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

by Denise Deegan

  The nurse puts an arm around me and walks with me to the room. And even though I hate strangers touching me, I don’t fight it. What’s the point? Through the glass windows, I see Mum, sitting on one of those hard armchairs, in the semi-dark. And I’m crying again. Automatically. Before the nurse even opens the door, Mum’s up. And coming to me. She thanks the nurse, who leaves us alone. Mum takes me in her arms and holds me. My whole body shakes against hers. She holds me tighter. She says nothing to make it better. Which is good. Because nothing can. She stays holding me for a very long time. In the end, she pulls back, brushes the hair back from my face and wipes a tear.

  ‘Let’s go home.’

  Something in my head tells me I can’t. I remember Alex. I look at Mum. ‘Alex is in hospital. She went in yesterday to have the baby.’

  She looks at me, then checks her watch. ‘She might still be in labour.’

  ‘No. She couldn’t …’

  She raises her eyebrows and nods.

  I turn on my phone to see if there are any messages. Nothing. From anyone. I think of her still in labour. ‘Oh my God. I hope she’s OK.’

  ‘Do you want to go in?’

  I nod. I can’t go home anyway. It wouldn’t feel right. To just carry on like everything’s normal. Nothing’s normal. And it feels like nothing will ever be again.

  We leave the hospital as the nurses change shifts, as the cleaning people buff the floors. And another day begins.

  Outside, daylight stings my eyes. My head aches. And my nose feels like I’ve been inhaling raw chlorine. I follow Mum to the car.

  It’s Saturday morning and there’s no traffic. But Mum stops at every orange light (they all seem to be). When I drive, it won’t be like this. Then I think, how can I drive? Without him? My heart feels like it’s exploding into a million pieces. Tiny bits going everywhere. Where are you? I think. I feel like there’s a hole in my heart.

  At the hospital reception, Mum asks for Alex Newman.

  The guy behind the desk looks at us carefully.

  ‘Are you relatives?’

  I worry that something has happened.

  ‘No,’ Mum says.

  At the same time I say, ‘Yes.’

  They’re both looking at me.

  ‘What kind of relative?’ he asks me.

  ‘Aunt,’ I say but don’t expand.

  Mum stares at me, clearly thinking I’m lying.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the guy says. ‘You’ll have to come back during visiting hours.’

  No. No way. I have to see her now. It’s like, suddenly nothing else matters.

  ‘Louis?’ Mum says.

  I turn. Louis is walking into reception from the wards. He stops when he sees us.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Mum asks.

  He hesitates. Then straightens up like he’s decided something.

  ‘I’ve just become a dad.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Baby girl. Eight pounds, three ounces. She’s beautiful.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ I say. ‘Is she OK? Is Alex OK?’

  Mum looks like she’s going to pass out. ‘You and Alex Newman?’

  Louis doesn’t even hear her. He’s looking at me like he’s in awe. ‘She was amazing. She didn’t want me there till it was over, but when I went in, straight after, there she was, sitting up in bed eating toast after eighteen hours of pushing.’

  ‘Eighteen hours?’

  ‘Baby was born at four.’

  ‘Four, this morning?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Four, exactly?’

  ‘Yeah, why?’

  I stare at him. Not believing. ‘Shane died at four.’

  He loses his smile. His whole face falls. ‘I’m so sorry, Sarah.’ He comes to me and hugs me.

  ‘He was asleep,’ I say. ‘He just slipped away.’ I say it for him but it makes me feel better to think of him asleep, in the middle of a dream. He could have been walking, swimming, hand gliding. Laughing. Suddenly, that seems so important.

  ‘You want to see Alex?’ he asks.

  I nod. ‘But he won’t let us.’

  Louis turns to the guy on reception. ‘I’m the baby’s father. I need to go back for a minute. With my sister.’

  Without waiting for an answer, he puts his arm around me and starts walking.

  ‘Fifteen minutes,’ the guy calls. He checks his watch to make a point.

  ‘I’ll wait in the car,’ Mum calls. She frowns at Louis. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’

  He just smiles.

  Going up in the lift, I turn to Louis. ‘So everything’s OK? Alex is OK? The baby’s OK?’

