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

by Denise Deegan

  ‘The school’s budget. I don’t think it’s huge.’

  ‘Trust me, Alex, they’re doing me a favour here. If they cover the costs, I’m happy.’

  ‘OK. Great.’ But I’m starting to worry about Rachel again. What if she doesn’t want to play a ‘tramp’?

  ‘We should have Rachel over for a fitting, soon as we can,’ she says.

  One way to find out what she wants or doesn’t want.

  I lie in bed, thinking of David. Thinking of his eyes, his body. When I’m with him in his room, I want to do it. It’s so hard not to. But I’m not like Sarah. Sex was never on my list of things to do. You have sex, you change. Grow up. Move away from your parents. And I don’t know why that feels so important now, given that they’re both gone. But it does. My mum would want me to wait. I know that. And it seems so important. But wait for how long? And why exactly, if it feels so right? There are so many things I want to ask her, so many things I need to know. But if she was still alive and life was still normal, would I ask? This is between David and me. Yeah, so why haven’t we spoken about it?

  Maybe you don’t.

  Maybe you just let it happen. Or keep stopping it.

  Maybe I’m ready. I just don’t know it. Oh, God. I wish I knew.

  At lunch next day, Rachel and I walk by David’s table. Sarah follows. As soon as we set our trays down at the far side of the canteen, she asks, ‘What’s going on? Why aren’t we sitting with David and Mark?’

  There goes my theory about her going off guys. ‘You can, if you like,’ I say.

  ‘What happened? Did you two have a fight?’

  Suddenly I’m so mad. ‘Sarah, if we’d had a fight I wouldn’t be telling everyone about it.’

  ‘So you did have a fight?’

  ‘No. We didn’t have a fight. If you must know, you embarrassed everyone yesterday. All your talk of relationships has put people under pressure.’

  She laughs. ‘God, you’re so touchy. I was just clearing the air. People should be honest about stuff. Guys should be honest.’ She sighs, looking over at the others. ‘It’s no fun without them.’

  I shake my head. Has she any idea what she’s done? ‘Off you go then.’

  ‘I might just do that,’ she says, looking at me like I’ve challenged her. She gets up, takes her tray and goes over.

  When she gets there, David turns around to look at me, a question on his face.

  I shrug.

  To cheer her up, I tell Rachel about Marsha’s offer.

  ‘Really? I’d love that.’

  After lunch, as I’m leaving the canteen, David comes up to me.

  ‘Hey!’ I say.

  He’s not smiling. ‘Can I talk to you for a sec?’

  There’s something up. ‘Sure.’

  We find a windowsill to lean against, in a quiet part of the corridor.

  ‘Sarah just announced why Mark tried out for Macbeth.’

  I close my eyes. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘I can’t believe you told her. Now everyone knows. Mark feels like a total loser.’

  ‘I didn’t tell her. Or at least, I didn’t mean to. Sarah was talking Mark down to Rachel. I just wanted Rachel to know how far he’d gone for her.’

  ‘Maybe you should’ve waited till Sarah wasn’t there.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

  He takes a deep breath. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘She likes him, David. I mean, really likes him. She was going to talk to him today after school.’

  ‘I’d rethink that. He’s about to kill someone. Probably me.’

  I grimace. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Forget it. Come on, we’d better get back.’

  We start to walk slowly in the direction of the classroom. Suddenly, I don’t want this to be the end for them.

  ‘D’you think you should tell him she likes him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because this is getting like Chinese Whispers.’

  ‘But he should know, though, shouldn’t he?’

  No answer.

  ‘If you do tell him, will you let me know what he says?’

  He laughs. ‘Alex. Stop. Seriously. This has to end somewhere. If I talk to him, and I’m not saying I will, then after that, it’s between him and Rachel. We butt out. Completely.’ And even though I want them to have what we have, so badly, I also know he’s right.

  Rachel stands before Marsha, no clue what she has planned for her. She still looks depressed.

  Tape in hand and moving like lightning, Marsha measures her up.

