The Butterfly Room

by Lucinda Riley

  ‘Yes, now, look who has come to call for you!’ she replied as we both saw Katie cycling up to the front door. As Daisy opened it, I saw relief on her face. ‘Morning Katie, that’s a smart bicycle.’

  ‘I got it from Father Christmas, but I ain’t bin able to ride it because of the snow. Will you come for a spin with me, Posy? I’ll let you have a ride on her. Mam says you’re to come for lunch with us too.’

  I could see how proud Katie was of her bicycle, but also how it was not at all new; there was rust on the wheel covers and a worn basket that sat at a precarious angle at the front. I thought of my beautiful shiny red bicycle sitting in the stables at Admiral House, which then made me think of Papa, and the terrible colour Granny had turned when she had read the telegram. I turned to Daisy.

  ‘Are you sure everything is all right?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Posy, now off you go with your friend and I’ll see you later.’

  All that day, even though it was fun to ride a bicycle again and I liked sitting round the big table with Katie’s three siblings, eating the meat and potato pastry they called a ‘pasty’ here, there was a knot of dread in my tummy that wouldn’t go away.

  When I returned home it was already growing dark. I saw the lights were burning in the sitting room, but the fire – which was usually glowing merrily at this time of day – was not.

  ‘Hello, Miss Posy,’ Daisy greeted me at the door. Her expression was as dark as the dusk outside. ‘You have a visitor to see you.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your mother is here,’ she said, as she helped me out of my coat and untied the strings of the knitted hat she had made me for Christmas. I saw her hands were shaking slightly as she did so.

  ‘Maman? Here?!’

  ‘Yes, Miss Posy. Now, you go and wash your face and hands and brush your hair, then come back down and I’ll take you into the sitting room.’

  As I walked up the stairs to my bedroom, my legs felt as if they were puddles of melting ice beneath me. And while I was standing in front of the mirror re-plaiting my hair, I heard the sound of raised voices coming from the sitting room beneath me. Then my mother crying.

  And I knew, just knew, what I was going to be told.

  ‘Posy, my dear, come in.’

  My grandmother ushered me through the door and put a gentle hand on my shoulder to steer me over to the wing-backed chair in which my mother was sitting beside the unlit fireplace.

  ‘I will leave you alone for a while,’ Granny said as I looked down at Maman and she looked up at me through tear-soaked eyes. I wanted to ask Granny to stay – her solid presence held a sense of comfort that I just knew Maman would not be able to give me, but she walked across the sitting room and closed the door behind her.

  ‘Posy, I . . .’ Maman said as her voice cracked and she began to cry again.

  ‘It’s Daddy, isn’t it?’ I managed to whisper, already knowing that it was and therefore hoping at the same time that it wasn’t.

  ‘Yes,’ she replied.

  And with that one word, the world I had known shattered into a trillion tiny pieces.

  Bombing raid . . . Daddy’s plane hit . . . flames . . . no survivors . . . hero . . .

  The words went round and round in my brain until I wanted to pull them out through my ears so I didn’t have to hear them any more. Or understand what they meant. Maman tried to hug me, but I didn’t want to be hugged by anyone other than the one person who could never hug me again. So I ran upstairs and once in my room, all I could do was hug myself. Every sinew of my body ached with anguish and horror. Why him, and why now, I asked, when everyone had said the war was almost over? Why had God – if there really was one – been so cruel as to take Daddy away right at the end, when he had survived for so long? I hadn’t even heard about any raids on the radio recently, just about the Germans retreating through France and that they couldn’t hold out much longer.

  I didn’t know the words to describe how I felt – maybe there just weren’t any – so instead I keened like an injured animal, until I felt a gentle hand being laid on my shoulder.

  ‘Posy, my dearest girl, I am so very, very sorry. For you, for me, for Lawrence, and of course,’ Granny added after a pause, ‘your mother.’

