Perhaps the postman butterfly had that name because most of its wings were bright pillar-box red, but they had very smart black edges, with two bright white spots on either side.
‘I think the postman butterfly is my favourite. Quick, let’s find him!’ I said.
We circled the enclosure, looking carefully on every branch, every bush, every fruit stand. We saw lots and lots of butterflies, but there weren’t many red-and-black ones.
‘There’s your postman, Tina!’ said Grandad, pointing up high.
We peered upwards but I shook my head.
‘It’s not a postman, Grandad. It’s too big. I know it’s red and black, but look – it hasn’t got any white spots.’
‘Perhaps it’s been using face cream,’ said Gran. ‘I’m sure it is your Mr Postman, Tina.’
I think she was getting a bit bored of butterflies.
‘It’s not.’ I consulted the picture chart again. ‘It’s this one, look – “big billy”. It’s red and black, but hasn’t got any spots. It’s definitely big billy.’
‘Can’t he count as your favourite?’ asked Gran.
‘Well, I like him, but I think I like the postman better,’ I said.
Gran sighed. We went around the enclosure one more time. We saw swallowtails and morphos aplenty, and a host of other different kinds, but we couldn’t spot a single postman.
‘I don’t think there can be any postmen at all today, pet,’ said Grandad.
‘They’re all out on their rounds,’ said Gran. ‘Come on – who wants an ice cream?’
‘Me!’ said Phil.
‘Me!’ said Maddie.
‘Me – but can we look for a postman butterfly first?’ I asked.
‘We’ve looked and looked and looked,’ said Phil.
‘We’ve looked until our eyes are falling out,’ said Maddie.
‘Couldn’t we have just one more look?’ I begged.
So we walked all round the enclosure one more time. We looked up. We looked down. We looked through. We looked over. We looked everywhere.
We still didn’t see a postman.
‘Come on, we’re really going to have to go now, Tina.’ Gran took my hand and pulled me towards the exit. I looked up just as we were going through the dangling plastic strips – and there, just above me, perching on the EXIT sign, was a little bright red butterfly with black wingtips and two big white spots on either side.
‘Oh! Oh, how wonderful! Look, look, look! It’s my postman!’ I cried.
It flew down towards me and circled my head once, as if it was saying hello. Then it flew off, and soon I couldn’t see it any more.
I was so excited I felt my face going bright red, just like the postman. I was so hot I wouldn’t put my jacket on even when we were outside in the cold. Gran got cross with me and Grandad tried to chase after me, but they couldn’t catch me for ages. I spread my arms like wings and pretended I was flying, just like the postman.
When I went to sleep that night I dreamed that the butterflies were in our bedroom – emerald swallowtails, blue morphos, and hundreds of postman butterflies.
Chapter Eight
WHEN I WOKE up, the butterflies were all gone. I remembered that Baby was gone too and I was very, very sad. My hand felt so empty now. I clutched my teddy but he didn’t really help. I didn’t want to feel his soft fur. I wanted my hard little Baby – her round head, her smooth arms, the swell of her tummy, the little indentations of her toes.
I wanted her sooooooo much that I started crying. Not loud crying so that Mum could hear and come running. Just quiet, miserable, head-in-my-pillow crying.
Phil heard. Maddie heard. They got into my bed, though it was a bit of a squeeze for the three of us. We were like a triplet sandwich. I was the jam.
I felt a bit better squashed up with my sisters, but I couldn’t stop crying for a long time. And then, when I did, I still felt dreadfully snuffly and my head hurt.
I didn’t feel any better at breakfast time. I didn’t want to eat my fruit or yoghurt. I didn’t want to eat my toast. I only sipped my juice.
‘Oh dear, oh dear, what’s the matter with you, Teeny Weeny?’ asked Mum. ‘You look a bit pale and red-eyed.’ She felt my forehead. ‘You’re quite hot too. I hope you’re not going down with anything. Maybe you’d better have a pyjama day today.’
When any of us have a cold or get sick, we stay in our pyjamas and Mum brings us our meals on a tray, and we do colouring or read in bed. I’ve had heaps more pyjama days than Phil and Maddie.
