by Ben Cheetham
Chapter 33
Taking care not to make any sudden movements, Jack got out of bed. The surgeon who’d operated on his shoulder was confident he would regain his full range of motion, but the rehabilitation process would take months. He stiffly put on his dressing-gown and headed into the corridor with the Tupperware container in one hand.
After a night on Intensive Care, he’d been transferred to a general ward. Butterfly was still on ICU. Despite advice to take it as easy as possible, several times a day he made the journey to her room. It wasn’t far, but it always felt like miles. A temporary blank wooden door had been fitted at the entrance to ICU. The blast-damaged walls had already been re-plastered and painted. Soon there would be no scars left from the attack – at least no visible ones.
“Afternoon, sir,” said an armed constable, opening the door for Jack.
The nurses greeted Jack with smiles, but he sensed their nervousness. As much as they admired him, his presence made them jittery. And who could blame them for feeling that way? Along with himself and AFO Craig Barton, the Mahons had injured a female nurse who’d been walking past the ward entrance when the first grenade detonated. Her horrifically long list of injuries included the loss of an eye, arm and leg. The only reason she’d survived was because of her proximity to emergency treatment. Several already critically ill patients had also required treatment for minor injuries and shock.
Amongst other things, the tabloids had branded the Mahon brothers ‘Unspeakable Monsters’ and ‘Inhuman Psychopaths’. As dubious as he was of those kinds of labels, Jack found it difficult to disagree with the newspapers’ assessment.
Workmen were fitting a new door to Butterfly’s old room. Jack resisted the urge to glance into the room. He didn’t want to see the spot where Craig’s skull had been blasted apart by shotgun pellets. Not that it made any difference whether he looked. The image had seared his brain like a branding iron.
He entered Butterfly’s room with the usual mixture of excitement and trepidation – excitement because looking into her eyes made him feel life’s endless possibilities, trepidation because there was always the chance that the sword dangling on a thread over her head might have fallen.
Butterfly was sat up in bed, drinking coffee. In the past few days, she’d regained sufficient strength to feed herself. She’d even been allowed to make short walks around the ward. Most of the drips, wires and drains were gone. A square of gauze was all that remained of the bandages that had swathed her head. Jack had watched a nurse change Butterfly’s dressing, exposing an ugly wound that looked like a stitched mouth. The bruises and superficial cuts on Butterfly’s face were fading. Her skin looked tighter and firmer. The tattoo that flared away from her right eye somehow looked brighter, almost iridescent in certain lights. It rippled like a real wing as she smiled at Jack. He saw something else behind her smile too – a sadness as deeply embedded as the bullet.
Smiling back, he proffered the Tupperware container. “I brought you something to eat. It was made by my sister’s own fair hand. Laura’s not much of a cook, but it’s a hell of a lot better than the stuff they serve around here.”
During the hours they’d spent together, Jack had told Butterfly about Laura and Naomi. He’d also told her about how he’d moved up to Manchester after Rebecca’s death. He hadn’t mentioned how Rebecca died. It wasn’t simply that he didn’t want to. He didn’t know where to begin. How do you tell someone that your wife jumped to her death from a clifftop? And how would Butterfly react to the revelation? Would it put her off him? What if she wondered whether he had driven Rebecca to suicide?
Jack carefully lowered himself into an armchair as Butterfly opened the container. He liked to watch her eat. Every mouthful was fuel for the healing process, bringing them closer to the moment when they would be together in the real world, not the netherworld of the hospital. After a few forkfuls, she set the container aside.
“It’s not that bad is it?” joked Jack.
“I’m just not hungry.” Butterfly’s eyes strayed to the window as if she was on the lookout for someone.
Jack had seen that look in her eyes before. He knew what she was thinking. We’ll find your baby, he wanted to assure her. But there were no guarantees and false hope could be more harmful than no hope at all.
“How many days has it been since they took my baby?” Butterfly wondered out loud.
“I’m not sure,” said Jack, although he knew exactly how long the baby had been missing, right down to the hour and minute. It was 5:02 pm – eight days, seventeen hours and nineteen minutes since Butterfly had given birth. Long enough for her baby to have been smuggled to the far side of the planet or buried so deep that no one would ever find it.
“Baby,” Butterfly repeated to herself. “It doesn’t seem right to just keep saying ‘baby’. My child should have a name. Charlie. That was my sister’s name. That’s what I’ll call my child. That way it won’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl.” As if testing out the feel of the name, she said again, “Charlie.”
“It’s a good name,” said Jack, smiling through his own sadness.
“Is it?” Butterfly’s eyebrows pinched together. “How would I know what’s good or bad? Charlie. I know it’s a name, just like when I look at my hand I know what it is. But it has no real meaning for me.”