  ‘You are a total babe,’ she gushes. And though it’s over the top, it’s just what Rachel needs to hear. ‘Now! Here’s what I was thinking.’ She wedges the tape into a back pocket and reaches for her sketches. She reveals them like she’s unveiling a plaque. ‘Lady Macbeth, the great seductress.’

  Rachel looks at me.

  I shrug.

  She looks back at Marsha. Who explains her theory.

  Rachel’s face lights up. ‘I totally get that. It would so bring Lady Macbeth’s character to life.’ She looks at Marsha like she’s seeing her for the first time. ‘You’re a genius.’

  ‘Let’s start by working with what we have.’ Marsha starts to experiment with Rachel’s hair, lifting it all up, then letting it fall. She lifts a section and pulls the rest forward. Every few seconds she tilts her head to the side, examining the look. She’s so into it, so alive, you’d never think that her husband just divorced her. Or that she’s even old enough to be married in the first place. She almost looks like one of us.

  When they finish up, they hug goodbye. Seriously.

  ‘Oh my God, Alex. She’s so sweet,’ Rachel says in the car when Mike’s dropping her back. ‘The way you were going on about her . . .’

  I grimace. ‘I think I might have got that kind of wrong.’

  ‘I can’t believe she’s giving up all her time to do this –’

  ‘She likes it.’

  ‘She must like you too, or she wouldn’t bother.’

  ‘She’s just distracting herself.’

  ‘It’s more than that. She likes you.’

  And I must be desperate, because this makes me feel good.

  I can’t wait till tomorrow to see David so, after dinner, I ask him over. It’s not like The Rockstar will notice.

  But, just my luck, he’s coming out of his office as we’re walking down the hall.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ he says, then looks at me for an intro.

  ‘This is David, a friend from school. We’ve a project.’

  He sticks out his hand. ‘How’re you doing?’ he says, making his accent more Dublin, like he’s some regular guy or something. He does it all the time.

  David shakes his hand.

  ‘So, what’s the project on?’ Like he’s interested.

  ‘Stuff,’ I say. ‘Look. We gotta go.’

  He looks relieved. ‘OK. Well, make yourself at home, David. Plenty of grub around. Movies downstairs.’

  ‘Thanks,’ David says.

  The Rockstar retreats back to the office, forgetting whatever he came out for.

  ‘Better get stuck into that project,’ David says. But he’s smiling.

  I shrug. ‘No point him knowing my life if he doesn’t care.’ I head for the stairs.

  David looks back at the office. ‘You sure he won’t mind a guy in your room?’

  ‘He is oblivious.’

  FIFTEEN | A LITTLE HELP

  I expect Mark to change. To show an interest in Rachel again. To ask her out. But that shows how much I know. He acts like he doesn’t see her. For days. By Friday, I’ve had it with not interfering.

  ‘David?’

  We’re making out on his bed.

  ‘Hmmm?’ His face is in my neck.

  ‘Did you talk to Mark about Rachel?’

  His head pops up. ‘Is that what you’re thinking, right now?’

  ‘It just kind of flashed in
to my head there, for a quick second.’

  ‘D’you think it might flash out again?’

  I smile and shake my head.

  He rolls off me, lies on his side, propped up on an elbow.

  ‘I thought we were going to leave this between the two of them.’

  I sit up. ‘And we will. I just want to know if you told him Rachel liked him, that’s all. Because he’s acting like you didn’t.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No, you didn’t tell him?’

  ‘No, I’m not telling you.’

  ‘Why not?’ He’s so frustrating.

  ‘Because if I tell you I talked to him, which I’m not saying I did, you’d assume something that wouldn’t be right.’

  I try and work that out. ‘So you did tell him. And he’s still interested?’ I’m squinting.

  He bursts out laughing.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You never give up, do you?’

  I smile. ‘No.’

  ‘Right, well, I’m saying nothing from now on. I’m sealing my lips.’ He mimes zipping them shut.

  ‘But I’m right, amn’t I?’

  He makes a muffled sound like he’s trying to talk and can’t.

  I make a face.

