The Butterfly Storm (18 page)

‘Straight off the North Sea. A bit of revitalising sea air. Toughen you up.’ He pulls a bottle with a
handwritten label from the rucksack and unscrews the lid. ‘Dad’s homemade elderflower
champagne.’

Ben passes it to me. It has an overpowering sweet smell. He holds out two plastic cups and I pour us
each a foaming cupful.

‘To an hour’s freedom,’ he says with a knowing look.

We tap our cups together and I take a sip. It’s sweet, cold and refreshing. ‘That’s so good,’ I
say.

‘I told Dad he should sell it in the pub but he can’t make enough of the stuff.’

‘Something this good you should keep to yourself.’

He tops our drinks up. ‘You have to come prepared for a day at the beach.’

‘Did you grow up by the sea?’

‘Hardly. I was born in Cardiff but we moved to London when I was seven. That’s why I’ve got no
accent. Dad was desperate to leave the city as soon as we got there.’

‘I’m surprised Mum took so long to leave Bristol.’

‘Dad only stayed in London because of work.’

‘That was Mum’s reason too. Actually Mum’s reason was money, or lack of it at the
time.’

‘She’s done well for herself,’ he says. ‘It must’ve been hard for her without your Dad.’

I glance at him but he’s looking towards the sea. ‘She had no choice but to cope.’

‘How about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘How did you cope with no father?’

My fingers tense around the plastic cup. ‘Depends on when you’re talking about. I spent my
childhood believing my father was a nameless, faceless person I would never meet. In some ways that
was easier than at the age of 21, just after I graduated, discovering that Mum knew who he was all
along and not a one-night stand as she’d always said.’

‘What made her own up?’

‘She didn’t mean to tell me. We were supposed to be celebrating my graduation but she’d come
home late. She was drunk and ended up opening a letter from him, which took her by surprise and she
was forced to tell me the truth.’

‘Have you met him?’

The sea’s rhythmic churn is mesmerising. I watch the next wave foam on to the pebbles.
‘No.’

‘Do you want to?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t think he’s going to live up to my expectations.’

‘I worry about that with Fraser and Bella – my kids.’

‘What’s to worry about, they know who you are.’

‘I just don’t want them to spend so little time with me that they don’t get to know me beyond what
their mother tells them.’

We fall quiet and sip our drinks. ‘I love being by the sea,’ I say after a while. ‘Even if it’s not bikini
weather like in Greece.’

‘I love coming here on cloudy days, when it’s really windy and there’s no one about,’ Ben
says.

‘Windier than this?’

‘You have to fight your way along the beach sometimes. It’s funny watching the seagulls being
smacked by the wind.’ He glances at me. ‘I’m easily amused.’

‘What do you do, besides freeze to death?’

‘Think about things.’

‘A rare moment to yourself, eh?’

‘It must be difficult in Greece, to find time to yourself?’

‘Practically impossible.’ I lean back and find a comfortable spot, resting my hands on two
palm-sized pebbles. ‘Alekos’ parents are always there. We work together, eat together, practically sleep
together the walls are so thin.’

Ben laughs. ‘Sleeping with the in-laws, eh?’ He nudges my arm with his elbow. ‘Is there nowhere to
escape?’

‘There’s this spot at the far end of the garden that’s mine. Alekos has learnt to leave me alone if I’m
leaning on the fence. I could stand and look at Olympus for hours.’

‘That’s your view?’

I nod.

‘Beats this.’

‘Not really. This is wild. It’s beautiful.’

‘You should see it in December when the sea’s grey and churned up and the waves literally smash on
to this beach. It’s deserted here in winter. I can’t stand packed beaches or anywhere that’s been
overdeveloped. But that’s just me. I’ve always been a bit of a weirdo.’

‘That’s not weird,’ I say. ‘Alekos always moans when I drag him away from the crowds to the
furthest end of the beach.’

‘Hot and sweaty tourists. Not my idea of fun.’

‘It’s only when he wants to play volleyball that we end up next to loads of people. Once I’m floating
in the sea I could be the only one there.’

‘Great minds think alike.’ He knocks his plastic cup of elderflower champagne against mine. ‘I like
my own company. Don’t get me wrong, I like spending time with people but it’s doing my head in
living with Dad. He means well but he’s treating me like a teenager instead of an adult with two
children.’

