The Boy with the Butterfly Mind

by Victoria Williamson

  I tucked the page into a plastic pocket and clipped it into the big folder where I stored all of my story chapters. I’d been writing it ever since Dad left, and the bulging folder was getting hard to close. Even though there were so many pages in it, I knew every detail of the story and exactly how I wanted it to end.

  The only thing I didn’t know was what would happen next.

  6

  Jamie

  “Jamie! I’ve told you a million times not to slam that damn door! I’m trying to work.”

  Chris sounds like he’s had a bad day at the office. Which is bad for me too, since his office is our living room.

  “Sorry!” I yell back at the top of my voice. I peel off my rain-soaked jacket and dump it on the floor along with my schoolbag and damp jumper. Leaving a trail of mud over the hall carpet, I race into the kitchen, forgetting in my frenzy to raid the fridge that I’m supposed to take my shoes off at the front door.

  Mmm. Whipped cream in a can. Mum’s been to the shops this morning.

  I grab a couple of slices of bread and slather peanut butter and jam across them, shaking the whipped cream can and grinning at how much fun it is to scoosh it into big spirals on my sandwiches. Some of it goes over the counter, and some of it lands on the floor, but most of it goes on my bread, so that’s OK. I stick another piece of bread over the top, double up my sandwiches and take a great big bite.

  Mmm. Mad Jamie Specials. My favourite kind of snack.

  “For God’s sake! Do you have to eat like an animal?” Chris comes into the kitchen to refill his orange juice, and frowns when he sees the mess I’ve made. “Sit at the table – you’re getting jelly all down your front.” His American accent gets even stronger when he’s on the verge of losing his temper. Right now he sounds like that singer Elvis Presley, so I know he’s really angry with me.

  “Sorry,” I mumble through a mouthful of whipped cream, “I’ll clean it up after.” I won’t though. We both know that in thirty seconds flat I won’t even remember the mess exists.

  Chris rolls his eyes and goes back to the living room to shout at his computer instead of me, and I bang the cupboards open and shut trying to find where Mum’s hidden the cola this time. She doesn’t like me having fizzy drinks, she says they make me even more hyper.

  Aha! Behind the microwave. Bingo.

  I slosh cola into a glass and wipe up the spillage with my sleeve, then I head upstairs while I’m waiting for Chris to finish work and stop hogging all the fun gadgets in the living room. Mum won’t let me have a TV or a computer in my bedroom as I get way too obsessed watching shows or playing games, and then I get cranky and shouty when I have to stop and come out for dinner or go to school. It’s not my fault watching horror films or playing Zombie Attack 3 on the computer is way more exciting than real life.

  I trip over a pile of laundry on my bedroom floor, and that reminds me that I’m supposed to take my school uniform off when I come home. I pull my shirt over my head so I don’t have to waste time on the buttons, and drop it on the floor while I fish around under my bed for a top that doesn’t have jam and cola stains on it.

  Hey! What’s that?

  I forget all about getting dressed and grab the parcel that’s sitting on my unmade bed. Chris must’ve left it there when the post came this morning. I don’t need to read the Scottish return address. I already know it’s from Dad.

  I rip it open eagerly, wondering what he’s sent me this time. I get a gift from him every week. ‘Red Cross parcels’ he calls them. He’s never missed a single week since he moved out two years ago. He calls me every Sunday and Wednesday too, but the parcels are more exciting cos I never know which day of the week they’re going to arrive. ‘Bribery’, Mum calls it, but she doesn’t understand. He doesn’t send me toys to buy my forgiveness for leaving us and moving in with his new family all the way up in Scotland. It’s thoughtful stuff that no one else would think to buy me.

  The brown parcel paper comes flying off, landing on the floor on top of my gym shoes. Dad sent me those a couple of months ago when I told him my old ones were giving me blisters in PE and Mum was too busy to get me new ones. Next to them is a big pile of pens, pencils, rulers, and a stack of Transformers notebooks and stickers. Dad got me all of them too. He knows I always lose stuff at school.

