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

by Denise Deegan

  I look up. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Study! What a waste of time.’ She waves a dismissive hand. ‘We’re playing Scrabble,’ she says, like it’s nonnegotiable. ‘Come on. Let your hair down. Have a bit of fun.’ She roots around, checking under various coloured heaps. ‘Here we are,’ she says, finally, pulling a tattered box of Scrabble from under a cushion.

  ‘I forget how to play Scrabble,’ I lie.

  ‘Then it’s time you remembered.’ She shifts stuff from a low coffee table, then throws two giant cushions onto the floor. ‘Come on. Sit down.’

  The only reason I do, is that she’s making such an effort - for me, the supposed bully. I sit on a bright orange cushion. She tosses a tiny, grey bag at me.

  ‘Pick seven letters.’

  I start to take them from the bag. ‘No! Don’t look!’ she says.

  ‘Sorry. I forgot.’

  ‘OK, pop them in their little holder. But don’t let me see. I will take advantage of you.’

  I believe her. I place my seven letters in their holder.

  ‘I’ll go first,’ Maisie says.

  I don’t stop her.

  She places down five letters - that spell ‘whore’. I stare at her. And laugh.

  ‘I knew she was trouble,’ she says.

  So she knows.

  ‘Your turn,’ she says.

  The best I can come up with is ‘poo’. Which you might say is expressing myself.

  ‘Good one,’ she says, smiling. She moves again.

  I go next.

  We’re playing for a while when I get suddenly brave and challenge her. ‘Is “looper” actually a word?’

  ‘In this room it is,’ she says, raising her eyebrows.

  I love the way she plays. Like a total messer.

  Just as I’m beginning to enjoy myself, the cast manager calls her on set. She continues to play, though.

  ‘Eh, Maisie. Don’t you need to go?’

  ‘He knows to give me fifteen minutes.’

  I watch the clock for her.

  ‘No need. He’ll call again.’

  He does. At last, she gets up. She stretches like Maggie. Like she’s really into it.

  ‘Thanks for the game,’ I say, reaching for the box.

  ‘Hey! We’re not finished.’

  I look at her.

  ‘Just leave it there. We’ll get back to it.’

  I think of old men dressed in black, playing chess in France.

  ‘No cheating,’ she warns and is gone.

  I sit looking at the words. They’re like messages. Poo, at what happened. Whore, Rebecca. Looper, anyone who believes the whore. I smile and go back to the dressing table, lay my head on my hands and close my eyes.

  In Make-Up, Damien’s acting weird. He’s totally quiet and won’t look me in the eye. It’s like I’ve done something wrong. Who told him? Rebecca? Maybe she’s going around telling everyone, to influence the investigation. Knowing Rebecca, I’d be surprised if she wasn’t.

  ‘There you go,’ he says when he's finished.

  I look at his face in the mirror but his eyes are still avoiding mine.

  Back in Maisie’s dressing room, I try to blot everything out and just do my homework. For French, I have to write a letter to an imaginary pen pal inviting her to come and stay. On my laptop, I flick between the letter and Google Translate. Before I can finish, I’m called on set.

  On the minibus, I sit beside Josh. He gives me this look.

  ‘What?’ I ask because at least he’ll tell me. Or maybe he won’t.

  ‘What do you think?’ he says.

  ‘I don’t know. That’s why I asked.’ Jesus.

  ‘So you haven’t seen the paper?’

  ‘What paper?’

  ‘Today’s. There’s an interview with the girl you bullied.’

  ‘What?’

  He shrugs.

  ‘What girl? What’s her name?’

  ‘Béibhinn something. She said you bullied her in junior school.’

  They’ve gone professional.

  ‘Then there’s Rebecca.’

  I shake my head like I can’t believe it. But, of course, I can.

  ‘Are you saying it’s not true?’ he asks.

  ‘Look, believe Rebecca if you want. I don’t care.’ Because I can’t stop her. She can say whatever she wants to whoever she wants (except Maisie) and she’ll be believed. She is adored in this place. She has worked hard enough to make it that way. And now her friends in the media have made everything official.

