Death of a Butterfly

by Simon Brown

  “I’m just resting my eyes, dear. Have you finished?”

  “Yes, but I did not write anything about the things I thought of last night.”

  “And what did you think about.”

  I described the options I had entertained with my sleepy mind.

  “And what did you write about?”

  “When I was a child at school.”

  “Could it be that teaching, describing your school and teacher are connected?”

  It was not a connection I was hoping for but there it was.

  “Try not to preconceive or judge, dear. Just let it flow. It does not mean anything. There is no need to analyse or give it meaning. Your writing simply reflects you in this moment. Tomorrow it will be different.”

  After Venice, I felt slightly bored. I wanted more purpose to my life. I hoped Dorothy would have another meeting soon. I devoted more time to my knitting. Later in the morning, she must have sensed my slight agitation.

  “Why don’t you telephone that friend of yours? What is her name? Emerald? You could invite her round if you like.”

  I phoned Ruby. She was in a terrible state. I must have phoned during an argument with Bill. We had a brief schizophrenic conversation, during which she said something rational to me and then yelled obscenities at Bill. I listened to a long out pouring of abuse in which she accused Bill of being a bloated snake who vainly tried to seduce young sluts to resuscitate his limp, impotent excuse of manhood. I heard Bill suggest she talk to Zoe, who was more than satisfied.

  “Ruby, Ruby, just come round here. You can talk to me.”

  Ten minutes later I guided Ruby to our door via her mobile phone.

  Ruby stomped into the hall, slightly out of breath and looking bloated. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold and the stairs. Ruby had left without brushing her hair and her lipstick looked like it had been applied on the run. I was shocked to see her so dishevelled. I led her to the living room and introduced her to Dorothy.

  “I think I’ll put on a soothing cup of tea for you both. Please relax on the sofa, my dear.”

  Ruby dropped onto the sofa as though she had been shot. Her pink skirt rode up her right leg and her sweater twisted round her abdomen. She made no effort to correct her ungainly look. I found myself compensating by adjusting the position of my sleeves. I listened as she told me how she had discovered Bill was having an affair with a younger woman called Zoe, in his office.

  “He is such a pathetic cliché. That should be his epitaph: ‘Bill, absent father, unloving husband and useless cliché, RIP.’ I was relieved when he stopped pestering me for sex and now I realise why. That sycophantic whore was all too ready to open her legs for him. What could she see in him?”

  “Hey ho, life—”

  I caught myself quickly and managed to stop the sentence in a way that made some sense, and before any mention of chocolate.

  Dorothy came back with the tea and set it on the low table between us.

  “I felt like some orange and coconut tea today. Last time it felt so clean and refreshing.”

  Dorothy continued talking as she poured the tea. Then she sat down and looked at Ruby, who was still crumpled up on the sofa.

  “You remind me a little of Rosemary’s niece, Alison. She was a beautiful woman, very talented and quite vivacious. I think she was a portrait photographer. She married the editor of a magazine. Now what was it? It was a glossy woman’s journal. I think they worked together for a while. They married and then after a few years she fell out of love with herself.”

  “Don’t you mean with her husband?” Ruby said flatly.

  “No, with herself,” Dorothy replied firmly.

  We sat in silence for a while. Then I could see Ruby’s eye movement speed up.

  “What happened?” she asked impatiently.

  “I think she became quite miserable. I only met her once but I remember it occurred to me at the time that perhaps without love, something inside her died and she could only carry on living by attaching herself to whatever happened around her. Of course, she chose to perceive everything around her with the most appalling interpretations she could imagine. I suspect she had a very vivid imagination.”

  I waited for Ruby to explode. I watched her face redden, I saw her hand tighten around the strap of her handbag, I witnessed her lips tighten. Then the emotion passed and she softened. I felt sure if I was saying those things Ruby would have erupted but perhaps because she did not know Dorothy, or possibly because of Dorothy’s age, Ruby seemed to find greater self-control. Then it occurred to me that Dorothy’s message might have touched Ruby more deeply than if it had come from me. There was something so loving and caring in the way Dorothy expressed herself. She had a childlike honesty.

  We fell into another long silence until Ruby looked up.

  “And did she ever find love again?”

  “Rosemary has not mentioned any resurrection.”

  “Once it has died, that must be the end.”

  “Oh no, dear. It is a choice you can make whenever you like. You could be self-loving right now by simply letting Amanda care for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Trust Amanda to give you a helping hand. Be close to her love in a way that you can begin to heal yourself. Why not let Amanda help you with some healing right now.”

  I could see Ruby shut down at the mention of the word healing.

  “Maybe another time. I do have to get back.”

  “Try your tea first.”

  We all picked up our cups and sipped the hot tea. Dorothy closed her eyes. When she opened them she described a feeling of warmth across her cheeks and contentment in her stomach. She asked me how I felt.

  “I feel slightly anxious because I want to help Ruby but I don’t know how and I can see she is unhappy.”

  Dorothy turned to Ruby and raised her eyebrows.

  “I don’t feel anything. The tea tastes alright.”

  After another pause Dorothy turned to Ruby.

