Paper Butterflies

by Lisa Heathfield

  I feel the blood rushing up my cheeks as she smiles at me. I wish she didn’t know. She thinks that she’s being nice, but I don’t want to do this.

  “Come up to the front, June.” She pats the empty chair beside her.

  She doesn’t hear the air-popping noises that have started again. I stand up awkwardly, step over the knees of those sitting in front of me.

  “Now, remember, don’t sit down on it,” Miss Hawthorne says. “This is the one day that you’re allowed to stand on a school chair. Make the most of it.”

  I step onto the wooden seat. I’m worried that the people in the front can see up my skirt, so I smooth it down with my hands and keep them clasped there.

  “Fishy,” I hear someone hiss.

  “Right. On three,” Miss Hawthorne says. “One, two, three.” And they’re singing, all their faces tipped up toward me. Ryan moves his hand, as though it’s swimming through water, so subtly that Miss Hawthorne would never know. Stuart looks like he’s singing, but he’s not. His wet lips are just smacking open and closed in a circle, like a dying fish. But all Miss Hawthorne can hear is the sound of their voices, making my day special.

  I don’t want them looking at me. I don’t want any of them looking at me.

  As soon as they finish, I get down from the chair and hurry back to my place on the carpet, willing a tornado to suddenly break through the sky and whisk us all away.

  •••

  “What did you get for your birthday?” Jennifer asks. We’re sitting on a wall, safely away in the corner of the playground. Our legs swing down, sandwiches balanced on our laps.

  “A bike,” I tell her. I’m so proud. I just want to get home so I can see it. Even if Kathleen will be waiting.

  “Lucky you.” Her red eyes widen, as she pushes a strand of her snow-white hair from her lips. “What’s it like?”

  “It’s pink.” I take a bite from my sandwich. The tuna paste is sticky on the bread. “It’s beautiful,” I say, my mouth full.

  “I only got a watch when I was ten.”

  “That’s nice too,” I tell her, but she just shrugs.

  There are two of them, working their way over toward us. Two girls from the year below, their hair in identical bunches on their heads. They look behind them briefly, but keep walking.

  Jennifer stares at them as they stand in front of us. I’ve never spoken to them before and I don’t know what they want. I pick at a piece of bread that’s stuck at the top of my mouth.

  “We’ve got you a birthday present,” the blonde one says. She’s smiling, as though she means it. But this feels wrong.

  The smaller one thrusts a paper napkin toward me. There’s something wrapped inside.

  “Thank you,” I say, although my breath feels heavy. I don’t want to look up to see who’s watching. I’m going to just play along with their game, so they can’t beat me.

  I hold my head high as I peel back the napkin. One of the girls screams and they both run away.

  The goldfish is lying dead. The perfect circle of its eye stares up toward the sky. Its tiny mouth is open in a desperate pout.

  They killed it, just for me.

  “Fishy!” The shout stumbles across the playground. I knew Ryan had been behind it. I won’t look up. Instead, I wrap the dead fish back up and put it gently in my bag.

  •••

  Miss Hawthorne is standing by the door and she stops me when I go in.

  “June, I need a quick word.” I wait outside the classroom as she settles everyone down. The walls of the corridor are very white, as if I’m in a tube of light.

  “Right,” she says, clicking the door shut. “I need to look in your bag.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Some of the children have told me that you’ve done something you shouldn’t have.”

  My stomach feels heavy. I had only kept the fish because I’d wanted to bury it. It hadn’t felt right to throw it in the garbage can. Not when it died for me.

  Miss Hawthorne doesn’t have to look for long. She picks out the paper napkin with the soft fish inside.

  “Why?” she asks me. Her voice is gentle. She’s not angry.

  “It wasn’t me,” I tell her. But she just shakes her head.

  “A lot of the children saw you do it. They’re very upset.”

  “It wasn’t me,” I whisper.

  “Lying will only make it worse.” There’s such disappointment in her voice that it almost makes me cry.

  “I’m not lying,” I say, but I can tell by her eyes that she doesn’t believe me.

