The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually)

by Denise Deegan

  David straightens. ‘Everything’s fine. Alex wants to go home.’ He’s looking at Mike the same way, like he doesn’t trust him either.

  ‘Alright, Alex?’ Mike asks.

  ‘Thanks to David, I am,’ I say.

  Mike looks at him again, reassessing. ‘Can I drop you somewhere, mate?’

  ‘No. Thanks. I’m fine.’ He looks at me. ‘I’ll call you.’

  ‘You don’t have my number!’

  ‘I’ll find it.’ He smiles and touches my arm. Then he’s gone. Back to Sarah’s house. Back to the party.

  SEVEN | WHAT BIG EYES YOU'VE GOT

  I wake on my mother’s birthday. Without her. My sketch pad is empty. But I have Homer. And something else. I have last night, slowly unfolding in my mind. I lie back and close my eyes (which is just as well because my head is killing me). I picture his face. Remember his kiss. Then I have the weirdest feeling. Like Mum wants this for me. Like she’s here in the room, wanting this. For six long months, I’ve felt nothing from her. Nothing. Though I’ve tried. So hard. But now I feel her, happy, and wanting me to be too. But do I want to be? Do I really want this? If there is a ‘this’. What if there isn’t? What if he was just being kind? What if it’s Rachel he really likes? He helped me for her, after all. She’s beautiful and sweet and uncomplicated, not messed up like me. Or angry. I think of him walking back to the party. Who did he talk to then? Someone safe, someone sweet, someone who wouldn’t throw his words back in his face? Someone who laughs easily. He won’t call. He’ll wake up and think of Rachel. And I won’t know for sure till tomorrow whether he couldn’t get my number or whether he just got sense.

  Tomorrow. Oh God. I will never, ever, drink again.

  But he does call. When I hear his voice, my heart soars. And then plummets. What if he’s just ringing to back out? He’d be like that – polite.

  ‘How’re you feeling?’ he asks.

  ‘Rough.’ Whoa, I’m hoarse.

  ‘Did you just bark?’

  I laugh. And sound like Tina Turner. Or possibly even Ike.

  ‘So. You doing anything today?’

  ‘No,’ pops out too quickly. Like I’m desperate or something.

  ‘Want to meet up?’

  Then I remember. And even I can hear my voice drop. ‘It’s my Mum’s birthday.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Sorry. I’ll call back another . . .’

  Suddenly, I don’t want him gone. ‘No! Let’s go out. Now. Today.’

  ‘You sure?’ He sounds like he doesn’t want to intrude.

  ‘Positive.’ She’d want me to. I know she would. And I can’t be on my own. Not today.

  There’s a brief silence. Then, ‘Will I pick you up?’

  ‘You’ve a car?’

  ‘A banger I’ve just started sharing with my sister.’

  ‘Cool!’

  ‘Wait till you see it . . .’

  ‘Hey, listen, you’ve got wheels . . .’

  ‘So, what time?’

  I check my watch. Then the mirror. OMG to both. It’s two in the afternoon. And I look like a Goth.

  ‘Gimme an hour.’

  This is my life: I have to tell a bodyguard, not a parent, that I’m going out. The Rockstar has disappeared like he doesn’t care (which he doesn’t), leaving Mike behind to keep an eye on me. It’s like he wants me looked after. But he just doesn’t want to do it himself.

  ‘Bring your phone,’ Mike says. But he’s cool about it. I can tell.

  ‘OK. Thanks.’

  He squints at the security camera. ‘Is he driving an orange Beetle?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I peer at the screen. And see his face through the windscreen. He looks like he’s singing. ‘That’s him,’ I say. And realise I’m smiling.

  I’m at the front door when he pulls up. I’m running down the steps. He’s striding towards them. Now taking the steps two at a time to meet me. He smiles before he kisses me. I close my eyes and shut out the voices in my head telling me I’m playing with fire, telling me I’m going to get burnt. I can handle this, I argue to myself. I know what I’m doing. I can pull back at any time.

  ‘You ready?’ he asks.

  And that’s exactly what I should be wondering. Am I?

  He opens the car door for me, and, when I get in, my head throbs and my stomach heaves, reminding me of last night.

  ‘Where to?’ he asks, when he’s at the wheel.