They don’t like pyjama days. Maddie gets especially fidgety. I quite like pyjama days.
So I got to stay in bed all Sunday. It wasn’t lonely one bit.
Phil and Maddie and I played with our Monster High dolls and our Barbies. We pretended that they went to different schools and were deadly rivals, and they ended up having a big fight.
Mum said they were getting a bit boisterous and I needed some peace and quiet. So Phil and Maddie went off to play by themselves while Mum read to me – three whole chapters.
Then she had to go and see to the Sunday dinner, so Dad came and played cards with me.
I had my Sunday dinner on a tray – Mum gave me a teeny portion but I could only eat one potato. And two beans. And three spoonfuls of ice cream.
Then I had a nap. I woke up feeling worse: my nose was really stuffed up now, and my throat hurt and I felt hot and shivery at the same time.
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Mum. ‘I’d better take your temperature.’
In the afternoon I got a bit moany and groany.
I had more ice cream for tea. I didn’t want anything else.
Later I put on my dressing gown to go down and watch a DVD. I was allowed to choose my favourite, Frozen. I sat on Dad’s lap. It was fine for a bit, but then I got all droopy.
‘We’d better pop you back to bed,’ said Mum.
‘Never mind, sweetheart. I’m sure you’ll be as right as rain in the morning,’ said Dad.
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Mum. ‘I think she got thoroughly chilled yesterday. It was a bit irresponsible of your parents trailing them all round the zoo on such a cold day.’
‘For heaven’s sake, it’s not like it’s the middle of winter!’
‘There was a very cold wind – and you know how quick Tina is to catch cold,’ said Mum. ‘Look at her! I don’t think she’d better go to school tomorrow.’
Oh! That cheered me up a bit, though I was careful to carry on looking mournful.
‘I think I’ve caught a cold too,’ said Maddie quickly. ‘A-tishoo, a-tishoo – see!’
‘And me. I’m sure my nose feels stuffed up,’ said Phil. ‘Perhaps we’d better all stay off school tomorrow.’
‘Now look what you’ve started!’ said Dad. ‘You little monkeys! You’re all going to school tomorrow even if you sneeze your heads off.’
Phil and Maddie were as right as rain in the morning, much to their annoyance. But I still wasn’t very well. I couldn’t breathe properly and I hurt all over. Mum bundled me up in two sweaters and two pairs of tights and my big winter coat and took me to the doctor’s.
I like Dr Jessop. We’re old friends.
‘Mmm, that chest sounds a bit crackly,’ she said. ‘I think we’d better give you some medicine, Tina.’
‘And do I have to go to school?’ I asked in a tiny, poorly voice.
‘I think you’d better have a day or two in bed,’ said Dr Jessop.
So Mum and I went home, and I put on soft clean pyjamas while Mum put crisp clean sheets on my bed, and then I curled up in my nice clean nest and tried to go back to sleep.
It felt very strange to be in the bedroom all by myself, without the sounds of Phil’s heavy breathing and Maddie tossing and turning. It was too quiet. I could just about hear Mum phoning her work to say she couldn’t come in today and then opening and closing cupboards in the kitchen, but up here in my bedroom everything was still and silent.
I peeped out of my sheets. The
three dolls on the windowsill were all looking at me. Rosebud was glaring, holding her rose as if she hated it. She was missing Baby too.
I felt so bad I started crying, and then it went on and on until my soft clean pyjamas and my crisp clean sheets were all hot and tangled and horrible.
‘Oh, darling,’ said Mum, coming into the bedroom. ‘You poor little pet! Why didn’t you call me? Where does it hurt, baby?’
When she said ‘baby’, I started wailing even harder.
‘I think we’d better call Dr Jessop again!’ said Mum.
‘I’m not crying . . . because I’m feeling rubbish . . . though I am feeling rubbish . . . I’m crying because . . . because I’ve been . . . very, very naughty!’ I said in little sobby jerks.
‘Oh dear! What have you done?’ Mum still had her arms round me and she was holding me tight.
‘I . . . I took Baby to school!’ I wailed.
