The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually)

by Denise Deegan

  ‘Look, Rache. If there was something to tell, you’d be the first, OK?’

  ‘I doubt that.’ She looks at me. ‘Because you don’t tell anybody anything, do you? You keep it all in.’

  I say nothing.

  ‘Look. I don’t care about David McFadden. Doesn’t bother me. But I do care about us. What’s happening, Alex? You’re pulling away from me. Not telling me stuff. We used to tell each other everything. What’s going on? Don’t you trust me anymore?’

  I look at her and feel so sorry. ‘Of course I do. It’s not about trust, Rache. And it’s not about you. I just don’t do close. With anyone. Not anymore.’

  She stares at me. ‘What do you mean you don’t do close? What about the people you’re already close to?’

  I want to tell her. I want to explain. You get close to someone, anything can happen. They can decide they don’t like you anymore; they can move to another country; they can die. You stay back, at the edge, not caring, and you’re safe. You’re also cool. People want to be with you. Want to be like you. I used to do close. Then Mum died. And I died too. I can’t go through that pain again. I just can’t.

  ‘Look, Rache, honestly, there’s nothing going on. I swear.’ She looks at me like she’s giving up. ‘Let’s just do the project.’

  We work in silence. After about ten minutes, I get a text. I check the screen. It’s from Gran. And when I read it, I almost drop the phone. ‘How’s McFadden?’

  ‘Let me guess,’ Rachel says. ‘Sarah?’

  ‘Eh, no.’ I place the phone upside down on the desk and shove it away.

  She turns back to the computer. But not before I see her face.

  ‘It was just my gran,’ I say.

  ‘Whatever.’

  And I don’t know why, but all of a sudden David McFadden’s ruining my life.

  As soon as I’m home, I make a call.

  ‘Gran, never text me about guys, OK? Someone could be around.’

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be keeping me posted.’

  ‘And I told you there was nothing to keep you posted on.’

  Why did I ever teach her to text?

  ‘You can’t just tell me about this really interesting boy and then not mention him again. Come on now, spill.’

  Spill?! I feel like reminding her she’s seventy-two.

  ‘Nothing to spill.’

  ‘Really? So why get into a flap about my text?’

  ‘I’m not. I’m just saying.’

  ‘Go on, remind me how annoying he is.’

  I remember how the subject of McFadden made her perk up. ‘OK. He’s extremely annoying.’

  ‘On a scale of one to ten.’

  ‘Two hundred and fifty.’

  ‘What was the last thing he did that was extremely annoying?’ She’s getting enthusiastic.

  I sound tired when I say, ‘Gran, it’s not just one thing. It’s everything. He’s a total know-all. I don’t know why we’re even talking about him.’

  ‘OK,’ she says, reasonably, ‘we won’t.’

  ‘Good,’ I say. But the weird thing is, I do. I do want to talk about him. Which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

  Friday morning, The Rockstar joins me for breakfast. Which never happens.

  ‘Hey,’ he says, sitting up on the stool beside me.

  I look at him suspiciously. Then go back to my Cornflakes. Barbara hovers, hoping for a challenging order – a mix of exotic, out-of-season fruits; an omelette with a special type of mushroom; a kipper done medium rare . . . He asks for a mug of coffee. Black. Some day soon, she’ll hand in her notice.

  ‘How’re things?’ he asks me.

  ‘The usual.’

  He smiles awkwardly. ‘Good.’

  I feel like saying, actually, no, not good. But I don’t.

  ‘Just wanted to let you know I’m going to New York tomorrow.’

  I can’t believe it. ‘When’ll you be back?’

  ‘Maybe next Friday?’

  ‘No. You can’t! It’s Mum’s birthday on Sunday!’ We make a serious big deal of birthdays in this house. This is the first one Mum won’t be here for.

  He grimaces. ‘We have to meet this guy who does album covers. He’s impossible to get. It’s the only time he’s free. I kind of have to go.’

  No you don’t, I think, you want to go. But Ice Queen’s back. ‘’Course you do.’

  I stand, grab my bag and heave it onto my shoulder. Homer, who’s lying at my feet, gets up and stretches. He trots by my side out into the hall.

  The Rockstar follows. ‘Alex, wait, maybe I could make some calls . . .’