  I don’t know. Where do you go with a person you hated till yesterday and now like too much?

  ‘Surprise me,’ I say, because it’s (marginally) better than ‘Duh.’

  He starts the engine and pulls away. I sneak a look. He’s so incredibly hot and so incredibly decent, I find myself asking, did I really hate him or was I just trying to avoid this? We drive through the gates. Two fans peer in. David waves. We go over a bump. And my stomach heaves.

  ‘You feeling as rough as me?’ I ask.

  He looks at me and smirks. ‘Doubt it.’ I hit him.

  ‘You know, this is supposed to be awkward,’ he says, like I’m not playing my part.

  ‘What?’

  ‘First date,’ he says. ‘Awkward. Always.’

  I feel my face fall. ‘God. Don’t call it that.’

  ‘What should I call it?’ he asks cheerfully, eyes still on the road.

  ‘Do we have to call it anything?’

  He looks at me questioningly, then, after a second, says, ‘Nope.’

  We’re driving out the N11, the Wicklow mountains ahead of us. It feels good to be getting away from Dublin. Away from everything. My phone rings, and I ignore it.

  ‘Aren’t you going to get that?’

  ‘Probably just Sarah.’ I check. ‘Oh no!’ He looks at me.

  ‘It’s my gran. I’m meant to be there. Like, now.’ I hit the green button. ‘Hi, Gran.’

  ‘Where are you?’ she asks.

  ‘On my way,’ I say, making a face at him to say sorry. ‘See you in a minute.’ I want to ask if she’s OK, but it’s not a question she likes. So I hang up. Look at David. ‘I’m so sorry. I can’t not go. Not today.’

  ‘No problem. Where does she live?’

  ‘Killiney. You don’t mind dropping me, do you? I can get Mike to pick me up.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘I’m really sorry.’ So sorry in fact, I go out on a limb: ‘We can do this another time?’

  ‘Sure.’

  After ten minutes’ silent driving, we pull up outside Gran’s house. We look at each other. And I don’t want him to go.

  ‘Don’t suppose you want to come in?’ I ask, knowing he won’t.

  He looks at me and shrugs. ‘Why not?’ And I know my smile is way too wide.

  Gran opens the door, wearing black. She looks especially tired. Her eyes are red-rimmed.

  ‘Hey, Gran,’ I say. ‘This is David, a friend from school.’

  She looks at me, then at the stranger. ‘David what?’ she asks, with too much interest.

  ‘McFadden,’ he says, stretching out his hand.

  And suddenly, it’s like Granny-What-Big-Eyes-You’ve- Got. And those eyes dart to me.

  ‘McFadden?’

  I warn her with a look. Don’t. Say. One. Word.

  She doesn’t. But . . . she’s straightened right up. Her eyes are focused, sharp. And she’s smiling. Genuinely smiling.

  ‘Well, David McFadden,’ she says, ‘you are very welcome.’ She steps back to let us in, giving me a significant look as I pass. Then, she’s like I haven’t seen her in ages, springing around like a bunny. Snapping the curtains open. Kicking the foot massager behind the couch. Offering tea and coffee.

  Then, thinking she’s very bold, she says, ‘Sure, a bit of Baileys wouldn’t do you any harm, would it?’

  ‘It would actually, Gran,’ I say, thinking of the vodka.

  ‘I’ll have a coffee,’ David says.

  After that, it’s like I don’t exist. She quizzes him on everything – where he got the accent, what his fa
ther does, what he’s doing in Ireland.

  ‘Gran!’ I say, every so often. But she ignores me. He laughs each time.

  It might be embarrassing, but I find out more about him in one hour than I’ve known after a year in class. He’s from San Diego. His father’s in aeronautics. He has a brother (younger) and a sister (older). When we get to his mother, Gran remembers I’m in the room. She turns to me, with a long, meaningful look. ‘This is good,’ it says. ‘He understands.’

  After an hour, she shoos us out the door. ‘I’ve taken up enough of your time,’ she says, as if we’re dying to be alone. Which, speaking for myself, is true. But she likes him. Which is good. He cheered her up on a day she needed to be distracted. And he’s distracting me. He is very distracting in general. I look at him as she says her last goodbyes, and want to reach out and touch him. But the person who does the reaching out is my gran. She leans forward and kisses him on the cheek.

