The Butterfly Club

by Jacqueline Wilson

‘Well, in the long summer holidays I like to explore different countries. I’m planning a trip to Japan next year. I’m trying to learn a little Japanese, but without much success so far. This last summer I went to Australia.’

  ‘Did you see any kangaroos and koalas?’ I asked.

  ‘Only in a zoo. But I was surprised to encounter herds of camels out in the Australian bush. And I desperately wanted to see a Tasmanian devil, but I didn’t get lucky. Which was possibly just as well as they’re very fierce animals.’

  ‘Do you go away at Christmas and Easter too, Miss Lovejoy?’

  ‘I’m having a little skiing holiday this Christmas. And at Easter I’m planning a long weekend in Paris,’ she said dreamily.

  Selma and I looked at each other. We tried to imagine Miss Lovejoy skiing and had to bite our lips to stop laughing out loud. This Miss Lovejoy on holiday sounded like a different person altogether.

  ‘Where do you go on holiday, Selma?’ I asked.

  Selma suddenly went as stiff as her spade. ‘All over,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Yes, but where?’

  ‘Seaside.’

  ‘In Norfolk?’

  ‘Nah, not boring old Norfolk. We go to Spain and Italy and all them foreign places. Paris.’

  ‘You went to the seaside in Paris?’ I said.

  ‘Yeah, so what?’

  I knew Selma was fibbing again. I’d been to Paris on a special holiday for poorly children. Mum and Dad and Phil and Maddie had come too. We went to EuroDisney. Paris wasn’t anywhere near the seaside.

  I was about to tell her this triumphantly when I saw Miss Lovejoy frown at me. Frown at me quite fiercely.

  So I didn’t say anything. I went on digging. I’d cleared up all the horrible litter, and now I was chief uprooter of weeds. Whenever it rained hard overnight and made the earth softer I did a bit of digging too, but only with the little spade.

  Later that day, at going-home time, Miss Lovejoy stopped me as I skipped out of the classroom.

  ‘Good girl for holding your tongue about Paris, Tina,’ she whispered. ‘I could see you were absolutely bursting to say you knew it didn’t have a seaside.’

  ‘But why did you want me to keep quiet when you knew Selma was telling fibs?’

  ‘I didn’t think it would be tactful to make her look silly. It was all my fault anyway. I should never have started burbling on about holidays.’

  I stared at her. Fancy Miss Lovejoy admitting she was at fault! In class she made out that she was absolutely perfect and always right.

  I still didn’t understand.

  ‘I don’t think Selma ever goes on holidays,’ Miss Lovejoy told me.

  ‘What? Not in the summer?’ I asked.

  ‘Not ever. Selma’s family . . . struggles. She’s not a lucky girl like you, Tina.’

  I stared. I’d never been called lucky before. I was the scrawny little sick girl, the one who nearly died, the child who wasn’t good at lessons, the triplet who was far smaller than her sisters. I was lucky?

  ‘Yes, lucky,’ Miss Lovejoy repeated. ‘You’ve got lovely sisters who are very kind to you, and a mother who cares so much about you that she comes and beards the old dragon in her den.’

  How did Miss Lovejoy know Mum called her the old dragon!

  I gave a little snigger.

  ‘And I’m sure you have a lovely father who’s always very gentle with you,’ Miss Lovejoy continued. ‘And I know you have a very pretty bedroom and lots of toys and story books. You’re allowed to keep pet hamsters. You bring very tasty, nourishing packed lunches to school. You always wear clean, carefully ironed clothes with bright white socks and polished shoes. You’ve been taught manners and how to speak nicely. You’re very lucky, Tina. Think about it.’

  She gestured for me to go, and I caught up with Phil and Maddie. I did think about it all the way home. I thought about scary Mrs Johnson who hit Selma. She didn’t have a dad – she’d had different stepdads and they all sounded very fierce. Her whole family looked fierce, even her little brothers.

  I didn’t know what her bedroom was like, but I couldn’t imagine it being pink and white and pretty. I could see for myself that Selma didn’t have nice clothes. Her skirt was so old it was shiny at the back and her hem hung down. Her school sweatshirt never got washed at the weekend, so it had stains down the front and grubby sleeves. She didn’t have any socks at all, she just wore grubby trainers. They were too tight for her – when she had to take them off for dance and drama there were red marks at her heels and her toes looked sore. And her feet smelled.