  ‘Don’t put yourself out.’ As if. I reach the front door where I normally squat down to say bye to Homer. Today, I keep going.

  ‘Look. I’ll cancel. I’m sure I can . . .’

  I stop. Swivel round. ‘Don’t bother,’ I say. ‘On second thoughts, it’d be better if you weren’t here.’ Mum’s life revolved around his, fitted into his. And he can’t even be here to remember her, can’t even be here for me. It’s going to be so hard, Sunday. He could at least pretend to care.

  Mike drops me to the DART. But I don’t get on. I wait till I think he’s gone, then leave the station. I start to walk, as the emptiness expands inside me. I haven’t lost one parent,

  I’ve lost both. I walk fast, not caring in which direction. I walk for hours. In the rain.

  I don’t plan to end up in school. But somehow I do.

  I sign in late. Make my way to the classroom. At the front of the room, there’s some novelist talking about her latest book. She has everyone’s attention, including our English teacher’s, who just gives me a brief look when I walk in. I sit at the back and try to listen. But my head is filled with all the things I want to say to The Rockstar but never do. Then everything’s a blur. I lean my chin on my hand and let my hair fall over my face. So no one can see me cry.

  At break, Sarah starts going on about the party. Again. Her teeth look whiter because of her St Tropez tan. Tomorrow she’s getting her hair done. I wrap my arms around myself and squeeze. I catch Rachel looking at me. She says nothing, though. I remember yesterday, at her house, and am sorry. But I’m not going to change. I can’t.

  ‘Alex!’ says Sarah. I wake up.

  ‘What are you’re wearing?’

  I look down at my uniform.

  ‘Tomorrow night,’ she prompts.

  ‘Oh, right.’ A moment passes. ‘I don’t know.’ Another moment. ‘Actually, Sarah, I’m not sure I’ll be able to go.’

  Her eyes widen. ‘You have to. I need you there.’

  ‘I think I’m coming down with something.’ Like depression.

  ‘Come. Please. You could stay in bed all day Sunday.’

  Don’t worry, I think.

  ‘Freaking hell, Sarah,’ Rachel says. ‘Leave her alone. There’ll be other parties.’

  ‘Not like this one.’ Sarah pouts. ‘I mean, how often do my parents go away? Seriously, it could be years before I can do this again.’

  ‘I’ll see, OK? I’ll do my best.’

  In the end, I do go. Anything’s better than hanging around the house when he’s there, getting ready to leave. To hell with him, I’m going out. And I’m going to have a bloody good time. Whatever happens, I won’t be thinking of him.

  ‘You OK?’ Mike asks when I climb into the car.

  ‘Yeah, I’m OK. Why wouldn’t I be OK? We’re going to pick up Rachel first.’

  ‘Sure,’ he says. ‘But maybe you should change out of your slippers first?’

  I look down. How could I have missed them? Two giant pandas on my feet! I hurry back inside and swap them for my new black three-inch heels. My pace back to the car is slower.

  ‘Preferred the slippers,’ Mike says, smiling.

  ‘Just drive, Mike.’

  He laughs.

  And suddenly, I wonder if he’s right, if I should stay in the slippers. And stay home.

  SIX | AIR

  Al
l the lights are on in Sarah’s house. The front door’s wide open. From the road, we can hear the music. Lady Gaga. So Sarah. We climb from the car and thank Mike.

  ‘So, what, twelve?’ he asks, through the lowered window.

  ‘Yeah, fine.’ I’m pretty sure I’ll want to be out of here by then. We head up the path, taking it easy in our heels.

  ‘I wonder who’ll be here,’ Rachel says.

  ‘Everyone.’ I look up at a figure lounging at the front door. ‘Including Louis.’

  Rachel groans. Sarah’s older brother is a complete slime-ball. The way he looks at us (and I’m not just talking about tonight) would give you the creeps. We’re used to guys staring when we go out. It’s kind of appreciative, you know? But this is too much. If I could pull my skirt down three inches, I would. I’d also get my slippers.

  We reach the porch.

  ‘Good evening, ladies,’ he says, like some kind of gentleman. ‘I must say, you’re looking ravishing tonight.’ His T-shirt says ‘Durex, Connecting People’.

