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

by Denise Deegan

  Alex’s face lights up. ‘That’d be so cool. Maggie’d get to see where her dad works.’

  ‘Didn’t Louis quit the Jitter Mug?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah but he’s started again. He wants to save for Maggie’s education. And you wouldn’t believe how much Strandbrook costs.’

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Sarah says. ‘He never tells me anything! You’re sending her to Strandbrook? That’s so cool.’

  ‘And Louis wants to pay?’ I ask, surprised. Alex’s dad is minted.

  Alex shrugs. ‘He says it’s his responsibility.’

  I so want to believe he’s changed. But someone has to be prepared for the worst. Just in case.

  SEVEN | Nose

  Next morning, I’m at my locker in school. I’m just about to turn off my phone when it starts to ring. It’s Rebecca. I pick up, wondering what she wants at eight-thirty.

  ‘Where are you?’ she asks impatiently.

  ‘In school. Why?’

  ‘Wardrobe are looking for you. You’re on in an hour.’

  ‘What? No. I’m not on till this afternoon.’

  ‘They’re looking for you, Rachel. Check your schedule.’

  ‘Shit. OK, hang on.’ I put the phone down. Grab my bag and zip open the front pocket where I keep all my D4 stuff. I fumble the schedule open. My stomach falls like a lift going down. She’s right. I must have looked at the wrong date when I checked the schedule last night. I pick up the phone. ‘OK. I’m coming. Tell them I’m coming.’

  ‘Get a taxi.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I hang up, slam my locker shut. ‘I gotta go,’ I say to Sarah and I’m running. I don’t know if I’d be quicker calling a taxi or trying to flag one down outside the school. I end up calling Mum.

  I go to the gates. And even though she’s there in five, I’ve my fingers practically bitten off. I just can’t be late. I can’t let it happen. Too many people relying on me being there. Time is money and the schedule is law.

  Mum breaks the land speed record and two red lights. We’re there in ten. I kiss her goodbye and race to the dressing room, sweating.

  ‘OK,’ Rebecca says. ‘I’ve got your costume.’ She picks it up from the back of my chair.

  I scramble into it.

  ‘OK now go, go, go,’ she says. ‘I’ve told Damien to hurry.’

  ‘Can Damien hurry?’

  ‘Good point. Anyway, go.’

  I look at her, surprised. ‘Thanks, Rebecca.’

  I make it on set sweaty and hassled. But on time. Thanks to Mum and Rebecca. An unlikely team.

  After D4 I get a taxi back to school. Most of the books I have are for the wrong classes but I manage to get through the afternoon without major hassle. When school’s over, Jane is waiting for us at reception. She’s about ten years older than our parents, which is weird. But she has all this confidence, which is great.

  ‘Yay! Maggie!’ Sarah says.

  We run over. For a second, Jane looks like she wants to protect Maggie from us. But maybe it’s my imagination. Or the fact that we’re so full of energy, coming straight at her.

  While Sarah and I each offer Maggie a finger to hold, Jane gives Alex a pretty formal update on feeds and naps and how her day went. Then we stand aside while she stoops down and gives Maggie a kiss on the forehead. She tells her to be good. I look at Sarah. Like Maggie knows how to be bad?

  ‘Am I imagining it?’ Alex asks as we watch Jane walk away.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s like she’s always judging me.’

  ‘I don’t get that,’ I say.

  ‘She’s probably pissed off that I’ve upset the routine.’

  ‘I’d say she’s probably delighted to finish early,’ Sarah says.

  Outside, Jane gets into her car, a clean, unscratched VW Panda. She puts on her belt, checks the mirror, indicates and slowly pulls out. She’s the kind of person your baby would be safe with.

  ‘Sometimes I think I’d prefer a Mrs Doubtfire,’ Alex says.

  ‘Maggie’s too young for a Mrs Doubtfire,’ I say in my reassuring guru voice.

  ‘Oh, my God, it’s Maggie!’ We turn.

  Orla Tempany is hurrying over with Robin. They stick their heads into the pram.

  ‘Ah, God, look at her little leopard-skin coat,’ Robin exclaims.

  ‘She’s adorable. Her little mouth!’ Orla says. ‘Oh, my God, she’s yawning.’ She looks up at Alex who I know is dying to get away before a crowd gathers.