  Phil and Maddie and I always had a laugh together about Selma’s smelly feet, but now it didn’t seem quite so funny. I started to feel a bit sorry for Selma, even though she was still the meanest girl ever.

  When we were gardening she was still mean to me sometimes, especially when Miss Lovejoy was on playground duty.

  ‘You’re still useless at digging, Little Bug,’ she said.

  ‘You’re so little. My brother Sam’s only three, but he’s bigger than you,’ she said.

  ‘You and your sisters think you’re so great but you’re rubbish. You’re all spoiled lah-di-dah babies,’ she said.

  Each mean thing she said made my stomach clench, as if she’d poked me hard with her spade. Sometimes I nearly cried, but I couldn’t because that would make her jeer at me even more.

  She never actually poked me with the spade, though sometimes she picked it up and aimed it at me like a machine gun. I knew it was only pretend but I couldn’t help squealing all the same.

  But then I discovered a marvellous way of getting my own back! Selma was frightened of worms!

  We hadn’t found any worms at all when the earth was still baked hard. But now that it was softer and we could dig deeper, we suddenly came across some.

  ‘Yuck!’ said Selma, and she threw her spade down and ran off. ‘Worms!’

  ‘Worms are a wonderful help for gardeners,’ said Miss Lovejoy. ‘They process the earth for us. It goes in at one end and comes out the other, which makes it much better quality.’

  ‘That’s disgusting,’ said Selma. ‘I’m not digging no more, not if there are worms!’

  ‘I’m not frightened of worms. I think they’re interesting,’ I told her.

  ‘I bet you are frightened!’

  ‘No I’m not. Look!’ I bent down and picked up the biggest, wriggliest, pinkest worm and cupped it in my hand.

  ‘Eew!’ said Selma, keeping her distance.

  I brought my hand up, as if I were going to throw a ball. Selma screamed and ducked.

  ‘Tina!’ said Miss Lovejoy. ‘Put that worm back in the earth!’

  ‘I wasn’t really going to throw it at Selma,’ I said. Well, I was considering it, but I didn’t think it would be very kind to the worm.

  ‘I should hope not.’ Miss Lovejoy was trying to look shocked, but her mouth was twitching as if she wanted to laugh.

  Selma went on digging very cautiously. Soon she screamed again.

  ‘Another worm, Selma?’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort it. Come on, little wormy. Let’s find you another bit of earth, away from that nasty spade. Here, boy. There!’

  ‘You’re nuts,’ said Selma weakly.

  But now, whenever she started being mean, I just scrabbled in the earth, looking for a worm. She shut up as soon as I found one. Gardening was a lot more peaceful now.

  One playtime Harry kicked the football so hard it came bouncing right over to our garden. At that very moment Selma dug up a whole writhing knot of worms. She was shrieking her head off.

  Harry came running up to get the ball. He stared at Selma. ‘What’s the matter with her?’ he asked me. Then he saw the worms. ‘Wow, look at those worms! Is that why you’re yelling, Selma? Are you scared of worms?’

  Selma shut up. She bit her lip.

  ‘She is scared, isn’t she, Tina?’ said Harry, laughing.

  I hesitated. I liked Harry so much. I wanted to join in the joke and
have a good laugh at Selma with him. It would make me feel really good, wouldn’t it?

  But when I looked at Selma, I wasn’t so sure. ‘Oh, Harry!’ I said. ‘As if Selma would be scared of worms! Selma’s not scared of anything.’

  ‘Then why was she yelling her head off?’

  ‘She just stuck her spade right into her foot. Anyone would yell,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, right.’ Harry bounced the ball. ‘How come you girls call this a garden? It’s just a patch of dirt. Why don’t you plant some flowers?’

  ‘We’ve got to prepare the earth first. It’s going to take ages. And then we can’t plant most things when it’s winter because the ground will be too cold. The roots wouldn’t be able to spread out and get all the moisture and goodness,’ I said, showing off a bit.

  It was weird. I couldn’t remember anything Miss Lovejoy said in lessons – but when she talked about gardening I remembered all of it.

