. The taste of salt is strong
and seagulls squawk overhead.

I glance both ways along the quay and take the quieter way to my left, away from the car park, ice
cream van and pub. The children who passed me earlier are squatting on the side of the quay with their
buckets. The eldest girl holds a crab up for the others to see. I watch its pincers clutching
at thin air. The sun struggles through the clouds, casting only patchy warmth along the
front. I reach the end and take the stony path next to a cottage surrounded by a high flint
wall.