  We look straight ahead as we pass. ‘Can it, Louis,’ I say.

  ‘Anything for you, Alex,’ he says.

  ‘Especially if it’s a condom,’ Rachel whispers to me.

  I look at her deadpan face and burst out laughing. And suddenly it’s like nothing’s happened between us and we’re OK again.

  Luckily, Louis stays where he is. We find Sarah in the kitchen, making some kind of punch thing. She’s got glitter on her skin and it sparkles when she moves. She totally brightens when she sees us.

  ‘Hey, you guys,’ she says, and hugs us like she hasn’t seen us in years. ‘It’s so good to see you.’ She looks weepy with emotion and I wonder if she’s had a few already.

  There’s booze everywhere. And plenty of people to drink it. Sarah’s invited pretty much everyone from school. The plan is, they’ll bring friends, people we don’t know, especially boys we don’t know. Sarah’s stated very clearly she wants to have sex before she dies. She’d better hurry up, then, because you never know . . . I look around, already kind of bored and vaguely wanting to leave. But then Sarah hands me a vodka and orange like I’m definitely going to drink it.

  And tonight, I definitely am.

  McFadden’s by the kitchen door, looking like a dude, talk- ing to a group of people: some I know, some I don’t. I catch him glancing over. I look away. More people join our group. There’s Amy. And Orla. And now Simon. I look at Sarah but she doesn’t seem to notice him at all. Simon and Sarah have a history. Well, sort of. He asked her out just before the summer and she turned him down, saying she couldn’t go out with anyone while I was ‘in mourning’. Which was sweet.

  But also just as well. Simon isn’t exactly boyfriend material. He has no real friends, just drifts from group to group, moving on when he gets bored. Which usually takes about a week. Can’t imagine he’d last much longer in a relationship. Someone like Sarah would be devastated. I watch to see if he talks to her. But he seems more interested in Amy.

  And then, beside me, there’s Louis again.

  ‘Hey, beautiful.’

  I give him a ‘drop-dead-jerk’ look.

  He doesn’t. ‘OK. I’ll start again,’ he says. He clears his throat. ‘Hey, gorgeous.’

  ‘Louis, you’re wasting your time.’

  ‘Trust me Alex, talking to you is never a waste of time.’

  ‘I think I’m going to barf.’

  He laughs. ‘And I think I’ll stick around.’

  ‘Suit yourself.’

  ‘Always do.’ He looks cheeky and confident, and maybe slightly interesting with his dark hair and even darker eyes.

  I don’t say anything. Let him talk to me, if he’s so keen to. I look around as if I’m bored.

  ‘See anyone interesting?’ he asks.

  ‘You mean, more interesting than you?’

  ‘Impossible.’

  I like giving him grief. And, weirdly, he seems to like taking it. So it’s back and forth like this for I don’t know how long. But it must be a while, because I’m beginning to feel the room spin a little. And I know I need to stop drinking. I’m standing with my back to the wall, which is just as well. Louis’s leaning across me, arm out, hand against the wall. We’ve become a satellite to the main group. When did that happen?

  ‘So, you want to get out of here?’ he asks.

  It’s taking a while for that to register.

  ‘Get some air,’ he says.

  Oh, right, air. I could do with some of that. He takes my hand and drags me from the wall. God, I’m floppy. Then his arm’s around me, steadying me. It feels good to have someone there, someone strong, minding me. Or is he? Hang on. Why’s he walking me towards the stairs?

  ‘You said air.’

  ‘We can open the window in my room.’ His smile is dreamy.

  I’m not so sure about this.

  ‘Hey, Alex!’ The voice is loud and cheery and I kind of wake up a bit. I turn. It’s McFadden. Weird thing is, it’s good to see him, like a real friend showing up just when you need one.

  ‘Get lost,’ Louis says to him.

  McFadden squares his shoulders. And looks pretty hot. Everyone’s tall to me, but I hadn’t realised just how tall he is. He looks down at me and smiles.

  ‘So. How’s it going?’

  Suddenly Louis’s arm, draped over my shoulder, is annoying and clingy. I lift it off. Give it back to him. He looks seriously pissed. At me. Then I see it. I see what was going to happen and I almost puke. I walk to McFadden but it’s more a stumble. How much did I drink? I lost track.