  Harry started to look bored even though I thought I was saying the most interesting things. He ran off back to the football game.

  Selma and I went on gardening. She didn’t thank me. She didn’t say anything at all. She didn’t even look at me. But from that day on she stopped being mean to me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  SELMA AND I went on digging day after day, week after week.

  ‘You’ll have to manage without me for a while, girls,’ said Miss Lovejoy. She was walking very stiffly and looked more frowny than usual. ‘I’ve done my back in. It must be all this digging. Maybe it’s not such good exercise if you’re an old lady!’

  ‘Don’t worry, miss,’ said Selma. ‘Tina and me will do it all.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Miss Lovejoy,’ said Miss Lovejoy. ‘But thank you very much, Selma. I know you two girls will carry on valiantly.’

  Phil and Maddie were a bit worried about me, the first playtime without Miss Lovejoy. They came and hovered.

  ‘What are you gawping at, Dim Twins?’ said Selma. ‘Clear off!’

  ‘Don’t be like that, Selma,’ said Phil. ‘We’re not getting in the way.’

  ‘We’re just watching out for our sister,’ said Maddie.

  ‘Well, she’s fine. Aren’t you, Little Bug?’

  ‘Don’t call her that!’ said Phil.

  ‘And don’t call us Dim Twins either, or we’ll start calling you names and you won’t like it,’ said Maddie.

  I got worried then. I knew all our private Selma nicknames – Smelly Feet, Snot Face, and worse. I’d once joined in the name-calling at home and we’d all got the most dreadful giggles. But now I didn’t want to call Selma names any more. Especially not to her face.

  ‘I’m fine, Phil. I’m fine, Maddie. You go now.’ I said it so fiercely that they wandered off, looking slightly hurt. They still checked up on me every now and then. Some of the other children came to see what we were doing too.

  ‘Can I do some digging, Selma?’ asked Kayleigh.

  It looked like she’d got fed up with her dancing. She was still Selma’s sort of friend in class. I was worried. Selma on her own was starting to be OK, but Selma and Kayleigh together might well gang up on me.

  ‘Go on, Selma. Give us a spade,’ said Kayleigh.

  Oh dear. We did have a spare spade. Selma was using the big spade now – ‘Because I know I can trust you to be very careful with it,’ Miss Lovejoy had said. So we had one smaller spade that wasn’t being used.

  Selma looked at it. And then she looked at me. ‘Sorry, Kayleigh,’ she said. ‘This is our private garden. Only us two can dig in it.’

  ‘She’s not digging,’ said Kayleigh, nodding at me.

  She was right. I was having a little rest, picking out some big stones and re-homing worms instead.

  ‘She’s not strong enough to dig dig dig all the time. Not like me. But she’s still doing garden work,’ said Selma. ‘Now clear off and do your stupid dancing, Kayleigh.’

  Kayleigh did clear off. But then Peter and Mick came ambling over.

  ‘Want us to do some gardening, you two?’ asked Peter.

  ‘We’ve got muscles – look.’ Mick posed to show off his arms. ‘We’re big and strong as gorillas!’ He thumped his chest and made mad gorilla noises.

  I couldn’t help giggling.

  Selma gave me a look. ‘Don’t encourage them,’ she said. ‘Clear off, you boys. This is our garden, me and Tina’s.’

  Alistair was even less welcome. He didn’t offer to dig. He wouldn’t have been any better at it than me. He offered advice instead.

  ‘How many weeks have you been digging now? And you’re not even halfway finished. You do realize, if you’d got the whole class to dig this patch, then you’d have done it all long ago.’

  ‘But there wouldn’t be any point, Mr Smarty-Pants, because we’re not going to start planting until spring next year,’ said Selma.

  ‘And then all the butterflies will come,’ I said, seeing huge flocks of butterflies swooping over the playground and landing on our garden like a fluttering mosaic.

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Alistair, in his loud booming voice. ‘There aren’t any caterpillars around here, are there? I think it’s going to take several seasons for your butterfly garden to work properly.’

  ‘It will so work,’ I said, wanting to kick him.

  ‘And I doubt you’re going to get plants to grow in this earth anyway,’ he went on.

  ‘Yes we will. It’s ever so wormy,’ said Selma.

