by James Eddy
birthday Rebecca didn’t put on her butterfly earrings. Ever since my first shining glimpse of them when I arrived, I'd not seen her without the pretty silver on each earlobe. In fact, I already knew that in the two years since Dan bought them for her, there hadn't been a day when she hadn't put them on. Even when he'd done his disappearing act in the past she'd always kept wearing them. For Rebecca, they'd always been a wonderfully constant reminder of him.
When he didn’t come back for her birthday, she packed them away so she wouldn't be reminded anymore. She didn't say a word. She just did it. Under the bed they'd shared, among the boxes of various hoarded trinkets Dan had amassed on his travels, they lay in darkness. I didn't see her take them off or hide them away. What I did see afterwards was Becky writing at the kitchen table. And I don't know why but it made me smile.
She looked up when I came into the room. She said nothing and didn’t stop her work. I didn't want to disturb her so I made myself a drink and waited. I was most of the way through my second glass of neat whisky when she approached me.
“I want to do something,” she said, “It’s my birthday so would you help me, please?”
There was no way I was ever going to turn her down.
“Okay,” I said, not knowing what I could be getting myself into. Her smile made it worthwhile.
“I fancy a few drinks first.”
I was happy to oblige with whisky and a splash of coke. She drank it down quick and offered her empty glass for another. I poured it and one for myself, followed by another couple each. By early evening the sunlight was replaced by serious gloom, and drizzle that grew more incessant as the night wore on. Walking between the bars was all it took for the cold and wet to find its way to the back of my throat and seep through my clothes, onto my skin.
Whisky couldn't protect me from that evening's after effects. When Becky called me into her bedroom, two days later, I was suffering from a sore throat, bordering on man-flu. I found her sitting on the floor, surrounded by boxes she'd pulled out from under the bed.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I'm not sure really. It just seems strange that even after three years Dan never bothered to tell me about any of the stuff hidden under my bed. I was looking at it the other day and it made me wonder what he’s hiding and what else he hasn’t told me.”
“No idea.” I croaked back.
“Then this'll be fun for both of us.”
I wasn't convinced. I wanted to tell her that I didn't think it was a good idea. I didn't get the chance though. She'd already lifted the lid from the box nearest to her. There were only a few clothes inside. So, she pushed the box away and pulled another towards her. She found more of the same and I saw frustration on her sweet face. Even though I was pretty sure she didn’t know what she was looking for, not finding it clearly annoyed the hell out of her.
Becky pulled a third box from under the bed. It was almost empty. She put her hand inside and pulled out what looked like three small pieces of paper. I hadn't been keen on having any part in what she was doing, but I'll admit that curiosity got the better of me then. I walked over to where she was sitting. Within two steps, I could see what she held in her hands weren't pieces of paper. They were actually three photographs.
“What are they?” I asked, kneeling down next to her.
“Well, one of them is a church.”
She turned the first photo to show me and noticed something written on the back.
“Looks like it’s in some place called Crediton...”
She shrugged her shoulders and shuffled the pictures to look at the next one.
“There’s another one with some guy on. And…”
Becky paused. The third photograph drained the colour from her face and right away I knew what she was looking at. I'd known he wouldn't destroy it, and yet, Dan had decided not to take the picture with him when he left. It must have seemed safe, hidden away in the dust of an almost empty box under the bed.
“What is it?” I still managed to ask her.
“It’s Chris… And he’s…”
“Oh.”
I barely made a sound at all and I still gave myself away. I've never been a good liar.
“You knew!” she snapped at me.
“Yeah... I’m sorry.”
Silence. I swallowed and felt just how much my throat was hurting. I sat down next to Becky and she looked at me.
Her words came out in a very precise mixture of upset and anger:
"Why didn't he tell me?”
I had no answer for her. I still tried to give one.
“I think he wanted to protect you from knowing. He wanted as few people as possible to be hurt by what'd been going on… I guess because I barely know anyone involved, he could tell me.”
She still looked hurt.
"I'm sorry."