“Then give it a new meaning.” Jack took Butterfly’s hand. “After Rebecca died everything lost meaning for me.” Shame lowered his voice. “Even Naomi. I thought I’d never be a real dad to her again. But I was wrong. I thought I’d never fall in love again. I was wrong about that too.”
He faded off as if surprised by his own words. With Rebecca it had been months before he was confident enough to say, I love you. With Butterfly it was different. The nine days he’d known her were her entire life. It was like time had been compressed. The normal rules no longer applied.
She turned her gaze slowly towards him. His heart pounded as he waited for her to say something.
“Will you teach me how to be good?” she asked.
Teach you how to be good. Jack almost laughed. Was she having him on? Her expression was painfully serious. “I…” he hesitated, unsure what to say. He tried to teach Naomi to be a good person, but she was his child. Could he do the same for an adult? Even one whose mind was like an empty box? “I’m no angel myself. I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”
“You’re my guardian angel, Jack.”
Leaning in, Butterfly kissed him as tentatively as if they were teenagers on a first date. The touch of her lips made him tremble. He resisted the impulse to throw his arms around her and crush her to him for fear that he might hurt them both. After a few seconds, they drew apart and she looked at him as if waiting to find out whether she’d done a good job of kissing him.
His words confirmed that she had. “I’m going to tell Naomi and Laura about us, if that’s OK with you.”
Butterfly smiled, and this time there was barely a hint of sadness. “It’s more than OK with me.”
Jack blinked as if he had something to feel guilty about. “They tell me I’m almost ready to be discharged.”
“Oh. That’s great.” Butterfly’s tone was less than convincing.
“Is it?”
“Obviously I’d rather you were here with me.” Her eyes flicked towards the window again. Her voice hovered between fear and rage. “Especially while that murdering piece of fucking shit is–”
“Butterfly,” Jack gently cautioned. The doctors had warned her that getting emotionally worked up could bring on another fit.
She took a couple of slow breaths. “You should be at home with your daughter. I’m happy for you.”
Jack squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll visit every day. You’ll be sick of the sight of me by the time it’s your turn to get out of here.”
“No I won’t.”
The certainty in Butterfly’s voice sent a tingle through Jack.
“The question is,” she continued,
her gaze dropping away from his, “even if I do get out of here, where will I go?”
“We’ve talked about this. You’ll stay in a safe house until Ryan Mahon is dead or in custody.”
“And what about after that?”
“After that you can come to live with me.” Jack added quickly, “That is if you want to. I’ll understand if you don’t. But if you do, you’ll be under no obligations. You can have the spare bedroom or...” he trailed off with the unfamiliar sensation of a blush spreading through his cheeks.
Butterfly lifted her eyes to his. “Or?”
“I...” Jack gave a little shake of his head. “Sorry, it’s been a long time since I did anything like this.”
“It’s new to me too.” Lines gathered between Butterfly’s eyebrows once more. “Are you sure this is what you want, Jack? Neither of us knows who I really am. I could be just as bad as Ryan Mahon or Dennis Smith. And even if things work out between us, I could drop dead any second. Do you really want someone like me in your life?”
“I’ve asked myself that same question and one answer keeps repeating itself. I fell in love once before. I was starting to think it would never happen again. I told myself I could live with that, but now I realise I can’t. Whether or not things work out, whether you live a month or until you’re a hundred, it’s worth the risk.” Jack smiled. “Who knows, maybe we’ll both live to a hundred. Then you really would be sick of the sight of me.”
Even before Jack had finished speaking, Butterfly was leaning towards him again. This time she kissed him hard and deep. Pain lanced through his neck, but he hardly noticed it. For a moment it was like everything stopped around them. When Butterfly drew away, Jack stared at her dazedly.
“I can’t remember the last time anyone kissed me like that,” he said.
“Same here,” Butterfly said, smiling at her statement of the obvious.
Jack was no longer listening. Rebecca had appeared in his mind like an uninvited guest. During the last few years of their marriage, depression had sucked the passion out of her – at least as far as he was concerned. She’d had enough passion for an affair with Paul. Unless he was confusing passion with the compulsion to self-destruct. He forced his thoughts back to Butterfly. It had been months since his mind had tumbled all the way down the Rebecca rabbit hole. He wasn’t about to let it happen now.
“Where were you?” asked Butterfly. “You looked like you were miles away.”
Jack feathered his fingers along her jaw. “I’m right where I want to be.”
There was a knock at the door. Jack drew away from Butterfly as a nurse entered. The ward staff had clearly cottoned-on days ago that his interest in Butterfly was more than merely professional, hence they’d taken to knocking whenever he was in the room. Even so he wasn’t comfortable with openly displaying his feelings for her. Somehow it didn’t seem right when Naomi and Laura were in the dark about the relationship.
“Medication time,” said the nurse.
Butterfly swilled down a rainbow of pills as the nurse checked her vitals.