  He nods, smiling. ‘She looks like me.’

  And when he says that, I know for sure that everything’s fine.

  ‘Her name’s Maggie.’

  I look at him, hopefully. Alex would never have called the baby after her mum if she didn’t love it.

  ‘She is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’ His voice is filled with emotion.

  And I smile. Because months ago, he’d have been heading for the hills.

  FORTY-TWO | MAGGIE

  Alex is lying on her back with two pillows. She looks pale and tired but unbelievably peaceful – considering. Like the weather after a storm. She smiles when she sees me.

  ‘Hey,’ she says, and sounds so Zen.

  ‘Congratulations.’ I smile. ‘It’s cool you called her after your mum.’

  ‘Kind of made sense.’

  ‘Sorry I couldn’t be here.’

  ‘Is Shane OK?’ she asks, cautiously.

  I bite my lips together. Shake my head. And try, so hard, not to cry. She looks at Louis, who shakes his head.

  ‘Oh my God, Sarah.’ She flings back the covers and starts to get up.

  ‘Stop!’ Louis calls, rushing over. ‘You’ve had an epidural. You have to lie flat for another hour.’

  ‘Crud,’ she says, angrily. Then, ‘Sarah come here.’ She sounds so bossy, I almost laugh.

  ‘You sound like a mum already,’ I say.

  ‘Get up here,’ she says, patting the bed beside her.

  I climb up. I remember Shane and feel suddenly hollow, like a wind is blowing right through me. I shiver.

  ‘Lie down,’ she says.

  Suddenly, tiredness overwhelms me and I do what I’m told. Alex turns on her side, to face me. She strokes my hair. Like an expert, like a mum.

  I look at her. ‘I can’t believe it, Alex. It happened so fast. In the end.’ And I’m crying. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come. You’ve enough—’

  ‘Shut up. This is exactly where you should be. OK?’

  ‘You warned me. You said it would hurt.’

  ‘Yeah, but I bet you wouldn’t change a thing.’

  I look at her. ‘No.’ And I’m sobbing again. ‘I loved him so much.’ I close my eyes and see his face. I hear him telling me, ‘Life goes on.’ It’s like an order.

  I sit up.

  ‘Where’s this baby of yours?’

  She smiles. And I think, Wow, she’s smiling at the thought of her baby. Something’s right in the world.

  ‘Louis. Will you get Maggie?’ She talks to him like they’re a couple, like they’re a real mum and dad. And even though I know they’re not together, I pretend. Because I can have that, can’t I? Just for today.

  Louis stoops so gently over the little cot and scoops up the tiny bundle so easily, like this is what he was born to do. The world is a very strange place. He carries the baby to Alex. And I take a second, just one second, to look at Alex’s face before I look at Maggie’s. It goes all soft and even though this is the saddest day of my life, I feel happy. Something good, I think. Something good. And then I look down at the most beautiful face in the world.

  ‘Oh, Alex, she’s beautiful.’ She has the tiniest pixy face with a little pointy chin and those cupid lips that babies have. She is like a little elf child and I love her instantly.

  ‘Want to see her hair?’ Alex pulls off
the tiny white cap. Out pops a huge tuft of dark hair, the kind that Asian babies have.

  ‘Oh my God!’ I say, and laugh.

  ‘Want to hold her?’ Alex asks.

  ‘No, thanks. I don’t want to wake her.’ Or hurt her or do anything stupid.

  ‘Hold her,’ she bosses.

  And I laugh again, wondering if it’s like a switch, if the minute you give birth, you get all this authority. Then I feel guilty. I shouldn’t be laughing. Not today.

  ‘Hold her,’ she says firmly, passing the baby to me.

  I take her into my arms like she’s a bomb that could go off at the slightest movement. I take her. And hold her. And then, the weirdest thing, I look down at her sleeping face and feel this huge wave of calm settle over me. I stop worrying, stop grieving, just watch her. And then, like magic, her eyes pop open. They are blue and hazy and probably can’t see very much. But they’re looking up at me and suddenly I feel all this love coming to me, like a wave of energy. I look up, so surprised, to see if anyone else feels it.

  ‘Hello, Auntie Sarah,’ Alex says in a baby voice.