  I hope it’s the new smartphone with the fancy camera. Please say it’s the new smartphone!

  Dad said he’d get me one for going to the States so we could do video calls and I could send him pictures of my cool new school and fancy house and American Dream Life. I don’t even know what that means, I just heard it on TV once, but I know it sounds better than the life I’m living now.

  I’m so excited, I fight to get the bubble wrap off without checking if Dad sent the parcel by recorded delivery. There’s no way he’d be dumb enough to send an expensive phone by ordinary post. He’s clever, my dad, not like me.

  There’s only one vaguely neat place in my whole room, and that’s the top of my chest of drawers where I’ve been piling all of Dad’s ‘Get Ready for Sunny California’ gifts. I’ve got swimming trunks there, and surfer shirts. He sent me a specially made Transformers passport cover, and there’s a journal where I can write down all the exciting things I do and see when I get to the USA. On top of that is a pair of supercool sunglasses and, so I don’t forget home, a Southampton F.C. baseball cap, which is kind of a funny thing to call it since they’re a football team. Just in case it gets cold in the winter, he’s got me a beanie hat with ‘Oakland Raiders’ on it. That’s the American football team from the new place I’m going to. Dad must’ve got that online specially too.

  All I need now is the new smartphone, and I’m good to go.

  I finally get the bubble wrap off, and stare at the box in disappointment.

  It’s not a smartphone. It’s a chemistry set.

  Usually a science kit would be a really good thing, and I’d be dead excited. Experiments are my favourite thing. Not the boring ones you do in school, I mean the kind where you mix things up and make them fizz and change colour and go boom, or grow insects in your bedroom and release them into the garden, or—

  Uh-oh. The lid’s come off my tank of ants again. I promised Mum I’d let them go outside as soon as I’d finished my experiment. Maybe if I look under my bed I’ll be able to find them before she—

  No! Focus. Figure out the mystery of the missing smartphone first.

  Dad’s always sending me new experiments to do so I can tell him what I’ve discovered when he calls. But why’s he sending me a science kit when I’m going to California? It’ll take up way too much room in my suitcase. I pick up the note and read it slowly.

  Hi Sandwich Man,

  Just a quick note as I’m running late and need to post this before my shift this morning. Sorry this isn’t the smartphone, that’ll need to wait a bit longer, as you probably know by now. We can do these experiments together, that’ll be fun, won’t it? Have you talked to your mum yet? Give me a call when you do and we can discuss what happens next.

  Love, Dad x

  OK, so that makes no sense. What does he mean, ‘Have you talked to your mum yet?’ Talked to her about what? Discuss ‘what happens next’? Huh? That doesn’t sound good. I know what happens next: I go to California and start a brand-new American Dream Life where I’m not a total headcase any more.

  Just then I hear Mum walking down the hall and sighing over the muddy prints I’ve left on the carpet. Before I can hide my shoes so I can pretend it wasn’t me, she knocks on my door.

  “Jamie? We need to talk.”

  Ah. Looks like I’m about to find out exactly what happens next.

  7

  Elin

  “Elin? Can we come in? We need to talk.”

  We?

  Why did Mum always have to drag the Imposter into our family discussions like he was superglued to her and she couldn’t peel him off? Mum came padding into my room in her socks, then Paul put his head round my door
and came clomping in right behind her.

  “A-HEM!” I cleared my throat loudly and glared at his feet.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Elin!” Mum rolled her eyes. “He’s wearing slippers. Can we just—”

  “No, no, it’s fine, I forgot. This is Elin’s room, so it’s her rules.” Paul’s smile was slightly strained as he went to take his slippers off at the door. He was always smiling. It was so annoying.

  “It’s a new carpet!” I said defensively when Mum wouldn’t stop giving me that look.

  “It’s not new, it’s over two years old.”

  “I want to keep it good.”

  “It’s for walking on, Elin!”