“All good,” said the nurse, turning to leave.
“I’m sorry,” Jack said when they were alone again.
Butterfly gave him a look of understanding. “You’ve no need to be.”
“I’ll tell Naomi and Laura today. Then there’ll be no more need for secrecy.” Jack’s stomach fluttered at the thought of that conversation. He could guess how Laura would react. At best, she would urge caution. More likely, she would outright disapprove. But how would Naomi take the news? Would she be upset? Or would she be happy for him? Whatever the case, the sooner she knew about Butterfly the better. Nothing good ever came from keeping secrets.
Jack glanced at the clock. “I’ve got to go. The doctors are assessing me at half-six.” As an afterthought, he added, “Oh, I’ve got something else for you.” He gave Butterfly the iPhone. “I programmed my number into it. There’s also a tracking app on it just in case… well, just in case. You can track my phone with the app too. I thought while Ryan is still at large you’d feel more secure knowing we can locate each other, but if you’re not comfortable with–”
“I’m fine with it, Jack,” broke in Butterfly. She ran her fingers over the back of his hand. “Thank you.”
With a slight shudder of pleasure, he wrenched himself away from her bedside. “I’ll let you know as soon as the verdict’s in.” He pointed to the Tupperware container. “Make sure you eat something. That’s an order.”
Butterfly gave a mock salute. “Yes sir.”
Jack darted her a final glance as he closed the door. She’d already resumed staring out of the window with that sad, searching look in her eyes.
Chapter 34
Jack slid the loose-fitting t-shirt over his head, awkwardly manoeuvring it past the thick gauze padding on his shoulder. He was packing his clothes and toiletries when Steve entered the room. “Congrats on your release,” said Steve.
Jack responded with an unenthusiastic mm.
“Why have you got a face like a wet weekend? I thought you’d be over the moon.”
“I am, but…” Jack’s gaze strayed past Steve.
Steve glanced at the empty corridor. “Oh I get it,” he said with a chuckle. “You don’t want to leave her behind. She’ll be fine. There’s enough firepower guarding this hospital to blow away an army of Ryan Mahons.”
“I know, it’s just she’s…” Jack tailed off again as if he couldn’t put into words just what Butterfly was.
Steve laughed. “Jesus Christ, mate, you’re doomed.”
“I’d better go see her. Will you wait here?”
“Sure. Take as long as you need.” As Jack headed for the door, Steve stretched out on the bed and reached for the TV remote.
For the third time that day, Jack made his pilgrimage to Butterfly’s room. He opened the door but didn’t enter. Butterfly’s eyes were closed. The strands of her wavy auburn hair that hadn’t been shaved off were fanned across the pillows. His heart gave a kick. She appeared to be asleep, but what if she was– He shook his head at the thought before it could fully form. She was still hooked up to the heart monitor, which was emitting a steady, low-level bip… bip…
Jack sighed. This was how it would always be. The anxiety would never go away while the bullet remained in Butterfly’s head. Could he live with that? It wasn’t even really a question, just another barely formed thought. He quietly closed the door. On his way out of the ward, he said to a nurse, “Could you let her know I’ve been discharged and I’ll come to visit tomorrow morning?”
Steve was snoring when Jack got back. He prodded his colleague awake and pointed to his bag. “Carry that.”
“What did your last slave die of?” grumbled Steve, getting up.
Jack smiled. Steve could be a pain in the arse, but it was hard to take things too seriously when he was around.
They made their way to Steve’s car. Before ducking into the passenger seat, Jack stood breathing the crisp November air. “When Ryan and Gavin were coming at me, I really thought I was going to–” He fell silent as a choking lump formed in his throat.
“It’s gonna take more than some tossers like the Mahons to kill a tough old bugger like you.”
A faint smile found its way back onto Jack’s lips. “Hey, less of the old. I’m not even forty.”
“You will be before you know it. And it’s all downhill from there. Trust me. First your stomach heads south. Then everything else follows. I used to be able to fuck all night long. Now I’m lucky if I can get it–”
“Alright, alright,” broke in Jack, laughing. “I’ve heard enough. Just get in the car and drive.”
As they negotiated Manchester’s busy evening streets, Steve said, “I gave that tattooist, Viv, the heave ho.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t the other way around?” teased Jack.
“You’re kidding. She was well into me. I just couldn’t keep up. I tell you, mate, no more twenty-something-year-olds fo
r me. Next time I’m going for a woman closer to my age.”
Jack treated his colleague to a wry sidelong look. “You mean like Laura?”
Steve laughed. “I don’t know. Yeah, maybe. Is that OK with you?”
“Go for it. She’s always nagging me about meeting someone. She could do with taking her own advice. Just tread lightly. She acts tough, but that’s all it is – an act. She’s been badly hurt in the past.”