  ‘But it doesn’t look right,’ said Alistair, bending down to inspect it. ‘I’m one hundred per cent certain you need some kind of compost. That’s what my father uses in his garden.’

  ‘I’m one hundred per cent certain I’m going to whack you with my spade if you don’t clear off,’ said Selma.

  We looked at each other when he was gone.

  ‘What’s compost?’ I asked.

  ‘Haven’t got a clue,’ said Selma. ‘Oh, that Alistair! He really does my head in!’

  ‘Me too,’ I said. But I was starting to worry. Alistair was nearly always one hundred per cent right.

  I was in trouble with Miss Lovejoy that afternoon because my spelling was even worse than usual.

  ‘You can spell when you want to, Tina. You can spell chrysalis and buddleia and antennae, and they’re very difficult words. You’re very exasperating,’ said Miss Lovejoy.

  ‘Yes, Miss Lovejoy.’ I wondered if she’d finished telling me off. ‘Miss Lovejoy, what’s compost?’

  ‘Can we concentrate on your spelling just now, Tina?’

  ‘Yes, Miss Lovejoy. But when we’re finished, will you tell me what compost is, because Alistair says plants won’t grow without it.’

  ‘Alistair is right,’ she said. ‘As always.’ She sounded as if he irritated her a little bit too. ‘I have a compost heap at home in my garden. It’s all my vegetable peelings and rotted down leaves. I rake it into the soil and it makes it richer.’

  ‘Can you spare some for the butterfly garden?’

  ‘There wouldn’t be anywhere near enough. We’ll need to buy several bags of compost from a garden centre.’

  ‘Oh. So you have to pay for it?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Do you think you can buy compost from a pound shop?’

  ‘I think big bags of compost cost a lot more than a pound.’

  I sighed heavily. I had precisely fifty pence in my piggy bank. I could save up my pocket money – though it would be awful watching Phil and Maddie buy sweets and necklaces and rings and tiny animals and comics and treats for Nibbles and Speedy and Cheesepuff if I had to save every penny.

  Still, it would be worth it to get a butterfly garden. Then I had another realization. I hit myself on the side of my head. ‘Oh no!’ I groaned.

  ‘What’s the matter, Tina? Are you overcome with shame because of your atrocious spelling?’ asked Miss Lovejoy.

  ‘No, I just thought of something else. Do plants cost money too?’

  ‘I’m afraid they do.�
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  ‘Even weedy plants like nettles?’

  ‘Well, I dare say you could help yourself to some nettles growing wild and no one would mind. But you will need to buy shrubs and seedlings from a garden centre.’

  ‘They’re going to cost a lot, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. You’re going to need lots and lots of plants if you want to attract all the butterflies in the neighbourhood. Fifty pounds’ worth. Maybe even a hundred.’

  A hundred pounds! I’d never had that much money in my life. Only grown-ups had that sort of money.

  I took a deep breath. ‘You couldn’t possibly help a bit with funding, could you, Miss Lovejoy? Seeing as it’s your butterfly garden as well as Selma’s and mine?’

  ‘My goodness, you’ve got a cheek, young lady!’ said Miss Lovejoy, though she looked amused rather than cross. ‘Still, if you don’t ask you don’t get. Although I’m afraid you won’t get anything at all from me. I save every penny for my holidays, you know that. But I’m happy to make a suggestion. Why don’t you and Selma try to raise funds?’

  ‘How can we do that?’

  ‘You could have a sale at school – maybe make cakes and biscuits to sell at playtime . . . And we always have a Christmas fete in December. I could let you and Selma have a special white elephant stall, if you like.’

  ‘A white elephant stall?’ I said, baffled.

  ‘It’s a stall where you can buy anything, old or new – rare items, like white elephants.’

  ‘Like a junk stall?’

  ‘More or less. And perhaps you could get people to sponsor you on a walk?’

  ‘But I can’t walk very far, so I wouldn’t raise much.’

  ‘I tell you what – I’ll sponsor you in a spelling test. I’ll make you a list of all the words you have difficulty with – and we both know there are a great many! Then I’ll give you time to learn them, and if you get them all right – nearly all right – I’ll contribute some money for plants.’

  I stared at her.

  That was a very crafty suggestion! I hoped it would be a lot of money.