‘I know the feeling. I don’t mean being here with Mum. I mean my life in Greece…’

Ben knocks a cigarette out from the packet in his jacket pocket, slips it between his lips and shelters
the lighter from the wind with his hand. ‘I started again,’ he says, flicking ash into the empty
bottle.

‘You managed to quit?’

‘For about six months. I started again on Sunday.’

‘What happened on Sunday?’

‘My soon-to-be ex-wife went off on one.’

‘Is that why you’re living here?’ I ask.

He takes a drag on his cigarette and gazes towards the sea.

The stones are digging into my palms. ‘Sorry, that’s rude of me.’

‘No, it’s not. In fact, that’s the truth. I moved here because it was the easy option,’ he says. He
takes his sunglasses off and chucks them on top of the rucksack. ‘Dad offered, said he wanted me here.
If only to keep an eye on me.’

‘It must be hard.’

‘I fucked things up and I have to live with that. But she’s being a bitch. I moved out because we
both needed space and now I get to see Fraser and Bella once a month if I’m lucky. She blamed me for
being irresponsible and ruining our marriage. Now she’s the one who’s hooked up with some bloke.’ He
grinds his barely-smoked cigarette on one of the pebbles. ‘This is miserable talk for a day like this. Let’s
go for a paddle.’

I can’t blame him if he doesn’t want to carry on talking but I understand his outburst. It must be
so hard for both him and his kids to cope with their family life dissolving around them. At least I can’t
miss what I haven’t got. I follow Ben’s lead and roll my jeans up, kick off my trainers and edge across
the pebbles. The water is icy cold. The shock to my skin sends shivers through me. Any leftover
summer warmth has been dragged into the sea’s depths with the current. The stones are smooth and
round beneath the soles of my feet and clunk together. The waves breaking on the shore erase the
noise of children playing on the beach. I close my eyes. I could be alone, the only person for
miles…

Cold water splashes my face. I open my eyes and Ben is in front of me grinning. We stand opposite
each other like sumo wrestlers, each waiting for the other to make a move. I drag my hands across the
surface of the sea and throw water into the air, splashing Ben’s T-shirt and jeans. He moves towards
me, almost in slow motion, the sea churning in his wake. I back away but I can barely walk, let alone
run on the stony seabed. I manage to get some momentum going and splash my way to shore, getting
my jeans wetter than if I’d waited for Ben’s attack. I collapse on to the pebbles and Ben sinks down
next to me.

‘I haven’t done that for years,’ I say, catching my breath between laughter. I turn on my side and
rest on my elbow.

‘Dad would say I’m too old to be behaving like a kid.’

‘You’ve got children of your own, they’re your excuse.’

‘What’s yours?’

I shrug. ‘Do I need one? I don’t feel any older than I did when I was a teenager. Do you ever get
that feeling?’

‘I did until Fraser was born.’ He turns to me. ‘That pretty much puts everything into perspective. It
changes your life.’ He stands, reaches out his hand and pulls me to my feet. ‘Make the most of it now.’

We drive to
Salt Cottage
, sun-kissed and wind-battered but refreshed. The drive back is as quiet and
comfortable as the journey there. Where the sea meets the horizon the sky is darkening with rain
clouds and I’m glad we’re heading towards the sunshine. It doesn’t take long and I’m already familiar
with the crossroads at Blakeney and the road that dips down the hill past the tree-shrouded church
towards the cottage.

‘Thanks Ben,’ I say as he halts in the driveway next to Mum’s car. ‘I really enjoyed
myself.’

‘Me too. It makes a change.’

I close the car door and wave.

‘Don’t be a stranger, Sophie,’ he calls before driving off.

Mum and Robert are in her study. I can hear muffled conversation through the closed door. I don’t disturb
them by saying hello.

The spare bedroom feels like my own – a bit of private space, more than I have at
O Kipos
. I throw
the clothes I’d chucked over the back of the armchair on to the bed and sit down next to
the window. It’s been a strange day and an even odder week. There’s been no time to sit
back and reflect. When I was on my own in Mum’s house there were things to do, even if
it was just discovering the cottage and the surrounding area or unannounced visits from
Robert.

I don’t have a book to read. I’ve nothing to do besides think and look at the view. The sky is
darkening over Blakeney now, slate grey clouds rolling in from the North Sea. The promise of autumn
blustering towards us. I’ll have to raid Mum’s bookcase and start something new. Kate Mosse’s
Labyrinth
is lying half-read on my bedside table in Greece.