  I look at her and laugh. And I know. It’s what Shane wants. For me to laugh. And live. And breathe. And enjoy every moment.

  I’m getting married to Shane. We’re on a beach. He’s standing, waiting for me to walk up the aisle (a sandy path, between rows of golden chairs). He is in his rugby gear with big mucky patches on his knees. The golden chairs are empty. But a penguin looks on from the side. When I reach Shane, he smiles, then he picks me up, throws me over his shoulder, slaps my bum and carries me off. I’m laughing. But then I’m thinking, this must be a dream because now we’re cavemen. There’s a knocking sound. A man on the beach is hammering at an upturned boat.

  ‘Sarah?’

  I open my eyes. It’s dark. And Mum is in the room. The knocking was her at the door.

  ‘Hey,’ she says gently, and sits on the side of the bed.

  ‘How’re you doing?’

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Half nine. You’ve slept twelve hours solid.’

  ‘Half nine at night?’ I ask, trying to adjust.

  She nods. ‘Peter’s downstairs. He says he has something for you.’

  It’s taking a while to work that out.

  ‘Why don’t you come down and see what it is?’

  ‘I’m OK,’ I say.

  ‘It’s something from Shane,’ she says.

  I’m out of bed and down the stairs in seconds.

  Peter looks wrecked.

  ‘Hey,’ he says.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Mum says. ‘Nice to meet you, Peter.’ She disappears into the kitchen.

  ‘How’re you doing?’ he asks.

  I shrug. ‘You?’

  ‘OK,’ he says, sounding so not OK.

  ‘He was asleep. In the end,’ I say. ‘He just slipped away.’ I think I’m going to be saying that a lot – out loud and to myself.

  He nods. ‘His mum said.’

  ‘Did she ring you?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That was nice of her.’ Given that all I’ve been able to do is sleep.

  He holds out a memory stick. ‘Shane asked me to give you this.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Something he wanted to tell you, I think.’

  Suddenly, I want to be upstairs at my computer, with Shane.

  And Peter must get that because he says, ‘Well, I better get going. Take care, yeah?’

  I nod. ‘Thanks, Peter.’

  We hug. I walk him to the door. Then I’m racing upstairs. Opening the computer and inserting the memory stick. None of it is happening fast enough. And then he is suddenly there, looking right at me. Alive again. Oh God. He’s in the hospital. Sitting up in the bed, no oxygen on, freshly shaved. When was this? It must have been at the beginning because he looks so strong.

  ‘Hey.’ And I love the way he says it, like the word is full of love. ‘Things aren’t looking too good right now. So this is just in case.’ He clears his throat. He pauses, looking straight at the camera. I reach out and touch his face. And then he’s speaking.

  ‘I’ve worked it out,’ he says. ‘Love. It’s like energy. It doesn’t die. It just changes from one kind to another. I’ll never stop loving you, Sarah. I don’t know how, but you’re still going to feel my love after I’ve gone. You won’t be alone. I honestly believe that. And I want you to believe it too.’ He sounds so sure. ‘Sarah, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve lived more in the last six months than I did in my entire life because of you. If I hadn’t got sick, we’d never have met. And I wouldn’t swap that for anything. I want you to look after Pete, OK? He might look like he’s got it all together, but he’s a pussy. He’s going to need some help. And there’s my mum. She loves you, Sarah. Call on her sometime – maybe when Dad’s at work and she’s alone? Just call and have a chat. OK?’

  ‘OK,’ I say. And remember. He’s dead.

  ‘There’s something else I want you to do. I want you to be happy. OK? Live like we did, like there’s a deadline. Make the most of every single day. Love that baby when it comes. You’ll make a great aunt. The most fun aunt ever.’ He smiles. ‘OK. Better go.’

  ‘No. Don’t.’

  ‘Physio’s coming to beat the shit out of me. I’ll just close my eyes and pretend I’m on the rugby pitch.’ He smiles. His last words to me are, ‘I love you.’

  The screen goes blank.

  I snatch at the mouse. And click back to the start. Then I watch it over. And over. And over.

