The Butterfly Storm (21 page)

‘You think so?’

‘Yeah, she’s a trophy girl for him and he’s good-looking but sounds a bit of a twat.’

‘Maybe it will last then.’

‘I swear that rock on her finger is just a status symbol. She cares more about the honeymoon than
she does about him.’

‘See this.’ Mum shuffles over and points to the plaque on the centre of the bench. ‘Some things do
last.’

I look at my bare ring finger. The understated but gorgeous diamond ring Alekos had given me four
weeks after his proposal is in its box in our bedroom in Greece. It had taken him that long to find it
and it was perfect. I wave my hands towards the marquee and the guests and swallow back tears. ‘All
these people, all this attention, the big dress, the money spent on this wedding, I couldn’t think of
anything worse.’

‘Good. I’m glad.’

I glance at her. ‘You planned all this.’

‘It doesn’t mean I have to like it,’ she says with a smile. ‘I’m just good at my job. I organised one
wedding reception on a boat. Now that was classy. They only invited twenty guests and after the actual
service they all piled on to the, oh God what was it called…’ she looks up into the pink-tinged
leaves for a moment. ‘
The Marauder
, that was it. They went seal spotting first. Then they
moored up at Wells for a Lebanese buffet and drinks late into the night. It was low-key. The
bride and groom would have been happy with bangers and mash as long as it meant being
together.’

‘I like bangers and mash.’

‘So do I.’

We fall silent and look across the lawn towards the marquee and its backdrop of
Kingfisher Hall
.
The garden is floodlit like a football pitch. The jazz band is playing inside the marquee. The sound of
saxophone, bass guitar and piano washes towards us. Behind us the river flows idly by on its way
to the sea while we try not to look in the direction of the best man and the woman in
red.

‘I’m sorry about yesterday,’ Mum says. ‘For having a go at you. I was tired, but truthfully I don’t
know how to behave around you. I’ve been on my own for so long. I don’t mean that in a lonely pity me
kind of way. It’s just we’ve had our problems and it feels like we’ve picked up right where we left
off.’

‘I’m sorry too. But I’m glad we talked, we need to, you know, talk about him.’ I leave it, unable,
unwilling to say much more. We sit side by side, gazing out over the spectacle Mum helped create and
I’m content with just that for the moment.

We yawn all the way home and it’s gone midnight by the time we get in. Mum flicks on the light and steps
on an envelope. She picks it up and glances at the name on the front before passing it to
me.

I rip it open and unfold the piece of paper. It’s handwritten. All it says is:

‘From Ben is it?’ Mum asks. She’s waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

I look up and nod. ‘Inviting me out tomorrow.’

‘Uh, uh.’ She makes to go, then turns back. ‘Just watch yourself.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I call up the stairs after her.

She shrugs and closes her bedroom door behind her.

I’m left bemused in the hallway with Ben’s letter still in my hand. I’m unsure what Mum was
implying but I realise I don’t actually care. I’ll be my own judge of Ben’s character. I tuck his letter
into my trouser pocket and go upstairs to bed.

I wake up thinking about Ben. It’s eight-thirty on a Sunday morning. Mum’s still in bed and half of me
wishes I could lie in too. The more adventurous side of me likes the idea of being told to be up for a
certain time, not knowing what the day ahead will bring.

I’m ready way too early. I’m showered, dressed and waiting for him by quarter to ten. I make a pot
of filter coffee, hoping the smell will entice Mum down to continue last night’s conversation.
The coffee tastes bitter and I have to stir in three spoonfuls of sugar before I can drink
it.

Mum’s walking boots are lined up by the front door and my waterproof is hanging on the stair post.
I peer out through the living room window and wait. He arrives bang on time. I gather my things
together and meet him outside.

‘You got my note then,’ he says through the open car window. ‘I had a horrible thought I’d have to
come in and wake you up. Actually, it was quite a nice thought.’

‘I was really pleased.’ I say, getting into the car. ‘The days here are endless. I have nothing to do
besides help Mum. I don’t begrudge her that but I hate being bored.’