A rainbow arcs across the sky. There’s a feeling of limbo between night and day with the sun
shining on the garden and the darkening clouds gathering on the horizon. I push the window up and
stick my head out. The air is fresh and cool. And then I see them, their cream wings flickering in the
sunlight, butterflies, making patterns in the air directly below the window. They make me think of
Alekos; my best friend, my fiancé. There was the promise of so much more – but somewhere our
promises have disintegrated, been lost to the wind like those butterflies below. I hug my knees to my
chest. The expanding black cloud extinguishes the sun but Alekos remains imprinted on my
thoughts.

When the clouds swamp the sun and the butterflies disperse, I venture downstairs to start dinner.
There’s the threat of rain in the air and I’m glad I enjoyed the sunshine while it lasted. I’m in the
kitchen peeling potatoes when Robert pokes his head round the door.

‘She’s a stubborn one,’ he says. He closes the door behind him, stands next to the table and looks
out through the back door.

‘I’m sorry?’ I let the peeler clatter into the sink.

‘She’s insisting on doing everything for this wedding on Saturday. They’ve paid her already, see, and
she doesn’t want to let anyone down. Typical of her. So we’ve put you on her car insurance,’ he
continues. ‘So you can drive her to and fro.’

‘You do realise I’ve not driven in four years? At least not on the correct side of the road.
Anyway, meeting a donkey in the middle of a narrow track up a mountain put me off for
good.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, it’s only horses you’re likely to meet on these roads.’

‘Robert, I’m joking, I’ll be fine.’

He laughs. ‘Good. I see you have your mother’s sense of humour.’ He looks away from me to the
garden. ‘They want the flowers delivered early in the morning. Plus she’s got to do the bride’s and
bridesmaids’ hair and make-up. She’s going to need your help.’

‘Why do you think I’m here?’

‘I know, I know, I’m just making sure. I don’t want her running herself into the ground.’

‘I’m doing my best. She’s not the easiest person to help. She’s always been like this. A broken leg
and me being here isn’t going to change that.’

He nods; his face is drawn and pale and the strain of everyone else’s problems shows in the bags
beneath his eyes and the lines across his forehead. ‘Did Ben go home?’ he asks.

I nod and start peeling another potato.

‘Did you both have a good afternoon?’

‘Yes, thank you, I loved your elderflower homebrew.’

‘It’s good that Ben’s got someone younger around, you know, to talk to.’

Robert drums his fingers on the table: tap, tap, tap, pause, tap, tap, tap… ‘Ben’s going through a
difficult patch at the moment, with his wife and the divorce.’

‘I gathered, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it much.’

‘He lost his job too,’ Robert continues. ‘He had a great job as a photographer for a travel
magazine.’

‘He didn’t say.’

My scraping joins his nervous tapping. Robert takes an audible deep breath. I’m on the last
potato.

‘I’m an eternal worrier, that’s all, and Ben doesn’t talk to me which makes me worry
all the more,’ he says. He rolls up his shirtsleeves. ‘I’ve got Ben and Leila to worry about
now.’

I’m worried he’s going to cry. Instead he neatens his rolled up sleeves, gives me a weak smile and
makes for the door. ‘I’d best let you get on.’

I drop the last potato into a pan of water and wipe my hands on the towel. ‘Don’t worry about
Leila so much. She’s tough. And as for Ben, I don’t really know him, but it was great spending time
with him. He took my mind off things too.’

‘I’m glad you’re here, Sophie,’ he says as he leaves.

I sit down on the steps leading to the garden and take a deep breath. Dark clouds fill the sky and
the breeze is fresh and cold. There’s dampness in the air. The butterflies have gone, danced their way
into oblivion. My walk up to Blakeney seems a long time ago, before Mum came home. Even though
she’s only in the next room, the distance between us feels greater than it did when we lived thousands
of miles apart.

Tears build in my throat – I put it down to PMT. I wrap my arms around my knees and hug them
to my chest. I’m more confused than I was before I got here. I don’t know what I was expecting – a
magical cure or that it would be easy to kiss and make up with Mum. I can’t forget the past
and know she can’t either. Too much has been said and done to simply erase it and start
over.