  “I’ve got no choice. I’ve got to take you to Mr. Cleadon.”

  I nod at her. It’s easier this way.

  I feel so alone, even though Miss Hawthorne walks beside me. I thought I could trust her. I thought one day I’d even tell her about Kathleen and she’d save me. But now I know she never will.

  I look outside the windows as we walk. The clouds look like a pixie, but it’s hard to see, because soon we’re gone.

  •••

  “Close your eyes,” Kathleen says. Megan and I have barely walked through the door when she’s fussing around us, taking our bags and coats and hanging them up.

  She stands behind me and covers my eyes with her hands.

  “Walk forward,” she says, so I shuffle in the direction of the kitchen. “Ta-da!” She takes her hands away.

  The table is covered in birthday food. There’s jelly and sandwiches and cookies. And, in the middle, an enormous, round chocolate cake, dotted with candies.

  Megan seems confused as she looks at Kathleen.

  “It’s her birthday, sweetie,” she says. “Have a look at the cake. I made it myself,” she smiles.

  I step toward it. There’s a new tablecloth, and balloons tied to the chairs.

  “What do you say?” Kathleen says.

  “Thank you,” I reply.

  “Come on, let’s light these and take a photo.”

  She holds a match to all ten candles. It’s my cake and it’s beautiful.

  “Blow them out and look at me and smile.”

  I puff out my cheeks and my smile is real as I look at the candles and blow out the flames into little streaks of smoke.

  “Let’s eat, then.”

  We all sit down.

  “There’s soda too.” She smiles, pointing to my cup.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Let’s start with the cake.” She cuts a big slice and tips it onto the plate, then passes it to me. “Don’t wait for us.”

  I hesitate with my fork, but it’s too tempting. Chocolate cream oozes out between the sponge. The taste makes the world feel better.

  “It’s a good one,” Kathleen laughs as she eats a mouthful. And it is. Mouthful after mouthful is delicious, until my plate is empty.

  Kathleen puts another slice on my plate. I look up at her and she nods at me. Maybe this is the day she changes. Maybe she’ll put her arms around me and say she really does love me and she’s sorry. I smile back. A little bit of the grit in my heart feels like it’s floating away.

  I eat my cake, the chocolate filling my mouth. Megan stares at me, but I don’t care. Kathleen can love me too.

  I run my fingers along the crumbs on my plate, smudging dropped bits of chocolate cream.

  “More?” Kathleen asks.

  I laugh slightly. “I need to leave space for a sandwich.”

  “But the cake isn’t finished.” Just like that, the look is back. Her eyes burn into me.

  She puts another slice on my plate. I look down at it. If I eat it, I’ll feel too sick to remember the special taste.

  “Eat it,” she says. Megan looks at me. She has a glimmer of panic in her eyes.

  I pick up the fork and push it into the cake. Slowly, I spoon every last bit into my mouth, until I’m sure I’ll be sick.

  “Have a drink,” Kathleen says. I want liquid, but it’s too sweet.

  “Eat.” There’s more chocolate cake on the plate i
n front of me.

  “I can’t,” I whisper.

  “Eat,” she says.

  “I’ll be sick.”

  She’s beside me so quick that I jump back.

  “If you vomit, you’ll eat that too.”

  I pick up the fork and force the cake into my mouth. I gag slightly and I have to work hard to make it go down. My stomach is cramping—it doesn’t want it.

  “She’s disgusting, isn’t she?” Kathleen says to Megan.

  “Yes,” Megan agrees.

  I don’t want to cry, but I can’t stop myself. I can feel the tears rolling uselessly down my cheeks.

  I want to see my bike. I want my dad to come home and take me away from here.

  The sweet smell sweeps through my nose. I gag again and am almost sick. The salt from my crying is in my mouth too.

  “More,” I hear her say. My fork scrapes the plate and goes past my lips, again and again and again, until I have to stand up and run for the bathroom.