  ‘Want to get some air?’ he asks.

  I look at him. And I know he means air.

  The lights are on in the garden and it looks beautiful, like a magic fairytale place. McFadden links my arm. I think of old couples in places like Florida. I feel so much warmth for him suddenly, this guy who plays hockey, not rugby, who sails and wears beads, and who doesn’t care until it matters. He sits me down on a bench. And then is beside me. Not too close. Not touching.

  ‘You OK?’ he asks.

  ‘Fine.’

  He smiles. ‘As usual.’

  ‘As usual.’ I smile too.

  ‘Kind of stuffy in there,’ he says, as if maybe I don’t know what almost happened.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, so he knows I do.

  He shakes his head. ‘I don’t think he’d have done anything.’

  ‘Don’t defend him. Louis is a slimeball. Don’t know how I forgot.’

  ‘Want a glass of water?’

  ‘No thanks. Just need some air.’

  We’re quiet for a while. Then suddenly I’m asking, and I’ve no idea why, ‘When your mother died, how was your father?’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘I mean, did he cry? Did he break down? Did he get visibly upset?’

  He opens his mouth to speak.

  ‘Or did he just not give a shit?’ And then I’m crying. ‘Oh God, not again.’

  And his arm is around me and he’s holding me to him, and it feels so right to be held by him, and only him. This time I’m not pushing him away. This time, I’m keeping him right here with me.

  I don’t know when, exactly, Rachel appears. She squats down beside me.

  ‘You OK?’ she asks, gently.

  Rachel, I think, where were you? Friends are supposed to look out for each other. You knew he was a creep. You saw me with him . . .

  ‘Yeah. I’m OK. Thanks,’ I say, coldly.

  ‘Good.’ She sounds relieved.

  She stands up and looks at McFadden. She smiles.

  ‘Thanks,’ she says, as if I’m not there. Then she’s gone.

  ‘What was all that about? Why’d she thank you?’

  ‘Rachel was worried about you. She asked me to see if you were OK.’

  Hang on. He helped me only because Rachel asked him to? He didn’t do it himself? He wouldn’t even have noticed. He wouldn’t have come. I imagine her going up to him for help and
feel so ashamed. I stand up.

  ‘I’m fine now. Thanks. You don’t have to mind me any more.’

  He laughs. ‘You make me sound like a babysitter.’

  ‘Isn’t that what you are? Look, thanks, and everything. I’m sure Rachel really appreciates . . .’

  He stands and puts a hand out to me. ‘Come here.’ There’s something in the way he says it, a kind of confidence, like he knows what he’s doing, or something.

  I give him my hand. And we sit back down.

  ‘Alex.’ God, I love the way he says my name. ‘I’m here because I want to be, OK? If Rachel hadn’t asked me to, I’d have been out there myself. I knew what was going on. I was just hoping that maybe I wouldn’t have to do the knight-in-shining-armour thing. But there you go.’

  I’m still taking that in.

  ‘I want to be your friend,’ he says. I look at him, eyes wide.

  ‘I want to be more than your friend.’ And he’s leaning towards me, and I know I could run, I could get out of here right now, right this minute. But I’m going nowhere. I close my eyes. And when we come together, I’m wondering why it took so long.

  It gets cold. He takes off his hoodie and gives it to me. Even helps put it on. Which should be seriously sad – but isn’t somehow. He runs his fingers through my hair, fixing it.

  ‘We should probably make a move,’ he says.

  There is this whole embarrassing thing about getting home. David offers to bring me. But Mike’s been waiting outside since midnight. Like I’m Cinder-bloody-ella. And I have to tell him that.

  ‘Ok . . .’ he says, as if trying to work out where that leaves us.

  ‘I can give you a lift?’ I say.

  ‘Eh, it’s OK, thanks.’ After a moment, ‘The driver. Is he outside?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I’ll walk you to the car, then.’

  I feel flat, not wanting to leave him. But I take off my shoes and get up. The ground is cold but it’s better than having the heels on. He puts an arm around my shoulder. I lean into him. Not wanting this to end.

  We get to the car. Mike gets out.

  ‘Everything OK?’ he asks David, eyeing him in a way that could definitely be taken as threatening.