  My mouth drops open. It drops further when she says, ‘I can’t imagine how anyone would find you annoying.’ Then she looks straight at me. And I want to disappear.

  Walking to the car, he wears a huge grin. ‘So, you spoke to your gran about me?’

  Christ.

  ‘I’m flattered.’

  ‘Don’t be. It was all insults.’

  He laughs. We get into the car. ‘I’m still flattered.’

  ‘So, back to Wicklow?’ I ask, hoping to move it on.

  ‘I was thinking . . . We could visit your mom. If you like.’

  ‘You mean where she’s buried?’ I’m horrified.

  He shrugs.

  ‘I’m not dragging you to a graveyard. I’m not dragging myself to a graveyard.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘They’re the saddest, most depressing places in the world. I don’t want to even think of my mum in a graveyard. If I want to be near her, I go to the beach or Killiney Hill. She loved Killiney Hill.’

  He starts the engine. ‘Want to go?’

  I want to, but . . . ‘What kind of . . .’ – I try to think of a better word but can’t – ‘date would that be?’

  He smiles. ‘I thought it wasn’t a date.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  We stop off to pick up Homer, who needs a walk and loves the Hill. He sits on the floor in the back with his head between the seats, not wanting to miss anything. When we get to the Hill, he bolts from the car, heading for the trees. He slows to a stop and has a good sniff around while we catch up. It’s dark under the pines. Homer comes up to us, then turns and runs ahead, like a scout leading the way. Pine needles cushion our step. We hardly make a sound. The ground starts to climb. Exposed tree roots cross our path. David takes my hand. Homer keeps running back to us, crouching low and springing up.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ David asks.

  ‘He wants you to throw him a stick.’

  David looks around, finds one and throws it far. Homer dashes off. He returns with the stick and comes up to David with it. David reaches out, saying, ‘Good boy’, but just as he’s about to take it, Homer swerves to the left and runs off. David looks at me.

  ‘You have to chase him for it.’

  ‘I thought he was a Retriever.’

  ‘Who doesn’t retrieve.’

  ‘Didn’t you get him trained?’

  ‘I trained him myself. Trust me. Catching him is much more fun.’

  Especially for spectators. David runs at the dog, confident that he’ll get the stick this time. Homer ducks out of the way and trots along, ears pricked up, like some proud beast, taking it easy. David springs again. With a tiny movement of his head, Homer dodges him. He decides to give David a break, moving the stick so that a really long bit is sticking out of the side of his mouth.

  ‘Tell me he didn’t do that on purpose.’

  ‘He did.’

  ‘Christ,’ he says with grudging respect. He dashes after the dog again in a sudden burst. ‘A little help!’ he calls to me.

  We chase Homer till we’re out of breath, collapsing onto the ground and lying there until our breathing returns to normal. Homer goes to sniff around again. I look up through the branches at a sky that seems so far away. Then I remember Mum. We’re here on Killiney Hill for her. But for the last ten minutes I haven’t thought of her once. Every day I carry her with me. But today, on her birthday, I forgot.

  ‘You OK?’ David asks. And I turn my head.

  He’s propped up on one elbow, looking down on me.

  ‘Yeah.’ My voice is hoarse.

  ‘Your mom?’

  I nod. Force a smile. ‘For a minute, I forgot.’

  He lies back down, like he’s giving me time to remember. I close my eyes and try to picture her face. But it’s not coming.

  For a long time, we lie in silence.

  ‘What she was like, your mom?’

  He’s the first person who’s wanted to talk about her – apart from the shrink, who was getting paid. I look at him and smile. I sit up. Then he does too. We sit with our arms around our knees.

  ‘She was fun. She could make me laugh at anything. Especially myself. She’d this way of making worries disappear. All I had to do was tell her. And poof! They’d be gone. She got me, you know?’ And just for a few moments, she’s alive again. Not this distant shadow of someone I sometimes feel I dreamt up. ‘She was normal,’ I say, like it’s the most wonderful thing. And, when you’re surrounded by a rockstar’s life, it is. ‘She baked. Made me do chores. Set limits. You never think you’ll miss those things.’ I smile, to hide the fact that I feel like crying. ‘If I ever got starstruck by someone who called to see The Rockstar, she’d remind me that everyone has an ass to wipe.’