‘Well, that was very naughty,’ said Mum, but she wiped my eyes tenderly with a tissue, and helped me blow my nose. ‘I did tell you not to take Baby to school. But never mind. No harm done.’
‘Yes there is! Lots and lots of harm,’ I wept. ‘Selma got her and threw her down the toilet!’
‘Oh my goodness! What a horrible girl. How dare she! She did it deliberately?’
‘Yes she did.’
‘Well, when I go and collect Phil and Maddie from school I’ll have a fierce word with Selma and her mother!’ said Mum indignantly.
‘Oh, Mum, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Selma and her mum might be very fierce back!’ I couldn’t help imagining this encounter.
This haunted me for the rest of the day . . . though Mum was being very kind, even though I’d been so naughty.
She gave me tomato soup for lunch. She didn’t mind when I left most of it. She still let me have ice cream for pudding.
Then she read to me again, and then I cuddled down to sleep and she stroked my forehead and sang to me as if I were still a little baby.
I went to sleep properly, and didn’t even wake up when Mrs Richards from next door came to watch me while Mum went to collect my sisters from school.
But I couldn’t help waking up when Maddie burst into the bedroom, Phil following closely behind.
‘Hey, Tina, you’ll never guess what!’ said Maddie.
‘Ssh, Maddie, I expect Tina’s got a headache,’ said Phil. ‘But just wait till you hear, Tina!’
I was still sleepy and I did have a headache, but I needed to sit up straight away and find out what had happened.
‘Is Mum OK?’ I asked, wondering if Selma or Selma’s mum really had flattened her.
‘Yes – she’s downstairs making Mrs Richards a cup of tea. And some smoothies for us, I hope, because I’m starving,’ said Maddie. ‘But listen, Tina. When Mum came to meet us, she went over to Selma’s mum and started a row with her!’
‘She didn’t start a row – she was ever so polite at first, but in a sort of icy way,’ said Phil. ‘You know: Excuse me, Mrs Johnson, I believe your little girl Selma took a small china doll belonging to my daughter Tina and flushed it down the lavatory last Friday.’
‘And Selma’s mum said, You what? So Mum said it all over again. And Selma goes, I never. But she looked all worried and guilty, so you could tell she was fibbing. So you’ll never ever guess what Selma’s mum did!’ said Maddie.
‘She didn’t thump Mum, did she?’ I asked anxiously.
‘No, silly! She thumped Selma,’ said Phil.
‘Thumped her?’
‘Yes, hit her hard about her head – whack, whack, whack!’ said Maddie.
This was so extraordinary that I forgot all about feeling ill and sat bolt upright in bed.
‘But you can’t hit children! Especially not your own little girl!’
‘I know. It’s not allowed. But she did it,’ said Phil.
‘She did it lots,’ said Maddie. ‘And Selma cried.’
‘She cried, and we saw, and I think that made her cry more,’ said Phil.
‘Well, it was her fault,’ said Maddie. ‘She shouldn’t have flushed Baby away. That was really mean.’
‘But not really mean enough to make your own mum smack you about the head,’ said Phil.
‘I’m ever so glad our mum doesn’t smack us,’ I said.
I couldn’t quite imagine it. Mum could get cross – very cross – but she’d never once smacked us, not even a little tap.
Dad could get cross too, but he’d never smacked us either.
Gran sometimes said she’d give us a smacked bottom when we were being very naughty, but she’d never actually done it.
Grandad never said it. He never got cross. Gran said he let us get away with blue murder.
When Mum brought up our smoothies on a tray, I said, ‘Mum, did Selma really get smacked?’
‘Yes, she did. And it was horrible. I wished I’d never said anything. I tried to stop Selma’s mum but she wouldn’t listen. She kept calling Selma horrible names too. Poor little Selma.’
It was weird to hear Selma called poor and little. Just for a minute it made me think of her differently.
‘She’s not poor, Mum,’ said Phil.
‘She’s not little either – she’s the tallest girl in the class,’ Maddie pointed out.
‘I dare say, but I still feel sorry for her, with a mum like that,’ said Mum.