  I won’t be sick, I can’t be sick. I lock the door before she can get to me and I curl up on the floor. Everything hurts. My head feels like it will crack open. My stomach is filled with a thousand burning bricks. My throat is sandpapered raw.

  I lie on the floor and I cry and I cry.

  I want my mom. I want her to come out of the water and come back to us. And my dad will love me enough and Kathleen would never exist.

  There’s a tap at the door, so gentle.

  “June?” It’s Kathleen’s voice trickling underneath it. “Happy birthday.”

  •••

  My dad is keeping his promise. He has to get his bike from the back of the garage, but I don’t mind waiting. I’d wait all day if it means I can get on my bike.

  Kathleen stands in the front doorway. She’s leaning on the frame, her arms crossed in front of her, a big smile on her face.

  “Do you need help, Brad?” she calls out. He doesn’t reply. There’s clattering coming from the garage and I doubt he can hear her. She shrugs. “I guess not.” She smiles at me.

  But there’s something, just at the back of her eyes, that I can see. I look away. Out here, I’m safe. Just by being here, my dad protects me.

  He appears from the garage. “Sorry, pumpkin. Took me ages to find the pump.”

  “That’s fine,” I say. His front wheel looks a bit crooked.

  “Are you sure you’re all right on that?” Kathleen asks.

  “It’s straight out of the showroom, this beauty,” my dad says, slapping the frayed seat and laughing loud enough for the birds to hear. “Ready, June?”

  “Yup.” I begin to put my foot on the pedal, when I see her out of the corner of my eye, coming closer.

  “No going too fast,” Kathleen says. She hugs me and kisses the top of my head. “Look after each other.”

  “We will,” my dad calls as he wobbles off down the road. I go after him quickly and I don’t look back.

  My bicycle makes me free. The wind pushes against my cheeks and arms. My legs pedal around and around and around and I’m so happy I could fly.

  “You’re all mine,” I whisper to my bike. The whir of its wheels calls back to me. It loves me too.

  The road disappears beneath my feet, taking me further away from her. I want to call to the clouds, shout out to the sky.

  I watch my dad not far ahead. He’s hunched over, looking forward. He’s my dad and he gave me this bike and I love him love him love him.

  His T-shirt moves slightly in the wind.

  Today, I’ll tell him. Today, I’ll tell him everything.

  He turns off to the left, toward the path by the river. My heart squeezes cold and I want to stop.

  “Not this way,” I say, but I’m not loud enough for him to hear.

  It’s bumpy under our wheels. I can see the river in the distance, a thick line of black. I never admit to him how much I don’t like coming here.

  He looks back briefly and tries to put his thumb up, but it makes him wobble, so he carries on looking straight ahead.

  The water is here and my dad follows the path, so that the river runs along the side of us. I won’t look at it. I won’t hear it. I’ll see only his wheels going around and around. If I go slightly to the side, I can see the spokes spinning so fast that they almost disappear.

  I know we’re not far.

  I see it in the distance and suddenly I can’t and won’t take my eyes away.

  I love you, Mom.

  I hadn’t meant to cry today. It’s difficult to see, but I can’t wipe my eyes without the bike toppling.

  The little wooden statue of a heron, stuck tight into the grass, looks out, motionless, over the water. I can see the flowers that Dad and I tucked next to it.

  My fingers pull the brakes and my bike slows until I’m right next to my mom’s heron.

  Up ahead, I hear my dad stop. The path crunches louder as he makes his way back. I look up at him.

  “Our flowers are dying,” I tell him. The petals are curling, their colors fading.

  “They’ve been here a week,” he says.

  “I wanted them to last longer.” They were for my mom, three different bunches, for each of the years without her.

  My dad leans over to try to hug me, but our bikes make it awkward and his arms are heavy.

  I won’t look at the water.

  “Shall we keep going?” my dad asks. He’s sad and this was our happy day. I nod, even though I want to stay here, with my mom’s heron staring out, looking for her.

  He begins to pedal slowly away and I stay close behind him.

  “Shall we go to the High Point?” he calls over his shoulder.

  “Yes,” I shout back.