  He shrugs, as if it’s hopeless trying. Then he’s grabbing my feet and pulling me down in the bed, from sitting to lying. His mouth lands on mine, and as distraction techniques go, it’s pretty successful. We kiss and caress, and kiss and caress, faster and faster, hungrier and hungrier. And it takes off again, our bodies moving together in a rhythm I don’t want to stop. I press myself to him. But he’s pushing me away, suddenly.

  ‘OK,’ he says. ‘Time out.’ He jumps from the bed. Runs his hands through his hair. Turns away from me and walks to the window.

  ‘It’s OK. I want to. I really do. Come on.’ And I genuinely want him to come back.

  He turns. ‘No. You don’t,’ he says firmly.

  ‘I do. Seriously.’

  ‘Downstairs. Now.’ He drags me from the bed.

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Come on.’ At last, he smiles.

  Going downstairs I begin to wake up, to realise just how close we came. I would have done it if he hadn’t stopped. But I know I can’t rely on him forever. I should carry a condom, just in case. But if I do, will that just mean we won’t stop next time?

  Next day, Rachel’s acting like she’s never heard of Mark Delaney. I watch them in rehearsals, avoiding each other. I wish there was something I could do. He likes her. She likes him. It’s simple. Or at least it should be. And that’s what inspires me.

  After rehearsals, I go up to her.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be playing the great seductress,’ I say, like I’m disappointed.

  ‘I would, if Macbeth was anyone other than Mark Delaney.’ She sounds like she hates the guy.

  ‘You want to give it your all, though, don’t you?’ OK, my thought process is pretty basic (she throws herself at him as Lady Macbeth, he won’t be able to resist). But I’m desperate.

  ‘Don’t worry. When I’m on stage, no one will be able to stop me. Not even Mark Delaney.’

  I smile. ‘He won’t know what hit him.’

  ‘To hell with him.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  And I wonder if she honestly believes that.

  Saturday, and Mike drives me and Marsha into town. We trawl the shops for buttons, fabrics, ribbons, fake gems and, surprise, surprise, belts. It’s weird. Dublin’s my home but it takes a New Yorker to show it to me. She brings me places I never knew existed: up and down backstreets, in and out of tiny shops, finding the most perfect treasures. I thought I was a pretty serious shopper. Compared with Marsha though I’m a brand-conscious mall-hopper. She’s got imagination, flair. She sees potential in everything. I used to think a button was a button. Or a belt a belt. Now they’re jewellery, armour, part of a boot or headpiece. It’s fun. We take regular coffee breaks to check our merchandise and plan more. She tells me about some of her clients – total weirdos. I tell her about David. She comes alive.

  ‘I was kind of hoping you two would get together.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It was so obvious how into each other you guys are.’

  ‘Really?’ I say again, and suck at my smoothie to stop myself smiling.

  ‘So this is your first love?’

  I almost choke. ‘God. No! No one said anything about love.’

  ‘OK, your first serious relationship?’ I’m still thinking about that, when . . .

  ‘Ah, nothing like first love.’ She sighs. ‘Nothing. Ever again.’

  I make a face. ‘Isn’t that kind of depressing?’

  ‘Eh. Yeah.’

  We laugh.

  ‘OK, so I don’t want you telling The Rockstar.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sorry. My dad.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ she says, nodding by just raising her chin.

  ‘And you’d better not tell him I call him The Rockstar, either.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘He might be hurt.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’

  ‘Alex, this may amaze you, but men do have feelings.’

  ‘You don’t know him very well, do you?’

  ‘I know he’s a good man.’

  I laugh. ‘Yeah, sure.’

  ‘You know, things aren’t always as simple as they look.’

  ‘Except when it comes to The Rockstar.’ I get up, gather my bags. Talking about him always makes me want to shop.

  But when someone asks you if your relationship is serious, it makes you stop, wonder, really look at it. As we wander around the shops, I think about the person I’m spending so much time with.

  Am I seriously into him? That would be a ‘yes’.

  Do I seriously want to be with him all the time? Another ‘yes’.

  Do I seriously think about him more than anyone else? Absolutely, yes.

