The Butterfly Storm (26 page)

The car bonnet has cooled and I shiver. I stand and stretch my legs on the grass verge.
The spiky husks of conkers lie littered beneath the trees. In the washed-out evening light,
Mrs Viner’s cottage looks inviting with a yellow glow spilling from the front window. I
wish Mum would hurry up; I want to be at home, looking out on the day, not stuck out in
it.

‘How’ve you been?’ he asks.

‘Fine.’ How can I tell him? It doesn’t feel right, not over the phone. Candy will be disappointed in
me. I’ll wait until he’s here. Seeing him will be different, being able to look at him, touch him and talk
to him properly.

Leaves scuttle across the lane, collecting along the verge. I crunch one with my foot. It makes a
satisfying sound as it disintegrates.

‘How was Demetrius and Katrina’s move?’ I ask.

‘Their new place is great. One of the top apartments in the block – they can see right over
Thessaloniki. We only had two cars to move the lot. Katrina’s got many, many things. Her family
bought them everything: new cooker, fridge, bed, sofa. They have so much space and it’s cheap because
it’s on the outskirts.’

‘You sound jealous.’

‘Why would I be?’

‘Your best friend with a place of his own, in the city,’ I say.

‘
You’ve
always said you never want to live in a city again.’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘What is then?’

‘I’m jealous of them,’ I say, kicking the fallen leaves. ‘It’s what I want for us.’ The word ‘us’ holds
more meaning now.

‘They’re in a different situation from us, Sophie. It’s no good being bitter,’ he says.

‘I’m not bitter…’

‘Mama’s waiting,’ he says. ‘We’re all going into Katerini to buy a present for your Mum. What does
she like?’

‘Wine. She’s always liked wine. Red. But she can get that here. Get her something Greek. Olive oil
or the hot feta from the delicatessen. I don’t know. Use your imagination. Or ask your
Mum.’

A car horn blasts in the background. Despina, I’m sure.

‘Sophie,’ he says.

‘Yeah?’ The wind rustles the fallen leaves.

He pauses and I hear the blast of the car horn again. ‘Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he
says.

The Globe
is quiet. It’s the first time I’ve seen it empty. Not even Marcy is about, just a girl I don’t
recognise behind the bar. I hook my jacket over a chair and sit down next to the fireplace. On the wall
are two black-and-white photographs of birds: a flock of ducks, dark against a pale sky, and a swan
with its wings spread, charging towards the camera. There are footsteps and then a voice behind
me.

‘Do you like them?’ Ben asks.

His voice alone makes my hands sweat. ‘They’re really good.’

He pulls up a chair and sits opposite me at the table. ‘I took them earlier this year.’

‘There’s something so striking about black-and-white photos,’ I say, not allowing myself to look at
him. ‘Have you ever thought about selling them?’

‘Are you offering?’

‘I would if I had somewhere to put them.’

‘Dad wanted pictures for the pub, something natural.’

I’m conscious of him looking at me. He’s as intense as Robert, rarely dropping eye contact. He’s
unshaven and his T-shirt and jeans are creased, but there’s something pleasant about his dishevelled
appearance. I shift in my seat. It’s been less than forty-eight hours since I last saw him and so much
has changed.

‘Where are Fraser and Bella?’ I ask.

‘Playing in the garden,’ he says. ‘We’re going to the beach again tomorrow. Do you fancy joining
us? We’re taking a picnic.’

‘I can’t. Alekos is arriving.’

‘Oh.’

‘For my birthday.’

He fiddles with a drinks mat. ‘I don’t want to lose you so soon.’

I hold his gaze and slowly say, ‘You can’t lose what you haven’t got.’

He leans forward, his hands edging across the table towards mine. He smells of smoke. ‘Even if
Mandy changed her mind,’ he says, ‘I wouldn’t go back, not now.’

‘Not even for Fraser and Bella’s sake?’

‘We weren’t happy. I don’t want to lead a miserable life any more. I’d rather have less but quality
time with Fraser and Bella than have to hide any more arguments from them. I want to be with
someone I can have fun with. Life’s for living.’

Our fingers are nearly touching and I pull my hands away and tuck them beneath my
thighs. I can’t touch him; I can’t let the feeling I had in those sand dunes creep back into
my body. Life is for living. That’s how life used to be. Maybe Alekos’ arrival tomorrow
will be a turning point for us. After all he’s coming here whether Despina wants him to or
not.