  It’s not far to bike and the bottom of the hill is close to the path.

  “There’s no way I’m biking up that,” my dad laughs. It stretches green and steep, the war monument perched proudly on the top. “But I’ll race you!” And he’s off, way ahead of me.

  “That’s cheating.” I put my bike down gently next to his and I’m running like a leopard. I’m getting closer to him. My legs ache and my breathing burns, but I love it. I push myself faster, but he gets there first. He’s lying on his back, his stomach going up and down so quickly.

  I fall down next to him.

  “You need to get fit,” he laughs. “Less eating so much party food and more exercise.”

  I hold my breath.

  The thought of chocolate cake creeps up my throat.

  “I’m glad your friends came over though,” my dad says. He stretches out on his side and leans his head on the triangle of his arm. “So it’s getting easier, is it?”

  I look down at the grass. I pick a blade and another. Picking them and just throwing them away.

  “It’s not going to change overnight, honey, but having a few friends over for your birthday is a start.”

  Tell him. There were no friends. It’s all a lie. But my head can’t seem to start the words.

  “Kath tried so hard to make it good for you.” He sweeps his palm gently across the top of the grass. “We’re lucky to have her, aren’t we?” When he looks at me, I know I can’t say it. He’s got a happiness in his eyes that was burnt out when Mom died. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  “I wish I had skin your color,” I say. I don’t know why that suddenly comes out now. And it’s sort of not true. Not all the time, anyway. I got my skin from my mom and I want to keep it.

  “Oh, honey.” He puts his arm out for me and I curl into him and suddenly I feel so safe. I want to stay lying like this forever, where no one can touch me, no one can hurt me. “Have other kids been saying things again?” I don’t move. I don’t nod, or shake my head. Nothing. “I know it’s hard, but you’ve just got to ignore them. You’re a beautiful little girl. Every part of you—your brown skin, your big smile, your eyes like perfect chocolate buttons that I want to eat every time I look at you.”

  He pretends to eat my cheek, but it tickles
and I squirm away.

  “I wish I had long, blonde hair,” I say. “And it’d be so straight.”

  “No, you don’t want that,” my dad says.

  But that’s what she’s got, I want to say. You love Kathleen because of her hair.

  “You see, hair like yours is special. You don’t want to be one of the crowd. It’s good to stand out. To be a bit unique.”

  No. I want to sit on the bus with blonde hair. I don’t want Ryan sticking pencils in it, because he says they’ll get stuck. I want to walk down the corridor without them making bird noises at the bird’s nest of my hair.

  “You are so like your mom,” my dad says. “She learned to keep her head held high and that’s what you’re doing too. You’re worth something, June.”

  I press my head into his chest until I find his heart, the steady beat of it. Yes no yes no.

  I can’t imagine that my mom’s heart stopped. If it had just kept beating, she’d be here with us now.

  I move onto my back and stretch my arm out. If I concentrate really hard, I can feel her fingers in mine. There they are. The warmth of her palm. She strokes my thumb with her own.

  Oh, Mom, I miss you.

  “Come on.” My dad jumps up suddenly. He tugs at my arm and I stand and we walk hand in hand to the monument at the very top. We step onto the stone base and turn to look down over the land. We’re giants and this is our kingdom.

  The sun is so warm on my face, my arms, my bare legs. Below, there are tiny fields and houses that I could balance on my fingernails.

  Somewhere, Kathleen is the size of an ant. I lift my foot and stretch it out. I see her raise her hands and I smile as I bring the sole of my shoe down hard on her face.

  My dad laughs. “What are you doing?”

  I close my eyes as he puts his strong arm around me. It’s just me and him now. Together we can conquer the world.

  Before

  four days later

  “It’ll only be for one night.”

  “But I don’t want you to go.” Fear grips me. Dad’s never gone and left me in the house with Kathleen and Megan overnight.

  “I have to. I have no choice.” He’s tucking me into bed and stroking back my hair. He’ll be gone by the time I wake up in the morning and he won’t be back until Friday.