  ‘Have you got a copy of the article?’ I ask.

  ‘No, but Rebecca has.’

  ‘I bet she does.’

  After my scene, I go back to Maisie’s dressing room. Someone has left the newspaper on my dressing table. So I torture myself.

  ‘I was bullied by Rachel Dunne,’ is the opening line, a quotation from Béibhinn Keane. The article outlines, in detail, everything she, Rebecca and their evil bitch friends did to me. But, of course, it says I did it all to her. My heart is thumping. My breaths are coming short and fast. Why didn’t they check their facts? Didn’t they want to get it right?

  The phone rings. It’s Emily’s assistant, calling me up. Slowly, I hang up.

  Upstairs, the newspaper is open on the desk in front of her.

  ‘Is it true?’ she asks.

  ‘No. She’s Rebecca’s friend, the ringleader of the group that bullied me. I can’t believe the paper never called the school. The principal would have told them the truth.’

  ‘Rachel, I want to advise you. We’re getting a lot of press queries, looking for your contact details. Don’t worry, we’d never give out that kind of information. They know that. They’re just chancing their arm. I just want you to be prepared. In case they turn up. Outside the studio. Or at your school.’

  ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s not ground-breaking news. I just want you to know what to do if someone does confront you.’ I’m very still. ‘Say nothing. Don’t even say, “No comment.” Just go about your business.’

  ‘Emily. I know I told you I was never bullied. I just couldn’t talk about it. Not publicly. If you contact the school …’

  ‘We’re onto it, Rachel.’

  ‘I’m so sorry to bring all this on you and D4.’ I try not to cry.

  ‘Rachel, as far as D4 goes, no publicity is bad publicity.’

  ‘I might go now if that’s OK,’ I say, starting to well up. I hurry away without waiting for an answer.

  I can’t face school. I go outside, ready to duck back in if there’s press, but there’s no one. Just my mum, waiting in the car. Seeing her, I start to cry. Because it’s back. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

  In the car, she smiles that smile that says she hates where I am but doesn’t know how to stop it.

  ‘Come here,’ she says gently and pulls me into a hug. I try to stop crying but can’t.

  Finally, I pull back. ‘I’m fine.’

  She rummages in her bag for a tissue and hands it to me.

  I blow my nose.

  ‘I want you to stop D4,’ she says. ‘It’s too much.’

  ‘No! Then she’ll have won.’

  ‘Is that what she’s doing?’ she asks. She’s talking about Béibhinn. I can’t tell her about Rebecca.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Then, let me talk to Emily.’

  ‘No.’ If she talks to Emily, she finds out about Rebecca. In her face, I see it all - the doubt, the worry, the fear that I won’t be able to cope, just like I wasn’t able to last time. And I do feel like giving in, just going home, climbing into bed and staying there. But I have to fight. Not just for me, but for my parents. They can’t know how bad it is.

  ‘OK, then let me talk to the newspaper.’

  ‘No! Emily said not to talk to the press. It’ll just keep the story going.’

  ‘They need to know the facts.’

  ‘They don’t want them. Don’t you see?’

 
‘They can’t print untruths and get away with it.’

  ‘I don’t want people to know the truth. I don’t want people knowing I was bullied.’

  ‘It’s better than them thinking you are a bully.’

  ‘No, Mum. It’s not.’ Because being the victim means you’re weak. And being weak is the worst thing you can be.

  Later, Mark calls over. His hug is strong and his eyes soft. Without a word, we go upstairs. We sit on the bed. My whole body is tense, like it was back then. My teeth are clenched so tightly, it feels like my jaw could break.

  ‘I know you didn’t do it,’ he says. ‘I know you couldn’t.’

  It is such a relief when someone has faith in you. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Who is she anyway?’

  ‘That girl you saw talking to Rebecca. Her friend.’

  ‘They’re bullying you, aren’t they?’

  ‘D’you know the really funny thing? In D4, Rebecca’s accused me of bullying her.’