‘Ben,’ Robert says, joining us, ‘why didn’t you tell me Sophie was here?’

‘Sophie’s here.’ Ben scrapes his chair back and looks at me. ‘I’ll see you later.’

The chalkboards in the bar and the conservatory read:
Greek Salad, Pastitsio
and
Stuffed Peppers
. The
kitchen is a miniature version of the one I’m used to at
O Kipos
, and with head chef Steve, his team
and me we constantly get in each other’s way.

‘Your specials are going down a storm,’ Steve says, slapping another steak on the grill. He listens to
classical music when he cooks. It’s on in the background, behind the sizzle of food and the waft of
conversation when the kitchen door opens. He doesn’t look like he’d be into Beethoven or Brahms, with
his shaved head, goatee beard and beer belly, ‘from too much food rather than beer,’ he
claims.

‘It keeps me calm,’ he says, turning up the volume when the music goes quiet. ‘The music soothes
my nerves, but the chatter of arriving customers makes my hands sweat.’

‘It’s been nearly three weeks without this pressure,’ I say to Steve. ‘And you know what, I miss
it.’

Robert’s pub ticks along like a finely tuned machine, the waiters only coming into the kitchen to
collect plates of food and deposit empty ones for washing up. I don’t see Ben all night. Even Mum’s
not allowed to say hello. Robert simply tells me, ‘Your Mum’s here. She’s having stuffed
peppers.’

I barely have time to think in the steamy confines of the kitchen. It’s only when the last
special’s been taken out that I become aware of the nagging pain across my stomach. Steve’s
busy with the dessert orders. I wipe my hands on my apron and take it off. My cheeks are
burning in the heat. The kitchen is stuffy even with the outside door propped wide open on to
the small car park. The change in temperature is startling as I go outside. It’s dark out
here. I lean against the wall and take deep breaths. The pain spreads across my stomach,
low down like a dull throbbing period pain. I cross between the cars and sit on the far
wall, shadowed by looming trees. I can see my breath, a puff of white in the moonlight
before it disappears. I press my fingers against my stomach. It’s too late to phone Candy.
Maybe I’m imagining things, making myself worry – it’s probably nothing to do with the
baby.

Blocks of light from the conservatory windows throw colour over the pub garden. The grass looks
luminous, inviting. Darkness folds around me in the shadowy car park, but it feels protective, not
creepy. A couple is eating at one of the tables by the window, tucking into the food that I’ve prepared.
A candle flickers between them, glinting on the full glasses of red wine on the table. Even from this far
away I can see the woman’s smile. Her lips move in a silent conversation I’d love to overhear. She takes
a mouthful and looks intently at her partner, nodding as she chews. Her blonde bobbed hair curls
neatly against her chin and her shirt is black with the top two buttons undone, enough to give a
hint of cleavage yet remain classy. The man reaches his hand across the table and touches
hers. Her smile grows. I turn away. The night sucks me back into its grip, with only the
stars and honey-lit windows of the pub injecting any warmth. I run my hands across my
stomach.

‘I was wondering where you were.’ Robert makes me jump. I turn and see his silhouette in the
kitchen doorway. He walks over. ‘Are you all right?’

I nod. ‘A bit of stomach ache, that’s all.’

‘You should have said you weren’t feeling well.’

‘It’s only been the last few minutes.’

‘The
pastitsio
has gone down well. I wish I could have you cooking every night.’

‘It’s been good. I’ve missed it.’ I wince and press my hands to my stomach again.

‘I think you should go home, Sophie.’

I look up at him. ‘Fresh air is good. I’m fine.’

‘You don’t talk to your Mum much, do you?’ he says.

‘We’ve been talking, I promise you that.’

‘But not about yourself.’

‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ I say.

Robert perches next to me on the wall. He clasps his hands together and rubs his thumb against his
wedding band.

‘I saw what you bought the other day,’ he says.

The warmth of
The Globe
seems a greater distance than a few footsteps away. I glance at him but
he’s staring at his hands.

‘I don’t want you to feel you’ve got no one to talk to,’ he says, still without looking at me. ‘I know
you and Ben get on… but there are some things… you know…’

‘Better left unsaid.’