“So is this why he left?” she asked.
“I’m not sure but I think so.”
Looking back, I’m still not convinced I said or did enough. I just really didn’t want her to be mad at me. She wasn't a naturally angry person but finding out the truth upset her a lot. I could see she wanted to lash out at someone and I wanted it not to be me. I was still ready for it, of course. With Dan gone I figured I was the person most qualified for attack.
I was wrong again. What she actually wanted was to confront Chris. I couldn't blame her but I liked the idea only slightly less than her having a go at me. After all, Chris had sorted himself out and he and Carla were the happiest they'd been for a long time. Nothing could be gained by picking that particular scab again.
Once she'd calmed down, Becky didn't take too much persuading. Deep down she knew I was probably right. She took a deep breath to swallow down what she was feeling, smiled at me and reached out to touch my wrist with her hand. I don’t recall goose pimples rising on my arm but I do remember suggesting we pack the boxes away and not mention them again. She agreed. So, as evening encroached into her bedroom, she put the three photographs back into their dusty hiding place.
I knew she wouldn't mention what she knew to Chris and Carla. Not much else was guaranteed though. I should've known that some things have to find their way out into the air again. When Dan came back, there were always going to be questions and that's exactly how it turned out.
I was out when he arrived. And by the time I got back, Becky was on the living room floor, alone and in tears.
“He’s gone,” she told me.
Between sniffs, she explained how she'd confronted Dan about why he left. He’d been apologetic but she hadn’t been willing to listen. She asked why he hadn’t told her about Chris; telling him she'd found the photo in the box. He became defensive and accused her of going through his things. Then he asked what else she'd found out. He wanted to know what she knew about his father, making it clear it was nobody’s business but his. He only calmed down when he noticed she wasn't wearing her earrings.
“So the butterflies have gone,” he’d said and smiled, “I’ll be seeing you Becky.”
And then he left. I must have missed him by about a minute.
When she stopped talking, Becky started to cry again. I had no idea how to handle it. I gave her a hug and something happened I hadn’t expected. I found myself hugging her tighter, hanging onto her as if I didn't dare let her go. And she did too. The ticking of the clock in the kitchen and the beating of our hearts became entwined and created a divine rhythm. Not that I really heard any of it, I felt it in my chest and in my throat. For the first time in my life, I experienced silence all around me, and it made me realise how loud life can be. How sounds surround, contain and consume us every day and none of it matters. All that should ever matter was right then, when I was nothing and she was everywhere. We kissed and for those few moments, I was happy.
The silence was too brief and then guilt kicked in. I didn’t know what to do and I had no idea why it happened. So I left her and I know I shouldn’t have. I was stupid. I told her I'd be b
ack but I was running away. That was wrong and I still regret it.
I stopped on the pavement for a few seconds, just to breathe. That was when I should have gone back to Becky’s beautiful tear-filled eyes. I wasn’t brave or wise enough to do that. Instead, I walked on needing something to occupy my mind and shield me from everything I didn't want to feel.
I wasn't thinking clearly. In fact, I was hardly thinking at all, but I still tried to make sense out of what Becky told me about Dan. It all sounded so strange. In all the years I'd known him, he'd never mentioned his dad. And whenever I'd talked to his mum she always gave the impression that his dad not being around wasn’t a big deal. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure about that. And something told me it was all linked to those hidden photos in some way.
I wandered into Alveston bus station almost without realising. I hadn't a clue about what to do. That's when fate took a hand. Sunlight shone in my eyes and I shielded them and peered up at the departure board. I could hardly believe it. Three quarters of the way down the list was Crediton. I couldn't help myself. I went straight to the ticket office and bought a ticket.
The journey was surprisingly short. Forty-five minutes passed and then I saw the church. I recognised it from my brief look at the photo; standing tall, perched on top of a small hill. The bus stopped at the foot of the hill and I got out. Standing on the spot, I tried to take in the scenery but, other than the church, there wasn't much to see. So, that was where I went.
The door