  ‘Jesus.’ He looks at me like he can’t believe it. ‘That’s evil.’ He hugs me tightly. Finally, he says, ‘Let’s kill her.’

  I pull back immediately. ‘Why do you have to make a joke of everything?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he says. His face.

  ‘No. I am.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ he says, moving my hair out of my face.

  ‘Nothing. There’s an investigation.’

  ‘Who can back you up?’

  ‘Let’s not talk about this now, OK?’ It’s just stressing me out and there’s nothing he can do.

  ‘The paper …’

  ‘Mark. Seriously.’

  ‘I want to help.’

  ‘So distract me.’

  ‘I tried that, remember?’

  I smile. ‘OK, so let’s just hug. Till I hatch an evil plan.’

  About an hour after Mark leaves, I go downstairs to get a glass of water. I stop just outside the kitchen.

  ‘We have to get her off that show,’ Dad’s saying urgently.

  ‘No. It’s her dream,’ Mum says. ‘She can handle it.’

  ‘Like she handled it the last time?’ he snaps.

  ‘She doesn’t want us to get involved.’

  I want to run and hug her and thank her for backing me up even though she doesn’t want to.

  ‘We didn’t do enough last time. And look what happened.’ And that is directed right at her. She lowers her head.

  Don’t cry, I think. Don’t cry.

  But he doesn’t stop. ‘We need to do something,’ he says. ‘It’s not just about Rachel. It’s about Jack. How many fights is he going to get into, standing up for her?’

  What?

  ‘I’ve told him to stop,’ Mum says, desperately.

  ‘Has he?’

  Silence.

  I walk in. Dad sees me first. He looks shocked, embarrassed. Mum turns. She has been crying.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘You don’t have to do anything. I’m quitting the show.’

  Mum stands. ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘It’s not as if it’s Hollywood.’

  ‘We’re just worried about you,’ Dad says.

  ‘So you can stop now, OK? I’ll hand in my notice tomorrow.’

  They look so relieved. Especially Mum. I turn to go.

  ‘Rachel?’ she calls, like she wants to ask if I’m sure.

  ‘I’m going to talk to Jack,’ I say without turning back.

  I go straight to his room. Earphones in, he’s attacking his punch bag. I have to walk right up to him for him to notice I’m there. He stops punching, gloves in the air. Then he gestures to his ears with them. I reach over and take out his earphones.

  ‘I don’t need you to stand up for me, Jack.’

  ‘Who said I was?’

  ‘Mum and Dad.’

  ‘Well they’re wrong. It had nothing to do with you.’ He goes back to pummeling the punch bag.

  ‘Good because I don’t need your help. OK?’

  ‘I can see that, yeah,’ he says sarcastically.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘If you keep fighting my battles, they’ll have split us up for nothing.’

  He stops punching. His whole face changes. Softens.

  ‘I’m quitting the show.’

  ‘Why?’

  I shrug like it’s no big deal. ‘Too much hassle.’

  ‘But it’s your dream.’

  ‘Was my dream.’

  ‘So you’re going to let her win?’

  ‘Didn’t you know? Bullies always win.’ I smile.

  ‘They don’t have to, Rache.’

  ‘Mum and Dad are fighting again.’

  ‘I’ll talk to them.’

  ‘And say what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Tell them to have faith in you.’

  ‘Like you have?’

  ‘I don’t let people diss my sister and get away with it.’

  I smile. ‘Yeah, well, that’ll all stop when I quit.’ I punch him lightly on the arm and wink. ‘See you later, Rambo.’

  ‘Rache—’

  ‘I’ve made up my mind, Jack.’

  That’s all I have to say. He knows.

  And so, Rebecca wins.

  NINETEEN | Trespassing

  The next day, people in school blank me. Like I’m the only bully in the world - which reminds me, I’m not one.

  ‘Did you really bully someone in junior school?’ Sarah asks in the canteen at first break.

  I give her a look. ‘Thanks, Sarah. For the faith.’