‘Well Keech, you’re not going to be bored today,’ he says.

‘God – nobody’s called me that for years.’

We pull out of the drive, on to the road and head up towards Blakeney.

‘Really?’ he says. ‘It’s too good a surname not to use.’

‘My friend up the road in Bristol always called me Keech; in fact he used to chant “Sophie Keech
got a bum like a peach”.’

He laughs. ‘I must check that out.’

‘I was only eleven or twelve at the time.’

Ben has a Norah Jones CD playing today. I’ve kept up with British music by listening to Radio One
online. It was my daily treat, listening to half an hour of Fearne Cotton before having a
siesta.

‘Is it your CD?’ I ask.

‘Dad’s actually. A lot of his taste in music has been influenced by Leila.’

‘Do you know, I haven’t heard her sing once since I’ve been here.’

‘Why? Did she use to?’

‘Constantly, whatever she was doing round the house she always had the radio on and would sing
along.’

‘Maybe she’s self-conscious because you’re here.’

We turn left at the top of the road and head away from Blakeney, past the crab hut and
out along the main road towards the next village. We park and walk down to a moored
boat. Ben slings his camera round his neck. A small group of people is gathered on the
muddy bank. The smell of fish is strong on the breeze, whipping inland from the North
Sea.

‘What are we doing?’

‘We’re going on a seal trip. Then the pub,’ he says. We stop before we reach the group of people. ‘I
wanted it to be just us but my plans fell through.’

‘This’ll be great.’

He frowns. ‘At least the kids have gone back to school. I’d never do this in summer.’

‘Then why now?’

‘Because you’ll enjoy it.’

I smile. This must be hell for him, spending time trapped on a boat with a load of strangers. I reach
out and touch his arm. ‘Thank you.’

It’s a grey morning but clear. Clouds blanket any warmth from the sun but at least there’s no mist.
I peer down into the murky water; it’s the same brown as the mud banks on either side. A seagull
squawks from its perch on the mast of a moored boat.

‘Are you cold?’ Ben asks.

‘A little.’

He stands close in front of me and I realise how tall he is. Taller than Alekos. He rubs his hands up
and down my arms to warm me up. I start laughing.

‘What’s so funny, Keech?’ He lands a playful punch on my arm.

‘You,’ I say, blocking him. Our arms lock together for a moment before I drop my arms back to my
sides.

‘I was going to buy a boat yesterday,’ he says, changing the subject. ‘Dad persuaded me not
to.’

‘Really?’

‘I’ve always wanted to go sailing, just a small boat, big enough for me.’

‘No company?’

‘I think there’s something appealing about being alone at sea.’

‘Are you going to get one?’

He shrugs. ‘Mandy’s not so keen.’ He looks at me. ‘My wife. She’s not happy letting Fraser and
Bella visit if I have a boat. She doesn’t trust me.’ He picks a round pebble off the ground and skims it
into the water. It bounces three times before disappearing. ‘I’m not going to let her dictate my
life.’

‘What if she doesn’t let you see them?’

‘She’ll have to take me to court.’

‘You could end up seeing even less of them.’

‘It’s a risk I have to take.’

‘Over a boat?’

He shoots me a dark look, his eyebrows scrunching together. ‘It’s the principle of it.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I say. ‘Alekos was sailing boats when I met him on Cephalonia. For a
couple of summers he took tourists round the islands and made a fortune in just a few
weeks.’

The crowd of people starts moving on to the boat. I nudge Ben and we slowly walk towards
them.

‘It’s just she’s fighting me over everything: our home, money, Fraser and Bella,’ he says. ‘I’m out of
her life, that’s what she wanted. I get pretty pissed off when she starts interfering.’

Our conversation trails off as we reach the boat. The wooden benches around the sides have already
started to fill up with people wrapped up in waterproofs, hats and gloves. One of the crew
takes my hand and I board the boat and sit down. Ben joins me and we all shuffle along
the bench. Ben taps me on the shoulder. I turn round and he takes a picture, really close
up.

I slap his shoulder. ‘Warn me next time so I can at least smile.’

‘I like the natural look.’