  Two days later, in the church, Louis and Mum sit on either side of me. It feels like they’re propping me up. I hear the church fill, behind me. I don’t turn around. Then Dad is there, at the end of the pew. We stand to let him pass, first Mum, then me, then Louis. He squeezes my hand on his way by. Then he sits the other side of Louis. Since the wedding, it doesn’t seem so odd now for the four of us to be together.

  The priest is the one from the hospital.

  ‘I didn’t know Shane for very long,’ he says, ‘but I knew he was special straight away. Shane had motor neurone disease. But he never let that stop him. Shane always put others first. His top priority in hospital was to make sure that things were in place for those he loved after he left. He made sure I’d be here today, someone that he knew, ‘not some stranger’, as he put it himself. Shane had great faith. Not in the traditional sense. He strongly believed that his love for those he loved in this life would not die with him but would surround them after he was gone. I have no doubt that it will. I feel honoured to have known Shane Owens for the small period of time that I did.’

  After the service, I walk out of the church, into the sun. Louis passes me some blackout shades and, gratefully, I hide behind them. Up ahead, Shane’s parents, looking broken, are swamped by people. I back away from the fuss. I try to hide. But someone is standing in front of me. Blocking out the sun.

  ‘What do you want?’ I ask, my voice ice, when I see who it is.

  ‘I came to say sorry. For that day in the coffee shop. I was an a-hole.’

  I stare at him. Today is not about him. It’s about Shane.

  ‘I liked you, you see. Didn’t know how much till it was too late. I guess I was upset. Anyway, sorry.’ He turns and walks away, leaving me standing there, stunned. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing about Simon does.

  ‘What did that creep want?’

  I turn around. It’s Alex and Rachel. And Maggie.

  I burst into a smile. ‘You came!’

  ‘You think we’d miss this?’ Alex says, then her face changes. ‘Jesus, you’d think I was talking about a party the way I said that.’ She looks sick. It’s then I notice they’ve both been crying.

  ‘It’s so good you’re here. Is Maggie OK? I mean, it’s not too cold or anything, is it?’ I look towards the church. ‘We could bring her inside.’

  ‘They said she’d be fine if I wrapped her up.’

  I look
at her, all cosy in her one-piece coat and her little striped cap.

  ‘She’s so cute.’

  ‘Want to hold her?’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  I put out my arms for her.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Alex says. ‘Every time you hold her, she opens her eyes.’

  I smile and carry her higher so she can see my face. And the feeling floods back, the feeling of calm, of warmth, of love. I think of what Shane said about love not dying. I think of the timing, one leaving, one coming. And I wonder …

  ‘Hello, you little angel. I’m Auntie Sarah. Yeah, that’s right. Saa-rah. Very important word.’ I look up at Alex. ‘Never too young to start.’ She laughs. ‘We’re going to have so, much, fun, you and me.’

  ‘It’s time to go,’ a voice says. It’s Mum. I didn’t see her coming. ‘They’re waiting.’

  I look over and the hearse is loaded up and ready to go. I look down at Maggie. And smile. I bend down and kiss her forehead.

  ‘I will see you later.’ I pass her back to Alex.

  ‘I won’t bring her to the graveyard, if that’s OK,’ Alex says.

  ‘God, no, that’s fine. I wouldn’t want you to.’

  ‘I hate those places,’ Alex continues. ‘Windswept and cold.’ She looks at me. ‘He’s not going to be there, Sarah. He’ll be somewhere else. Remember that, OK?’

  I nod. ‘OK.’

  Alex was right. The graveyard is windswept, cold and bleak. After the prayers are said and the coffin (God) is lowered, I turn to walk away, to forget that I was ever here.

  Then someone is beside me.

  ‘Hey,’ Peter says.

  I look at him and smile. Because he’s the one person who understands, the one person who knows.

  ‘Hey.’

  We walk in silence, our feet in step. Outside the gates, we stop. He turns to me.

  ‘He asked me to look after you, you know,’ he says.

  ‘He asked me to look after you. Said you were a pussy.’

  He laughs. ‘Bastard.’

  And then I’m crying. I’ve managed to hold off all day. Now it hits me. He’s gone. And I’ll never see him again. Peter puts his arms around me.

  ‘It’ll be OK,’ he says, his voice right by my ear. ‘I know. I’m psychic.’