  I opened my mouth to answer, because even now, in this terrible moment, I had been brought up to be polite and reply to any grown-up that spoke to me, but nothing came out. Granny gathered me up in her arms and I cried more tears against the comfort of her bosom. How my body was producing so much liquid I didn’t know, because I hadn’t had a drink of water since lunchtime.

  ‘There, there, my dear,’ she soothed me and eventually, I must have dozed off. Perhaps I imagined it, but I was almost sure I heard the soft sound of sobbing which, as I was half-asleep, could only be coming from Granny.

  ‘My dearest, dearest boy . . . how you must have suffered. And after all you had been through . . . I understand, my darling, I understand . . .’

  I must have fallen asleep completely then, because the next thing I knew, I was waking to see the dreary grey light of a new day. My brain took only a few seconds to remember the terrible thing that had happened, and the tears started all over again.

  Daisy arrived in my bedroom with a tray not long after, and placed it on the bed. Like Granny, she took me in her arms.

  ‘Poor little mite,’ she crooned, releasing me. ‘See? I brought you a fresh boiled egg and some toast soldiers to dip in. That’ll make you feel better, won’t it now?’

  I wanted to reply that nothing, ever, could make me feel better again, but I opened my mouth automatically as Daisy fed me the egg and soldiers like I was a toddler.

  ‘Is Maman awake?’ I asked her.

  ‘Yes, and getting ready to leave.’

  ‘Are we going back to Admiral House today? I need to pack!’ I pulled back the covers and jumped out of bed.

  ‘Get dressed first, Miss Posy. Your mum wants to see you downstairs.’

  I did so and found Maman sitting by the fire in the drawing room. Her lovely skin was as white as the melting snow outside and I saw her hand shaking as she lit a cigarette.

  ‘Bonjour, Posy. How did you sleep?’

  ‘Better than I thought I would,’ I said truthfully as I stood in front of her.

  ‘Sit down, chérie, I want to talk to you.’

  I did so, comforting myself that whatever she had to tell me could not ever be as bad as yesterday’s news.

  ‘Posy, I . . .’

  I watched her fingers twine and untwine around each other as I waited for her to speak.

  ‘. . . I am so very, very sorry for what has happened.’

  ‘It isn’t your fault Daddy’s dead, Maman.’

  ‘No, but . . . you did not deserve this. And now . . .’

  She paused again, as if she didn’t have the words either. Her voice sounded husky, barely there. As her eyes turned to me, I couldn’t quite read the emotion in them, but whatever it was, Maman looked utterly miserable.

  ‘Posy, Granny and I have been talking about what is best for you. And we think, especially for now, that you should stay here.’

  ‘Oh. How long for?’

  ‘I really don’t know. I have . . . many things to sort out.’

  ‘What about Daddy’s . . .’ I gulped and screwed up my courage to say the word, ‘funeral?’

  ‘I . . .’ Maman looked away from me into the fire and gulped too. ‘Granny and I have decided it is best for us to have a memorial service in a few weeks’ time. They have . . . they have to return his . . . him from France, you see.’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered, blinking hard. I realised then that I had to be strong for Maman. Be the ‘Big Brave Girl’ that Daddy had called me when I’d sliced my finger on a thorn in the garden or fallen off the swing he had made me. She was hurting terribly too. ‘For how long? School starts next week.’

  ‘Granny says you have made lots of friends in the village, so we thought that, for now, you could go to school her
e.’

  ‘I could, yes, but for how long?’ I couldn’t help repeating.

  ‘Oh Posy,’ Maman sighed. ‘I cannot answer that. I have so many things to sort out, you see. Decisions to be made. And while I am doing all that, I will not be able to give you the attention you need. Here, you will have Granny and Daisy all to yourself.’

  ‘Daisy is staying too?’

  ‘I have asked her and she has agreed. I hear you are not the only one to have made new friends in the village.’ For the first time, Maman gave me a weak smile and a little flush came into her cheeks, warming the colour of her skin, which reminded me of the greyish pastry Daisy made with lard. ‘So, Posy? Do you think this is the best plan?’

  I rubbed my nose as I thought about it. And what Daddy would say I should say.