  “If you can trust yourself to say no, you can trust yourself to lie down and let Amanda help, knowing you can get up whenever you like. Amanda will not feel hurt, will you dear?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “I’ll try a few minutes and then I must go.”

  We set up the massage table. I spread a hot towel on the couch and helped Ruby lie on her front. I covered her with another warm towel. Dorothy sat in the corner and picked up her knitting.

  “You could start by teaching Ruby your meditation, if you feel like it. Then, when you feel connected, let your heart guide you.”

  I felt slightly nervous with my aunt watching me. I began resting my arms on Ruby’s back. I glanced at Dorothy to see if she approved. She was looking down as she unravelled a ball of mauve wool.

  When I felt ready, I helped Ruby turn onto her back. I tried to make every move with the same care I so enjoyed when I received my healing treatment. I tucked Ruby in with a motherly love and affection.

  After I finished it took Ruby a long time to open her eyes. She stared at the ceiling for a while and then turned to me. I helped Ruby up and folded the towels whilst Ruby went to the bathroom. When she returned I was interested to see that she had composed her clothing more neatly and must have arranged her hair with her hands.

  “Thank you, Amanda. Really. Now I must rush.”

  Dorothy spoke quietly.

  “Before you start rushing, sit for a moment.”

  Ruby sat in the nearest chair.

  “Take a moment to really connect to yourself. How do you feel?”

  “Very relaxed, warm, glowing.” Ruby moved her shoulders. “Freer.”

  “How do you feel emotionally?”

  “Um, interesting question. Calmer and strangely content.”

  “And your mind?”

  “Oh, quite peaceful, I would say.”

  “You chose to be self-loving and this is the result.”

  “Yes, I guess I did. You are a very inter
esting woman.”

  “You can choose to be like this all the time. Why choose unhappiness when you can choose love?”

  “Easy to say. Life does not seem to work like that.”

  “It begins inside you. Think of it as the birth of a feeling you are going to nourish. Care for it every day and it will grow from within. Amanda will help you if you let her.”

  Ruby gave me an affectionate hug as she left.

  Over dinner Dorothy inquired whether I would visit Barcelona. I had not been to Barcelona before and I wanted to see the famous Gaudi buildings, but I certainly did not want to expose myself to more attacks and I was not sure how I felt about involving Henry in another trip. Dorothy suggested I wait to see if the police could find evidence that Edward had been to Venice.

  In the morning I found myself writing about the time I stayed with the Edwards. I wrote about Edward’s declaration of love and my feelings as I remembered them. After, I had a desire to phone Edwina.

  “Hello Edwina, it’s Amanda.”

  There was a short silence and then a frosty hello.

  “I wanted to see how you are and thank you for being so kind to me after Mathew died.”

  “It’s a shame your gratitude did not stop you from trying to implicate Edward as the murderer.”

  “Edwina, I can assure you I have never implicated anyone. I have been threatened, attacked and followed, and all I have done is report each incident to the police. Edward was only implicated because I was meeting him in Covent Garden when I was attacked.”

  “At your insistence.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Edward told me that you have been pursuing him since the time you stayed with us.”

  I had no desire to cause Edwina any distress. I resisted the temptation to tell her about Edward’s advances towards me.

  “Edwina, I have absolutely no desire to seduce Edward. You both were very helpful to me and I like you both, but that is all. Until recently I have not felt like being in a relationship with anyone. Then a couple of weeks ago I did feel close to someone here. Even now I am not sure I am ready. I can assure you I have never had any kind of relationship with Edward or tried to start one.”

  Neither of us spoke. Then I broke the silence.

  “How is Edward?”

  “He is very stressed, as you can imagine. First he was interrogated over Mathew’s murder, then accused of attacking you. I can’t imagine what next.”

  I swallowed and felt a slight pain in my chest as I wondered whether to mention Sergeant Smiley’s imminent interview.

  “Um, yes. How was he between Mathew’s murder and me being attacked?”

  “Not himself. I think Mathew’s murder must have affected him deeply. He seemed quite withdrawn. Then, since your attack and all the harassment from the police, he has been quite ill with stress.”

  I wanted to ask if he had been away, but I thought it better to leave that to Smiley.

  “I am very, very sorry that being my neighbour has brought all this on you both.”

  That afternoon Edwina phoned.

  “How could you? How could you phone me like that and pretend to be all nice when you knew the police were coming round?”

  “They are just doing their job. Surely Edward has nothing to worry about.”

  “They’ve arrested him and taken his computer. I have policemen in my home searching every room. Are you satisfied now?”

  “Why did they arrest him?”

  “What do you care?”

  “The last time I saw the police it was to report being attacked in Venice and being sent another threatening letter. What else would you want me to do, pretend it didn’t happen, just in case they start asking questions?”

  “Oh God, what is happening? They arrested Eddie because he flew to Venice recently.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, he said it was for business but why would he go to Venice for business? His company have no offices there. What is going on, Amanda? If you know something, please tell me.”

  “I don’t know who it was who attacked me, and perhaps it wasn’t Edward. I suppose him being there at the same time makes him a suspect, but that’s all.”