  ‘Can I hold her?’ Robin asks.

  ‘Eh, we’re actually in a huge hurry, sorry,’ Alex says and starts pushing the pram.

  We’re stopped about five times on the way to the DART. Then on the DART, more people in Strandbrook uniforms crowd around Maggie like she’s a celebrity. After the walk, though, she’s asleep, both arms stretched out behind her, like she’s just run a marathon.

  As soon as we get to the Jitter Mug, we find a table. Alex takes Maggie out. We go to join the queue while Sarah stays at the table to mind the stuff. When Louis sees Maggie, his whole face lights up, changing from this dark, sultry, Heathcliffy kind of guy into … basically mush. I have to admit there’s something kind of adorable about that and I find myself hoping that he never changes how he feels about Maggie, because I want everything for her that Alex does.

  ‘I’m due a break in twenty,’ Louis says to Alex. ‘If you want me to come over.’

  ‘Cool,’ she says.

  We order and find a seat. Sarah goes to the loo. Alex takes off Maggie’s coat and hat, and turns her to face the counter.

  ‘Look at Daddy. Look at Daddy working,’ she says, though Maggie can’t see that far yet.

  Louis smiles over. Alex waves Maggie’s hand at him. He waves back.

  I notice this woman about three tables over, sitting on her own with a pot of tea. She keeps glaring at Alex like she so doesn’t approve. Luckily, Alex can’t see her.

  ‘D’you know what’s amazing?’ Alex says to me. ‘How much I get on with Louis now. Before Maggie, we’d nothing to say to each other - now it’s the total opposite.’ She shakes her head. ‘It’s weird.’

  ‘I guess you’ve something in common now.’

  ‘No. It’s more than that. He’s changed, Rache.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yeah.’ She looks over at him. ‘He’s happy. Now that he’s following his dream.’

  ‘What dream?’

  She looks back at me. ‘The band. He wants to make it work.’

  ‘Then why did he quit before?’

  ‘Oh, my God,’ she says like she’s got all this scandal. ‘The lead singer was a total dictator. The others couldn’t work with him. So in the end they split up. Louis was so depressed. He thought that they really had something and if they couldn’t make it work, he’d never be able to make any band work. College came up. And he just went. He put off thinking about the future. Now Maggie’s changed everything. She’s made him want to do it right.’

  I can’t help saying, ‘What if he doesn’t make it?’ Most musicians don’t. Like most actors.

  ‘That’s what he said. So he’s going to keep college up till the band takes off.’

  ‘What’s he doing in college anyway?’ I really don’t know Louis at all.

  ‘Economics and social studies.’ She wrinkles her nose. ‘But the band’ll work out. I know it will. Main thing is he’s happy.’ She looks over at him again and smiles. ‘He really has changed.’

  I want to remind her that it has only been weeks and Louis has been Louis for twenty years.

  Sarah comes back from the loo. She sits down. Looks around, starts drumming her fingers.

  ‘You OK?’ I ask.

  ‘Yeah, fine. Why?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She looks like she wants to leave already and we’ve only just got here. She’s getting more and more like that, lately. Like she wants to keep moving. Not stop.

  Louis joins us. Alex passes Maggie to him.

  ‘Hello, sausage,’ he says.

&nbs
p; ‘Sausage?’ Alex raises an eyebrow.

  ‘Sausage.’ He touches Maggie’s nose and smiles down at her like he sees no one else.

  For a moment, no one speaks. We all just look at Maggie.

  ‘Have you found your lead singer yet?’ Sarah asks. She looks at us. ‘You should see the weirdos turning up at the house to audition. Mum’s made them use the shed.’

  ‘The right guy is out there. All we have to do is find him,’ Louis says.

  ‘Yeah, well he better be a lot hotter than the guys turning up - if you want any chance at the big time,’ Sarah says.

  ‘I’ll remember that.’

  ‘What are you going to call yourselves?’ Alex asks.

  ‘We’re working on it.’

  ‘What have you got so far?’ Sarah asks.

  ‘You don’t want to know.’

  ‘I do,’ she says.

  ‘Trust me. You don’t.’

  Sarah says, ‘Here, let me try.’ Two seconds later she’s calling out, ‘The Happy Mondays!’

  ‘Taken,’ Louis says.

  ‘What d’you mean, taken?’