  ‘Rebecca said she knew you in junior school and that you bullied her too.’

  ‘Right, well, you believe Rebecca.’ I get up, take my tray and go sit on my own.

  Alex comes over.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you want to talk?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I believe you, by the way.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘I’m only your friend for five years.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I take a deep breath. ‘OK. Look, I was in school with Rebecca. But she bullied me. And she’s been doing the same in D4. She love bombed Sarah to get in with you guys so she could turn you against me. And it’s worked.’ Crap, I’m going to cry. Right here in the middle of the canteen.

  ‘No, it hasn’t.’ She looks into my eyes to send the message home.

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Right. Let’s go. I’ll talk to Sarah later.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’

  ‘Are you kidding? She’ll kill herself.’

  We grab our coats and go outside.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ Alex asks. ‘Do you really think we’d have hung out with her if we’d known what she’d done?’

  ‘In the beginning, I thought she’d changed - the way she was with Sarah. When I discovered she hadn’t, it was too late. She had you.’

  ‘She never had me.’

  I smile.

  ‘I never liked her.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Too good to be true.’

  ‘Wish you’d said.’

  She shrugs. ‘I thought she was helping Sarah. And you were working with her.’

  I get to D4 half an hour early. I go up to Emily’s office.

  ‘Hi, can I talk to Emily for a second?’ I ask her PA.

  ‘Let me check.’ He buzzes her. Tells her I’m here, then hangs up and says I can go in.

  ‘Rachel,’ she says, standing up.

  ‘I just want to hand in my notice or resign or whatever.’

  Her face softens. ‘Come in, Rachel. Have a seat.’

  I don’t want to. But I do it. I sit looking at her, remembering all the times I’ve been up here, good and bad. I can’t believe I’m walking away. I start to well up.

  ‘What’s up?’ she asks gently.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say as the tears spill over.

  She reaches for a box of tissues and h
olds it out to me. I take one and blow my nose.

  ‘Take your time,’ she says.

  ‘I need to resign.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I love the show but it’s hurting my family.’

  She looks concerned. ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’

  ‘That’s OK, Rachel. But you’ve signed a contract. You can’t just resign. We must see Naomi’s story through.’

  ‘But I have to quit.’

  ‘Why?’

  I sigh deeply. ‘Last time I was bullied, my parents almost split up. They’ve started arguing again. They want me off the show. This is their marriage we’re talking about.’ And I’m crying again.

  She hands me another tissue. And waits for me to stop.

  ‘OK,’ she says. ‘Here’s what we do. You take your week off. I’ll call your mum and have a chat.’

  ‘You can’t tell her about Rebecca!’

  ‘I thought you said they were worried about you being bullied.’ She looks suspicious.

  ‘They know about Béibhinn - only because it was in the paper. I didn’t tell them about Rebecca because of what happened last time.’

  ‘Would you prefer it if I didn’t call them?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How can we stop them worrying about you?’ she asks.

  ‘I can’t think of any other way outside of quitting.’

  ‘Who’s you agent? Charley Bloomfield?’

  I nod.

  ‘Let me have a word with Charley.’

  Today is the sex scene. I don’t actually care. In Wardrobe, Rita is freaking out.

  ‘That dress is meant to cling. You’ve lost weight.’ She whips out a measuring tape. Quickly measures me up. ‘Jesus. You’ve gone down a whole size. I thought the uniform was beginning to hang. I’m going to have to alter this. Now. Before your scene … You should have told me you were dieting … Don’t move.’

  OK, so she’s seen the paper.

  She quickly runs pins up the side of the dress then tells me to take it off. She hands me a robe. I start to put it on.

  ‘Wait. I need to see the underwear.’

  I have to, not only stand, but turn around while she looks me over.

  ‘Luckily, I bought two sizes,’ she snaps. She gives me back the robe.

  I totter back to the dressing room in the robe, underwear and five-inch boots to try on the smaller size. I hurry into it. Go back to Wardrobe where I’m told ‘it will do’. The dress will also ‘do’.