We move off from the bank, along the muddy channel and out towards the point. We’re the
youngest on the boat; the majority of our fellow passengers are past retirement age, out enjoying
themselves after the summer rush.

We reach open water and salt spray rains down cold against our skin. I’m glad of my
waterproof and the thick socks inside Mum’s walking boots. We’re packed tight together,
about twenty of us, all staring out to sea, straining to catch a glimpse of a seal. Ben’s thigh
is squashed against mine and as the boat rocks with the current so do we against each
other.

‘Can you see them?’ he says close to my ear.

He’s not the only one who’s spotted something. Twenty heads strain in the direction of the open sea
and it’s worth the cold, the damp frizzy hair and the numbness from the hard bench. Two grey seals
swim, their bodies rippling as they glide together just off the point. I lean forwards so Ben can get a
good shot of them close to the boat. They’re mesmerising to watch, floating and playing, skimming and
diving. As we get closer to Blakeney Point I begin to make out at least ten seals lying on the
pebbles, their whiskers inches away from the gentle lapping of the sea. It was worth getting up
early.

Back on land, my legs feel like jelly. I walk a few paces and my head spins.

‘Are you okay?’ Ben asks.

I sit down on a nearby bench and drop my head towards my knees. ‘Haven’t quite got my sea legs.’ I
bring my head up slowly and the dizziness fades.

Ben sits down next to me. ‘Are you up for a walk?’

‘Lead the way and as long as it’s on solid ground I’ll follow.’

We take the coastal path towards Stiffkey, although there’s so much marshland veined
by streams, the actual coastline is out of sight. The varying green of the grasses and the
mustard yellow of the flowers between nettles marble the landscape. It’s sheltered away
from the blustery North Sea and after a good ten minutes walking I stop to take off my
waterproof.

‘Are you working up a sweat?’ Ben asks.

‘Something like that,’ I say, tying it around my waist.

‘As soon as we get to Stiffkey we can have a drink.’

The sun strains through white clouds dispersing the grey of early morning.

‘I’m going to buy a place out this way. I’m not trading this life for the city again,’ Ben says. ‘Fraser
and Bella love it up here, whatever their mother says.’

‘She can’t complain about them visiting you by the sea. It’ll be a holiday for them every
time.’

‘What are you going to do?’ he asks.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Do you regret living so far away?’

‘From here?’

‘From your Mum.’

I kick the soil with the toe of my boot. ‘I’m beginning to. There are too many bad memories mixed
with the good ones in Bristol. But here there are possibilities. I don’t know, maybe we can start
over.’

‘I’d be happy with a little two-bed cottage. Enough space for the kids and me when they come to
stay. A sea view perhaps… I can dream.’ He takes a tripod out of his rucksack. ‘What do you want,
Sophie?’

‘Space,’ I say, flinging my arms into the air. There’s not a person or house in sight. ‘A place of my
own without anyone’s parents. I want to be allowed to do what I want, when I want. It seems such a
simple thing.’

‘On your own or with your boyfriend?’

‘With Alekos of course.’

He clicks open the tripod and screws on the camera.

‘You could have done the photography at the wedding yesterday,’ I say.

‘Leila asked me.’

I look at him. ‘You turned it down?’

‘I don’t want to be a wedding photographer and force family and friends to smile when really they
hate each other’s guts because the bride’s two months pregnant.’

‘That’s one way to look at it.’

‘This is the type of photography I want to do.’

He sets the camera and tripod on a flat grassy ridge overlooking the salt marshes. I’d be happy
spending hours alone here, watching for wildlife, taking photographs of birds, the heather and the
hidden streams winding their way through the marshes. I should have brought a drawing pad with me
and sketched the landscape while Ben captures it on film.

‘I’ve all the time in the world for animals or birds, but very little for most humans,’ Ben says. He
peers into the camera, adjusting the focus.

‘Why spend time with me?’

‘I liked the look of you.’

I laugh.

‘I loved the way you smiled at me when I first met you,’ he says.

I remember him walking into the hospital restaurant, a stranger with a face I wanted to get to
know.