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “Oh look! I haven’t seen these before.” Paul stepped right in with his size fifty feet and stopped our carpet discussion before it could turn into a full-blown argument. “Did you do these recently? They’re really pretty.” He picked up one of the plaster of Paris wishing pots sitting on my windowsill. Even though he was being really careful, it made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle angrily to see him touching it.

  “I did them yesterday. Put it down please, the paint isn’t dry yet.”

  That was a lie. Now I needed a truth to balance it.

  “I’m going to give them to Gran for her birthday next Sunday.”

  “That’s really thoughtful,” Paul said, setting the little pot back down and checking he hadn’t got any fingermarks on the paint. “I’m sure she’ll love them.”

  How would you know? She’s my dad’s mum, not yours, and she’s only met you a few times. She doesn’t like you any more than I do.

  Before Paul could start picking up any more of my fairy-tale figures I asked, “So… what did you want to talk to me about?”

  I didn’t really want to know.

  There was a heavy knot of dread in my stomach that had been tangling up my insides for nearly a week, ever since Paul had got off the phone to his ex-wife and he and Mum had gone into her room and spent half the night whispering. Mum had red eyes at the breakfast table the next morning, but she said she was fine and just hadn’t slept well. Now her eyes were big and wide and worried, just like they were the night she told me Dad was leaving.

  Mum sat down beside me on my neatly made bed, and Paul leaned against my desk, glancing at Mum nervously. I picked up my model of Athena and held her tightly for support, waiting for them to tell me the dreadful news.

  Please-oh-please don’t let it be another Mutant! I prayed, my eyes darting to Mum’s stomach to check she wasn’t swelling up like a balloon. I knew that was silly. Paul wasn’t going to find out from his ex-wife down in Southampton that Mum was pregnant, was he? Anyway, Mum wouldn’t inflict a pretend sister on me the way Dad had, not after I cried myself to sleep every night for a year when she was born.

  But what if it was a half-step in that direction? What if they were getting married?

  That would mess my family story up so badly I’d never be able to fix it, no matter how many fairy-tale versions I wrote.

  “Elin, Paul and I have something we need to tell you,” Mum began nervously.

  I KNOW! Just get on with it.

  “You know that Paul has a son your age who’s living with his mum in Southampton?”

  “Yes,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

  I knew all about Southampton. I’d heard every story about Mum’s childhood there, how Paul had been her best friend since the first day of school, how she went to university up here in Glasgow and met Dad and married him instead, and how she and Paul were really soulmates who were meant to be together forever and ever, even though Paul had a family of his own down in stupid Southampton. Every time I heard her stories I wanted to punch the Imposter so hard he’d go flying through the air all the way back there. But instead of hitting Paul with my fists, I lashed out with my sharp tongue.

  “You’ve told me about him,” I snapped. “He’s got something wrong with his brain and can’t control himself, and he’s been expelled from two schools already.”

  I held my breath, waiting for Paul’s reaction to my mean words. That was the problem with trying to be perfect and in control all the time – I bottled up all my anger so tight that it turned to poison inside me, and when it leaked out it burned anyone it touched.

  Paul’s stupid smile slid right off his face, and his mouth opened and shut a couple of times. It was hard to tell whether he was angry or just upset. When he did manage to speak, his voice sounded all squeaky, like a balloon slowly deflating.

  “There’s nothing wrong with Jamie,” he frowned. “He’s not a bad boy, it’s just…” Paul struggled to find the right words, and Mum jumped straight in to save him.

  “The thing is, pet,” she said, taking hold of my hand and giving it a squeeze, “there’s been a change of plan. Jamie’s mum has had to cope with a lot on her own for the last few years. She needs some time with her partner Chris, so we’ve decided it would be best if Jamie stayed with his dad for now instead.”

  “Oh,” I said flatly, refusing to understand what she was telling me. “So where are you both going to live then?” I asked Paul.

  He was all out of smiles now and was staring at the floor, wringing his hands awkwardly.

  It was Mum who finally told me the horrible truth. I kept my eyes fixed on Athena the whole time she was talking, trying desperately to hold on to my beautiful fairy tale while all around me my world was collapsing. The big change Mum and Paul were going to make to our home life was going to spoil everything. If I let it happen without a fight then I’d never be able to get Dad back to live happily ever after with just me and Mum.