He looks at me. ‘No. I think it’s best to talk things through. From experience I know what it’s like
to bottle things up and pretend they’re not there, whatever it is, anger, confusion, sadness… It’s not
healthy, Sophie. I went on like that for years, hiding my feelings, pretending I was okay, when really I
was a mess. I still do. I’ve got better, but I don’t find it easy talking about Jenny, my wife. I’ve got
better at showing my feelings, though.’

‘Mum said you didn’t like talking about her.’

He shakes his head. ‘Not with just anyone, no. But Leila’s always been there for me. I felt at ease
with her the moment we met. You should talk to her.’

‘I don’t think we’ve quite reached that stage in our relationship yet,’ I say.

A family noisily leaves
The Globe
through the conservatory door and we watch them find their
beaten-up Land Rover. The two boys fight their way on to the back seat, their voices disappearing into
the night.

‘You can always see a doctor,’ Robert says, as the Land Rover pulls on to the road with a
squeal.

‘It’s only tummy ache.’

‘Are you pregnant?’ He asks so matter-of-factly I automatically answer with a nod.

‘You don’t look happy,’ he says.

‘You don’t say.’

‘It wasn’t planned?’

I shake my head. ‘It was a shock.’

‘I believe these things happen for a reason,’ he says.

‘Not always for the right reasons, though.’

‘A child is a huge responsibility.’

‘You’re not helping,’ I say.

‘Ben and Vicky were the best things to happen to us.’

‘That’s what Ben said about Fraser and Bella.’

‘He did?’ Robert’s eyes search mine, as if to check I’m telling the truth. ‘Ben’s not a talker, either.
But I’m glad you told me.’

‘You were the one who asked.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’ He smiles. His cheeks look grey in the moonlight, his eyes brighter, less
tired.

‘I don’t want Mum to know,’ I say.

‘I won’t say a word.’

‘Alekos doesn’t know either. I couldn’t tell him… not over the phone.’

‘It’ll be different when you see him.’

‘I’m not so sure.’

His hands are tense pressed against his trousers. He’s the last person I imagined I could confide in.
But I’m glad. He’ll keep his word. My secret’s safe. Mum doesn’t have a clue – why would she? I didn’t
until two days ago.

‘Jenny told me she was pregnant with Ben on our fourth wedding anniversary,’ Robert says. ‘She’d
known for two days and nearly went demented keeping it secret. We went away for the weekend
and she told me while we were walking along Hadrian’s Wall. I tell you, I scared the sheep
with my shouts. I remember every single detail about that moment. Alekos will feel the
same.’

‘That’s not what I’m worried about,’ I say. ‘I know he’s going to be happy. It’s the whole situation
that’s wrong. It’s not what I want.’

‘A baby?’

‘How our life is at the moment.’

The dull throb across my stomach seems to have numbed.

‘You love him, don’t you?’ he asks.

I manage a nod but it feels like a shrug.

‘I love Leila,’ he says.

He’s so sincere. It’s not a throwaway comment. If anyone could see us sitting in the dark, perched on
a wall, shivering - an odd couple divulging secrets.

‘Have you told her?’ I ask.

‘No. I’m not too good at things like that. Out of practice.’ The grip on his trouser legs loosens. ‘I’m
not sure how she feels about me.’

‘There’s only one way to find out.’

‘She’s always been with someone.’

‘Not anymore.’

He looks at me with a frown. ‘I know what it’s like to lose someone.’

‘She wasn’t in love with Darren, if that’s what you’re wondering. She was going to finish with him
that weekend,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry, that makes her sound heartless, but she’s not, she’s been cut up
about…’

‘I know,’ he says. His fingers tense again, his knuckles whitening in the pale wash of moonlight. ‘She
talks to me.’

‘I suppose you know her better than I do,’ I say. The wind curls round the branches of the trees
with a sigh; another car pulls out of the car park, its red lights puncturing the darkness until they
disappear round a corner.

‘Well,’ Robert says, a smile coating his voice. ‘This has been quite a night for revelations. I didn’t
mean to tell you, and I’m sure you weren’t planning to spill the beans to me. I’ve been dying to tell
someone.’

‘I’m glad you did. And I won’t say a word either.’

The kitchen door bangs against the outside wall and we both look up.

‘What the hell are you two doing out here?’ Mum says. ‘It’s bloody freezing.’