  ‘I will miss you and Admiral House terribly, Maman, but if it makes it better for you, then yes, I will stay here.’

  I noticed a glimmer of relief cross her face and knew I had given her the right answer. Perhaps she’d thought I would shout and scream and beg to go home with her. Part of me desperately wanted to do that; to go ‘home’, and have things as they were before. But then I realised that nothing would ever be the same again, so what did it matter?

  ‘Come here, chérie.’ Maman opened her arms to me and I went into them. I closed my eyes and smelt the familiar musky scent of her perfume.

  ‘I promise that this is best for you, for now,’ she whispered. ‘I will write to you of course, and come back for you as soon as I have settled things.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’ She pulled out of our hug and her hands dropped to her sides. She looked up at me from her chair then reached up to gently touch my cheek. ‘You are so very like your Papa, chérie: brave and determined, with a heart that loves deeply. Don’t let that destroy you, will you?’

  ‘No, Maman, why should it? It’s a good thing to love, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oui, of course it is.’ She nodded, then stood up, and I saw the despair in her eyes. ‘Now, I must get ready to leave. I have to go to London to visit your father’s solicitor. There are many things to organise. I will come and say goodbye when I have packed.’

  ‘Yes, Maman.’

  I watched her leave the room, then, with my legs giving way beneath me, I sank into the chair she’d been sitting on and silently wept into its arm.

  August 1949

  ‘So Posy, your mother and I have been talking on the telephone, for I have come up with a suggestion.’

  ‘Oh. Is she opening up Admiral House and wants me to go back?’

  ‘No, dear girl, as we have discussed, it’s far too large for just you and her. Maybe one day, if you marry, you can return and fill it with the big happy family it so deserves. As your father is . . . gone, it belongs to you, after all.’

  ‘Well, I wish I could go and live there tomorrow, with you of course, dear Granny.’

  ‘Well, when you come of age and inherit the house and your trust officially, you can make that decision. For now, it’s sensible that it remains closed. As you will no doubt find out one day, the running costs are astronomical. Now then, I was telling you about my idea. I think it is best for you if we consider the idea of you going away to boarding school.’

  ‘What?! Leave you and all my friends here?! Never!’

  ‘Please calm yourself, Posy, and hear me out. I understand that you have no wish to leave us, but it’s becoming obvious that you need a far more sophisticated education than the village school can offer you. Miss Brennan herself came to see me and said the same thing. She is having to set you a completely different level of work to the rest of the class and admitted you were close to outstripping her own level of knowledge. She too thinks you should be in a school that can give you the breadth of education your academic gifts deserve.’

  ‘But . . .’ I could feel myself pouting and couldn’t help it, ‘I’m happy at school, and here, Granny. I don’t want to go away, I really don’t.’

  ‘I do understand, but really, if your father were alive, I’m sure he would say the same.’

  ‘Would he?’ Still, five years on, I found it desperately painful to talk about him.

  ‘Yes, and in a few years’ time, you may well be thinking of a career, like so many women are these days.’

  ‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ I admitted.

  ‘No, well, why should you? That’s what myself – and your mother, of course – are here for; to look to your future. And goodness, Posy, if I had been born in a time when women could have an education, and perhaps even go to university, I’d have jumped at the chance. Do you know that, before I met your grandfather, I was a suffragette? A fully paid-up member of the WSPU and a great supporter of dear Mrs Pankhurst? I chained myself to the railings, fighting for women’s right to the vote.’

  ‘Goodness, Granny! Did you really?’

  ‘I most certainly did! But then of course, I fell in love, became engaged and all that caper had to stop. But at least I feel I made a contribution, and now, times are changing, thanks in no small part to what Mrs Pankhurst and my other brave comrades did back then.’

  I looked at Granny with fresh eyes, suddenly realising that she had been young once too.

  ‘So, Posy, the school I’m proposing for you is in Devon, not so very far away from here. It has an excellent reputation, especially in the sciences, and manages to get a number of its intake into university. I’ve spoken to the headmistress and she is very keen to meet you. I think we should go and take a look next week.’