‘She’s still the meanest girl ever,’ said Phil.
‘Especially to Tina,’ added Maddie.
‘I know, and that’s horrible,’ said Mum, ‘but I think she’s mean because her mum is mean to her. Perhaps . . . perhaps if you three girls tried to be extra nice to Selma, then she’d start being nice back . . .’
‘Maybe,’ said Phil, very doubtfully.
‘Or maybe not!’ said Maddie. ‘Excuse me saying so, Mum, but that’s a totally daft idea. You don’t know what Selma can be like.’
‘Well, let’s forget all about Selma now. Drink up your smoothies and then I think you’d better leave Tina in peace,’ said Mum.
‘No, she wants us with her, don’t you, Tina?’ said Phil.
‘It must have been weird for her without us all day long,’ said Maddie.
‘Don’t worry, Mum, we’ll be very quiet,’ said Phil.
‘Like little mice,’ said Maddie.
So Mum left us alone together. It was very cosy. They took turns reading to me in very soft, gentle voices.
Then Phil acted out Goldilocks and the Three Bears with Rosa and our teddies.
Maddie scooped Cheesepuff out of his cage so that he could come and say hello to me.
We’re not really allowed to take the hamsters out of their cage – once they all darted away when we were stroking them and we had to play Hunt the Hamster all over the house.
Mum would have been very cross if she’d seen Cheesepuff cuddled up in bed with me. But she didn’t come back and Cheesepuff didn’t try to run away, so no one got into trouble. It felt so lovely holding warm, furry Cheesepuff that I thought I might be getting better.
Dad came home from work with a big bunch of grapes. ‘These are for the invalid,’ he said.
That was me. But of course I shared them with Phil and Maddie.
I didn’t want much supper after that. I didn’t even fancy ice cream. I felt a bit sick. And then I was sick.
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said Mum.
She settled me down to sleep early, with a bowl beside my bed just in case. I went to sleep for a bit, but then I woke up and was sick again. And again.
Then Dad had to sleep in my bed while I was tucked up in the big bed with Mum. This is usually a big treat, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
I couldn’t go to school in the morning. I wasn’t just a bit poorly. I was really ill.
Chapter Nine
IT WAS JUST a cold at first, but then it went to my chest. When I saw Dr Jessop again, she murmured to Mum that I had a really nasty flu virus and she was worried I might be developing a touch o
f pneumonia. That’s the most interesting word. I’ve spelled it right, honestly. I asked Mum. I thought you’d spell it newmoanier.
It certainly made me feel full of new moans. My chest hurt and my head hurt, and my arms and legs hurt. In fact all of me hurt.
I had to stay in bed all the time and take some big pills that nearly got stuck in my throat.
Mum stayed at home with me the first week. She read to me.
But then she’d used up all her leave and had to go back to work.
Dad stayed at home with me for a few days. He read to me too. He didn’t always read out of a book.
Gran came too. But she insisted that Dad move Nibbles and Speedy and Cheesepuff out of the room. They squeaked indignantly. Then Gran squeaked, because she was rearranging Rosa and Primrose and Rosebud on the windowsill and saw that Rosebud was holding one flower instead of her little china baby.
Gran didn’t get cross with me. She got cross with Mum later, when she came back from collecting Phil and Maddie.
‘You should never have let Tina take that little dolly to school! You might have known she’d lose it,’ said Gran, going tut-tut-tut with her teeth.
Gran and Mum looked like they were going to get into a real argument.
Phil nudged me. ‘Groan, Tina,’ she hissed.
So I groaned a lot, and Mum and Gran came running to my bed, all concerned, and by the time they’d fetched me a cold flannel for my hot head and an extra quilt for my shivery body they’d forgotten all about Baby and their argument.
Gran came back the next day with her beauty case. She works part time as a manicurist. She did her own nails, and then, when they were dry, she did mine! I didn’t have to sit up in bed. I just had to poke my hands out on top of the duvet. Gran gave me the most amazing nails, with sparkly bits and little smiles. I couldn’t help smiling too, even though I was so poorly.
The Butterfly Club Page 6