  Sometimes, I can’t believe we’ve been going out eight weeks. But mostly it feels like we’ve been together forever, that I know him completely, that it’s always been the two of us. When I’m with him, I’m happy. When I’m not, I’m thinking about him. I’m wondering what he’s doing. I’m wondering if he’s thinking of me. When we are together, I don’t want it to end, I don’t want him to leave. I’d love if we could sleep together. I don’t mean sex. I mean curling up together, falling asleep together and waking up next to each other. I’ve never seen him sleep. I’d really love to. He’d be so cute. I look at Marsha now, lifting up some fabric to the light. I wonder if I should ask her about sex. What I should do. But no. She could go back to The Rockstar.

  I try to imagine what she’d say.

  ‘Oh, just go ahead. But wear protection.’

  Thing is, I’m not Marsha.

  When I was a kid, my dad would read me stories of fairies, princesses in towers and cobblers who worked through the night to produce magic shoes. Well, Marsha turns out to be one of those cobblers. She works flat out. Like a seamstress on speed. I help her as much as I can, but I’ve school. In five days, she has run up Rachel’s three costumes. I feel guilty.

  ‘Marsha, stop, please. I really didn’t mean you to work this hard. We still have time.’ Not much, though.

  She looks up from the sewing machine. ‘Honey, sometimes people need to work.’

  Which makes me feel even more guilty, like I’m using her pain. Or something. ‘Let me do something. Please.’

  She gives me the job of ripping out these big stitches at the end of the dresses. I’m probably saving her, like, three minutes. Of course, it takes me a hell of a lot longer. But I’m happy. It’s kind of relaxing. I can see why Gran does it now.

  ‘It’s good to hear you hum,’ she says.

  ‘I’m humming?’

  ‘Humming away like a honey bee.’

  I look at her and smile. She’s actually kind of sweet.<
br />
  ‘Thank you, Marsha,’ I say. ‘For everything.’

  She winks at me. ‘For nothing.’

  Because she’s working so hard, I decide to, too. Next day, at school, I ask Ms Hall for time off to complete the costumes. It’s Transition Year. They’re pretty flexible with time if it’s for something worthwhile. Still, Ms Hall is Ms Hall. She looks at me dubiously. So I show her the photos I took of the costumes so far. She looks at me like I’ve transformed into Cinderella. And lets me off. Which is just as well. We’ve only got four more days till Opening Night.

  I put everything on hold. School. Friends. Even David. For the next four days, the only person I see is Marsha. And there’s something nice about that.

  SIXTEEN | SMUG

  Opening Night. Tension’s high. Behind stage, people are whispering, rushing around, sweating. Everyone wants to get it right, even people like me who weren’t into it at first. You’d swear we were on Broadway. I’m hurrying between everyone, making sure they take to the boards looking like they should. Marsha and I are so proud of our costumes. They’re like our children. We don’t even allow ourselves favourites. Marsha’s out in the audience with a camcorder. She came an hour early to get front-row seats. I told her it wasn’t a fashion show. She said it was for her. The Rockstar isn’t here. I didn’t tell him about it and asked Marsha not to either. He might have felt he had to show up.

  It’s David’s turn to go on. Even under the make-up, he looks pale. I kiss him good luck and smile at the fabric we chose for him, which has tiny waves on it so he’d feel at home.

  Only once do I slip out into the audience. For Rachel’s performance. I stand in the aisle, waiting for her to appear. When she does, you can hear everyone taking a breath. It’s not just her beauty. It’s her presence, the way she holds herself, owns the character. She is Lady Macbeth. And when she sidles up to Mark Delaney, all passionate and tactile, with big eyes and heaving chest, he looks like he might pass out. He really does look like he’d do anything for her. Kill, even. Kissing was not in the script. But he’s grabbing her and bending her back with a kiss that goes on and on. Everyone’s going wild. Clapping. Whooping. Cheering. Stamping their feet. And as they walk offstage, looking happier than they should (given that they’re planning murder), Mark takes Rachel’s hand and holds it like he’ll never let go.