  ‘And if I don’t like it?’

  ‘Let’s wait and see if you do, young lady. I don’t like negativity before the fact, as you know. And by the way, you have a letter from your mother upstairs in your room.’

  ‘Oh. Is she still in Italy?’

  ‘Yes. She is.’

  ‘But I thought she was only going for a holiday and that was a year ago now? Pretty long holiday, if you ask me,’ I muttered.

  ‘Enough of your cheek, young lady. Go upstairs and wash, please. Supper will be ready in ten minutes.’

  I went up to my bedroom, no longer temporary as it had been when I’d arrived here, but instead filled with all the paraphernalia of my past five years of living in it. It – and I – had adapted; we’d had to after I’d eventually realised, after two long years of waiting every day for Maman to send for me, that she wasn’t going to. Any time soon, at least. After Daddy’s death, she had gone back to Paris – the war had ended and many of her friends were returning there, so she had told me in one of the occasional postcards she had written to me. Whereas I, on the other hand, wrote to her every week of those first two years, on a Sunday afternoon before tea. And I always asked the same two questions: when was she coming to get me, and when was Daddy’s memorial service to be held? The answer was always the same; ‘Soon, chérie, soon. Please try to understand I cannot yet return to Admiral House. Every room is filled with memories of your Papa . . .’

  So, eventually, I had accepted that for now, my life was here, in this tiny community, physically and mentally cut off from the rest of the world. Even Granny’s precious radio – which she used to listen to religiously every day for news of the war – had apparently broken just after Papa had died. It had miraculously managed to rouse itself for an hour when Victory in Europe had been announced, and I had hugged Granny and Daisy and all of us had done a little jig around the sitting room. I still remembered asking why we were celebrating, when the person we loved most would never be returning to us, like some of the other fathers and sons in the village subsequently had.

  ‘We must find it in our hearts to be glad for them, Posy, even though our own beloved is no longer with us,’ Granny had said.

  Perhaps I was a bad person, but when the village had gathered together to celebrate VE day in the church hall, I hadn’t been able to feel anything in my heart except a big, numb lump of nothing.

  Little had changed after VE Day, although Granny s
tarted travelling regularly to London, citing the fact that there was ‘paperwork’ to attend to. The paperwork must have been very tiresome indeed, because Granny always came home looking dreadfully grey and exhausted. I vividly remembered her returning from the last visit she had made. Rather than arriving back and coming to find me immediately with some small treat she had brought back from London, she’d disappeared straight to her room and had not emerged for three days. When I’d asked to see her, Daisy had told me she had caught a bad chill and did not wish me to catch it.

  I’d decided then and there that if I ever had children, even if I was dying of something dreadfully infectious like cholera, I would still let them in to see me. Grown-ups that you loved, barricaded behind closed doors, were so awfully unsettling for a child’s constitution. And I had experienced my fair share of it over the years.

  Eventually, Granny had emerged, and I only just managed to stifle a gasp at the amount of weight she had lost. It was as if she had been suffering from cholera. Her skin looked waxy and her eyes had somehow sunken deeper into their sockets. She looked very old and not at all jolly, as she used to.

  ‘Darling Posy,’ she’d said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as we’d shared a cup of tea by the fire in the sitting room. ‘I do apologise for my absences in the past few months. You will be pleased to know they are at an end. Everything is done with and there is no need for me to return to London now – if ever. I simply loathe that godless city, don’t you?’ she’d shuddered.

  ‘I’ve never been, Granny, so I couldn’t say.’

  ‘No, although I am sure you will visit one day, so I mustn’t spoil it for you, but it does not hold good memories for me . . .’

  Her poor, sunken eyes had drifted away from me, then snapped back, with what I felt was false brightness.

  ‘Anyway, what is done, is done. And now it is time to look to our future. I have a surprise coming for you, Posy.’

  ‘Do you? How nice,’ I’d said, not sure quite how to respond to this new, different Granny. ‘Thank you.’