  “Something very strange is happening. This isn’t the Eddie I married. He’s been aloof, snappy and disinterested for some time. I thought it was his work, my mother said it was just a phase, my friends said not to worry, all marriages lose the romance after a while, but I have this awful fear that it is much worse than that.”

  “Edwina, the truth is we just don’t know, and there’s no point speculating. Please don’t put yourself through all this. I really hope it isn’t Edward and this is all a terrible mistake. I’m sure the truth will come out in the end. I know it sounds trite but try to live your life one minute at a time and do something each day for yourself.”

  I heard Edwina cry and then the phone disconnected.

  Sometimes my morning writing initiated my day, sometimes it gave me a sense of direction and other times it became a means to reflect on the past. Today I wrote about my childhood. I thought of photographs of my parents and that led to visualising photographs of Mathew. I pictured the images of us from the stolen album. I had a desire to see them again and found the album on my computer. Dorothy wandered past and asked me what I was doing. I explained how I once thought one of the photographs might have held a clue or pointed to someone who might have killed Mathew.

  “Oh, how exciting. Shall we have another look?”

  I went back to the images that included other people in the background. As we stared at each picture, I zoomed into people in the background. There was a photograph of us having a picnic in Hampstead Heath with several people in the distant background. We peered at children, a mother and push chair, two men holding hands and then a sole woman. I felt goose bumps across my skin as I noticed a resemblance to Claudia. The enlarged picture was unfocussed and slightly pixelated.

  “What is it, dear?”

  “This woman looks quite like Claudia. I’ll try to make the image clearer.”

  I adjusted the contrast, exposure, definition and sharpness until I could see her face better. I felt Dorothy’s breath on my neck as she peered over my shoulder at the screen.

  “I’m sure that’s her.”

  “Well, she does have a very distinctive face. When was this picture taken?”

  I clicked to see the information on the photograph.

  “It was taken in May, just before Mathew made up our anniversary album and about four months before he was killed.”

  The woman was standing next to a tree staring towards us.

  “Perhaps this is something for the police to look into.”

  “They’re coming today, anyway.”

  Sergeant Smiley came round in the morning. Dorothy had left to see a friend so we were alone. He fidgeted with a broken biro as he spoke. His nicotine stained fingers pulled at the cracked end of the clear plastic until the piece broke off. Some thick blue ink had been laying inside the tube. As he caught the broken section it smeared a trail of blue ink across his hand. He tried to wipe it off, painting blotches of blue across both hands. All this time he explained that Edward had been arrested. He admitted following me to Venice. Edward claimed he was following me to protect me. He told the police that when he saw me with Henry, he felt jealous and pushed past us, but that Henry had struck him and he responded to that. Edward still denies murdering Mathew and attacking me in Covent Garden.

  I suggested Smiley use the cloakroom to wash his hands and showed him to the hallway. I held up a bin for the broken pen. The sergeant left the door open and carried on talking over the hiss of running water.

  “We examined his computer and found that he had been logging into your email account. Did you ever give him your password?”

  “No.”

  “It was from your emails that he could trace you here and know your plans to stay in Venice.”

  “That explains a lot. He even tracke
d me down in Oxford Street.” I shivered at the thought of him reading all my private messages. “What now?”

  Smiley turned off the tap and stood in the doorway drying his hands.

  “We had to release him. It is not a crime to follow you to Venice and we have no hard evidence linking to the murder and attack yet. You could take out a restraining order to stop him following you. Now that he knows that both you and we know who he is, and what he has been doing, he may come to his senses.”

  “What about the fight with Henry?”

  “That would be for the Italian police.”

  Smiley’s phone rang. He dropped the towel trying to find the phone in his pocket. I picked it up for him. Smiley looked at the screen and let his phone ring onto voice message.

  “There’s something else I want to show you.”

  I explained how I had met with Mathew’s ex-wife Veronica and that her girlfriend Claudia had been hostile. Then I showed him the photograph and described when and where it was taken.

  “I must caution you against interfering with our work and putting yourself at danger.”

  “No one was following it up. Now I may have found a new suspect.”

  Smiley sighed and made a note of her full name and address and promised to contact the Venice police to find out more. His deadpan expression made it hard to tell if he was taking this new information seriously.

  “I have to also tell you that we can no longer give you protection. Now Mr Edwards knows we are onto him, and if you change your email password, you should be safe. At the same time, please call immediately if something suspicious happens.”

  The phone rang again and this time Smiley took the call. He hardly spoke after his initial terse greeting and as he snapped his phone shut he mumbled that he had to go and left abruptly.

  I could understand that the police could not keep someone in a car outside my home. I did feel vulnerable again, and yet I also trusted in myself.

  I went to the café and changed my email password.

  CHAPTER 21

  Dorothy announced that we would have one of our meetings that evening. I was now familiar with the routine of arranging the room. I joined in with Dorothy’s desire to be in the moment and just act out of our senses. I felt excited to spend the evening with the people that had become my temporary guides in life and smiled of the thought of how I reacted the first time.