  I finally put my hand up to make her stop and snapped, “That isn’t going to happen! This is my home too, and you can’t do it. You just can’t.”

  “Look Elin, it’s already been decided,” Mum said more firmly. “It’s not going to be easy, but we’re a family now, and we have to work together. I’m sure you’ll have great fun once—”

  “NO!” I got up and marched to the door, waving them out like a traffic warden. “It’s not going to happen, and that’s final. I’d like to do my homework now, so please could you let me get on with it?”

  That was a lie. My homework was already printed out and filed away in my schoolbag.

  “Let’s give her some time to get used to the idea, OK Liz?” Paul said softly to Mum, patting me on the shoulder as he put his slippers back on. “She’ll come around.”

  The worried look Mum threw me said she wasn’t so sure. She knew me way better than Paul ever would.

  “I hate you,” I whispered at Paul’s back as I closed the door behind him.

  Now the homework lie was balanced with a truth.

  8

  Jamie

  “Don’t come in, Mum! I’m totally naked!”

  It’s only a half-lie, as I’m only half-naked, but it suddenly occurs to me that the head teacher might’ve phoned Mum at work about my car-wrecking spree, and I’m about to be deep-fried in disapproval. My stalling technique might not be brilliant, but it’s the best I can come up with in all of two-and-a-half seconds.

  It doesn’t work. Mum comes in anyway.

  “Put a T-shirt on, Jamie,” she sighs. “You’re not a baby any more, you need to learn to dress yourself.”

  “I know how to dress myself,” I huff, grabbing the nearest piece of clothing off the floor and pulling it on. “See? One arm. Two arms. Done!”

  Mum heaves another sigh and I look down to see I’ve got my jam-and-cola-covered school shirt back on again. No biggie. I’ve got it on backwards so you can hardly see the stains anyway.

  “Jamie, stop messing about, this is serious.”

  “I know it’s serious. See? This is my serious face.”

  I plonk myself down, missing the edge of the bed and ending up sitting on a pile of clothes on the floor. “I’m really sorry, Mum. I didn’t mean to nearly cause a pile-up on the road with that football, it w
as just a miskick, that’s all. It could’ve happened to anyone. And no matter what Mr Patel says, I don’t have it in for him, cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die honest I don’t. I wasn’t even aiming those stones at his car, so he can’t make you pay for the broken windows if it was just an accident, can he? And if the head teacher says I ran out of the school gates he’s totally lying. The janitor was there and he wouldn’t let me get past him, so I can’t get suspended for breaking the rules if I didn’t really break them, can I?”

  I look up at her hopefully, but instead of being angry Mum just looks confused.

  “Pile-up? Broken windows…? Jamie, did you get into trouble at school today?”

  “Nope,” I say without even thinking. “Uh-uh. No way.”

  “Right…” The way she’s frowning I can tell she doesn’t believe me, but there’s something else she wants to say. She moves three cups, a plate covered in tomato sauce and a half-eaten bowl of cereal off my chair and sits down.

  “Look Jamie, I know you don’t like change, but sometimes things don’t work out quite the way you plan them.”

  “Yeah, I know. Like I thought I was going to finish primary school in Mr Patel’s class and go to the secondary school here, but now we’re going to America instead. I know I get stressed about change, and I threw a big wobbly when you told me about it, but it’s fine now, really. I’ve done loads of research on California, and I’m really looking forward to it. See?”

  I point to the maps of America I’ve got pinned to the wall. I’ve scribbled bits of useful information that I found on the internet all over them. It’s a lot of research considering I get all of five minutes at a time on the computer before Chris hogs it.

  “Jamie, that’s not what I meant.” Mum runs a hand through her long brown ponytail, trying to find the right words to say, but I’ve already lost my focus. There’s a stray ant from my tank crawling over my foot, and before I know what I’m doing I turn my foot over and crush it into the wooden floorboards.