  ‘The Happy Mondays are already a band.’

  ‘Really? I was wondering how I came up with it so fast. It’s a good name.’

  ‘Except there’s no such thing as a happy Monday,’ Alex says.

  ‘Except Bank Holiday Mondays,’ Sarah says.

  Alex closes her eyes. ‘Theeeeee …’ she tries. ‘No. I can’t think.’

  ‘Does it have to start with a “The”?’ Sarah asks.

  I think of The Script. Then U2. Coldplay. Oasis. ‘Maybe better without,’ I say.

  ‘The V-shaped Valleys,’ Sarah says.

  We burst out laughing.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ I ask.

  ‘Oh, I was clearing out my room last night.’ I imagine her, flinging things out of her wardrobe instead of just chilling. ‘Found my First Year geography book … Hey, how about Interlocking Spurs?’

  ‘Wouldn’t be bad,’ Louis says, ‘if we were a country and western band.’

  ‘Spider’s Revenge,’ Sarah says.

  Louis looks at her. ‘Are you high?’

  Everyone laughs, including Sarah. But it is like she’s high.

  ‘It’s hard,’ Alex says.

  ‘What about your old name?’ Sarah asks. ‘The Blue Tomorrows.’

  ‘Don’t know what we were thinking,’ Louis checks the time. ‘I better get back.’ He kisses Maggie’s forehead. ‘Bye, Pumpkin.’

  ‘Pumpkin?’ Alex asks.

  ‘Pumpkin.’ He passes Maggie over. And he’s gone.

  ‘Anyone want another drink?’ I ask.

  ‘Nah. I think we should go,’ Sarah says, looking around, drumming her fingers again. Like she’s not living enough.

  We collect up all Maggie’s stuff. Alex puts on her coat and little hat, and lays her in the pram, all the time telling her how cute she is. The woman who’s been glaring over gets up. Oh, my God. She’s coming over. She’s not going to say anything, is she? I mean she wouldn’t. It’s none of her business. But she is coming over.

  ‘Come on, Alex, let’s go,’ I say.

  Sarah follows my eyes. When she sees the woman, she stands up protectively.

  But the woman just sees Alex - and walks right up to her.

  ‘Is that your baby?’ she asks, like she’s talking about dirt.

  ‘Is that your business?’ Alex says, straight out.

  ‘Is that your nose?’ Sarah asks, staring at it. It is pretty big.

  We’re so shocked, we laugh, reminding me of the first day we met and the uniting force of detention. The woman looks appalled. She peers at the crest on my uniform. ‘What school do you go to?’

  ‘Strandbrook,’ Sarah says, like she’s daring her.

  ‘Well, I’ll be on to your principal,’ she warns, then, to herself but aloud, she adds, ‘So rude.’

  ‘Eh. Hello? And you weren’t rude?’ Sarah says, like she’s nothing to lose. Which she hasn’t. Because she’s lost Shane. And he was everything.

  ‘Incredible,’ the woman says and starts to leave.

  ‘Hang on, wait,’ Sarah says. ‘Let me give you my phone so you can call him now.’ She goes after her, holding out her phone like she’s desperate for her to take it. The woman practically sprints from the place.

  Sarah turns back to us. ‘That woman has a barren and hostile womb. You can tell.’

  We snort.

  Then I turn to Alex. ‘This better not put you off bringing Maggie out again.’

  She looks at me. ‘No one’s ever going to make me feel ashamed of my daughter. From now on, I’m showing her to the world.’

  Later, I’m looking for character traits in the novel we’ve to study for English, when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.

  ‘So how was D4?’ Jack asks. He doesn’t usually do house visits.

  ‘It was good,’ I say. ‘Rebecca actually saved my ass.’ Telling him what happened is like proving a point. He looks thoughtful.

  ‘What?’ I ask impatiently.

  ‘Just trying to work out what was in it for her.’

  ‘Did there have to be something in it for her? Maybe she was just being helpful.’

  He raises an eyebrow. Being Jack’s eyebrow, I know it means - he’ll never trust Rebecca French. No matter how many times she saves my ass.

  On Friday afternoon, I’m given my script for the following week. I look up from it and catch my reflection in the mirror. I’m blushing and biting my lip. I look back down. Read the words again. They haven’t changed.

  ‘Naomi and Joe kiss passionately.’