  He smiles and nods like he’d have liked her. Then he ruins everything, by asking why I keep calling my father ‘The Rockstar’.

  I hear my voice go cold. ‘That’s what he is. A rockstar, not a father. He doesn’t care about anything except music. Not me. Not my mum. When she got sick, he disappeared, down to the basement or off on his trips. He was in New York when she died, acting like she’d already gone, like he wasn’t going to waste any more time on her.’ My voice wobbles, because it’s so hard to admit to that. ‘When he came back, it was like she never existed . . . But I don’t want to talk about him.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says.

  ‘What do you miss most about your mum?’ I want to know if we’re the same. And I want so badly for us to be, because maybe then I won’t feel like such a freak.

  He stares into space and for a while doesn’t speak. Then he looks at me.

  ‘Just her being there. Every day. When I come down in the morning. When I come in from school. Just the normal, ordinary stuff.’

  ‘Sometimes I can’t believe I’ll never hug her again,’ I say and, even to me, I sound lost.

  Then I’m in his arms, feeling his strength, smelling the smell that is uniquely and wonderfully David.

  ‘You’re so great.’ His words float in the air, reminding me of Mum’s last words to me: ‘You’re going to be so great.’ I look up at him in surprise. And for the first time I start to believe in possibility.

  EIGHT | SIBERIA

  Monday morning and I’m in bits. How do you walk into a classroom, knowing that the guy you like will be there, but not knowing what the story is exactly? When he said, ‘See you tomorrow’, did he mean see me, as in, we’re seeing each other, or just that he’d see me in school? I look in the mirror for the fortieth time. I want to look good, but not like I’m trying. I’ve straightened my hair. Put on make-up. Taken it off again. Now I walk out of the room and close the door before I can get near the make-up again. This is ridiculous.

  I can’t eat breakfast, so just have juice.

  On the DART, I bump into Orla Tempany.

  ‘You OK?’ she asks. ‘You look really pale.’ Crud, I think. I should have worn the make-up.

  ‘Some party, at Sarah’s!’ She starts listing who ended up with who. I’m silently freaking, waiting f
or her to get to me. When she doesn’t, I finally calm down. By then, we’re getting off the train.

  Arriving at school, I’m glad to have Orla by my side, chatting away. I do not want to walk in on my own. But I don’t even get that far. He’s coming towards us, right now, along the corridor with Mark Delaney. Oh God. I try to act cool.

  ‘Hey,’ they both say, together, in their usual laid-back way, like nothing’s changed.

  My heart sinks. So that’s how it is. We pass each other.

  I look back.

  And then, as if in slow motion, David turns around and gives me the biggest smile.

  My heart flips.

  In class, I catch him looking at me. Which, I realise, wouldn’t be possible if I wasn’t looking at him too. I try not to. But no matter what class we’re in, I always know where he is. I know what way he’s sitting, standing, lounging. I know how his arm’s resting on the table. I know when he looks out the window. His sneezes are louder than anyone else’s. His coughs too. Is he getting a cold? I tell myself to stop being so lame. We spent an afternoon together. Once. It wasn’t even a proper date. Which is just as well, because I don’t date. I don’t get involved. With anyone. Ever. But then my eyes meet his, again. And I melt.

  At break, I’m stuck. If I go over to him, people (like Rachel) will wonder why. If I don’t, what’ll he think? I get my things together slowly, so I don’t have to decide.

  ‘Come on,’ Sarah says, arriving beside me. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘Right.’ I look towards David’s desk.

  He’s gone. I tell myself it doesn’t matter but somehow it does.

  In the canteen, Rachel, Sarah and I queue up. I let my eyes wander around, totally casually, as if the last thing I’m doing is looking for anyone. When I see him, I keep my eyes moving but take it all in. He’s sitting with Mark Delaney, Simon Kelleher and a bunch of other guys. It looks like he’s telling some kind of story. They’re all leaning in, listening. Then he stops and they burst out laughing. Mark glances over at me. I look away. Oh my God! That was about me. Why else would he have looked over? That was about the weirdest first date in history, going to see a granny, walking a crazy dog. My face burns. My stomach tightens. I glance back. David’s eyes meet mine. But this time, instead of a smile, he simply raises his chin. I turn away, sick.