  OK, I knew this was going to happen. Now that it’s next week, though, things I’d never considered are flashing through my mind like the lights of passing cars. Is it going to be with tongues? If not, will it look weird? Will it look weird anyway? And will Josh (who clearly thinks I fancy him) think that I might actually be looking forward to it? I. Am. Going. To. Die.

  ‘What?’ Rebecca asks.

  The easiest thing is to just hand it to her. She replaces her mascara wand back in its tube, screws it shut then takes the A4 sheets. I don’t know why they even have kissing scenes. Watching them is just awkward. Even when there’s no one in the room.

  ‘Lucky you,’ she whispers, handing me back the script.

  ‘Lucky?’

  ‘You get to make out with Josh. Obviously.’

  ‘I’m not exactly looking forward to it, Rebecca.’ I think of Mark. How’ll he feel about me kissing someone else - in front of thousands of people - including ones we have to face in school every day?

  ‘Don’t you think he’s hot?’ she asks.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Josh. Don’t you think he’s hot?’

  ‘No.’ Especially now that I have to kiss him. ‘Come on!’

  ‘OK, he’s a good-looking guy. Doesn’t mean I want to kiss him in front of half the country.’

  ‘Personally I think it’s quite kinky – knowing everyone’s watching.’

  I laugh, shocked. ‘Pervert.’

  ‘Just enjoy it, Rachel. Thousands of girls would kill for the chance.’

  ‘Doesn’t help.’

  ‘Pretend it’s Mark.’

  I think about that. ‘Maybe I could squirt a little Ralph Lauren on him when he’s not looking.’

  ‘I could distract him,’ she says, like we’re masterminding a heist.

  I smile.

  She takes up her mascara again. ‘So. Doing anything interesting for the weekend?’

  ‘Not really, no.’

  ‘Want to do something?’

  ‘Oh, thanks,’ I say when I recover, ‘but even though I’m not doing much, I’m doing it with people, if you know what I mean?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll probably go out with friends and that.’ She sounds weirdly lonely.

  And I feel weirdly bad. ‘I’m sure it’ll be a lot more fun t
han just hanging around.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says.

  That evening, Mark arrives over with popcorn and a two litre bottle of Coke.

  ‘I brought refreshments,’ he says. He’s wearing a hoodie and tracksuit bottoms as if he’s settling in for the night. I should never have told him I’m on D4 tonight.

  ‘We’re not watching it,’ I say. ‘Yes, we are.’

  ‘Mark, I’m on for, like, two seconds.’

  ‘That’s OK.’

  ‘I don’t even have a line.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And everyone’s going to be sitting in the room.’

  ‘I can live with that.’

  ‘Maybe I can’t.’

  ‘Come on, don’t be a wimp.’

  Turns out, it’s just Mum. Dad’s working late. And Jack has gone to a friend’s.

  Mark shares out the popcorn and Coke, like a dad dealing out sweeties at a party.

  We’re sitting comfortably when the show starts. It’s good, after all, to see all the scenes, filmed randomly, coming together to make a story. After a while, Mark nudges me and looks over at Mum. She’s sitting forward, eyes glued to the screen. Aw, I think. Sometimes, you forget that they love you.

  The show’s almost over and I haven’t appeared. I’m thinking maybe I got the night wrong.

  ‘Ooh. I like the uniform,’ Mark says appreciatively.

  Mum looks back at me and smiles.

  The show ends on the scene.

  Mark turns. ‘OK, I’m definitely taking up smoking.’

  I smile and reach for the remote.

  ‘Don’t turn it off,’ Mum says to me. ‘I want to see your name.’

  ‘Aw,’ Mark says and rubs my head like a proud parent.

  ‘Get off!’ I laugh, shoving him over.

  ‘Rachel!’ Mum says like she’s appalled by my ‘unladylike’ (a word she actually uses) behaviour. Finally, she turns off the telly. ‘Right, let’s celebrate,’ she says.

  I want to escape in Millie. But Mark’s following her into the kitchen.

  ‘Back in a sec,’ I say. I run upstairs and go on moan.ie to see what they’re saying about D4. They’re talking, but not about my scene, which is good. I go on Facebook. No comments at all. I go on Twitter and put in the D4 hashtag. Nothing about Naomi. I go back on moan.ie. Oh, God, here we go.