by Claire Davis
Finn understood immediately. He knelt on the bed and peered. “The cobweb! Napoleon Bonaparte? Where are you?”
Johnny sat next to him, wanting to touch. “How come you’re wearing a unicorn dressing gown?” From somewhere, he got the nerve to reach out and stroke Finn’s arm. “He isn’t called Napoleon.” Finn watched Johnny’s hand and then somehow they were hugging. For ages they snuggled on the bed.
“Of course he’s called Napoleon. He’s an expert in tasting milk and he dances gorky, yet cool,” Finn said finally, his voice a little hoarse. “I believe he’s an American. Haven’t you seen that film?”
“What? Oh, you mean Napoleon Dynamite. Oh my god.” Johnny collapsed into laughter. “You really need some help with your education. That’s who the seeking was for—you. I’m your teacher. Napoleon Bonaparte was a leader, years ago.” For once, Finn was clean and cheese and onion free. “Can I stroke your face?”
“I don’t think there’s much you can’t do, Johnny Strong.” Finn leaned into Johnny’s hand. “You have a strength uncrushable as the woods.” Johnny traced the lines of Finn’s face, down his nose and across his jaw. He brushed the light hair beginning to form and the soft earlobes. “I think the person needing help was Greg. He didn’t used to be a wanker. I guess he turned into one from all the work and targets and stuff. You reminded him of what matters.”
“He’s trying to find my box. It’s weird, but you seem more real now I know about you,” Johnny admitted. “Less wizard and more boy. Maybe I didn’t dare believe in you before in case they sent you away.”
“That makes sense. So what’s the ghost called?”
“Granddad. Or sometimes Nan. The ghost used to have two voices, but I forgot how they sounded and then they sort of merged.” Somehow Johnny knew Finn wouldn’t laugh. “I know it’s silly, but it helped me get through the day.”
Johnny woke with hammering in his ears and panic. “What?” he said, struggling to get up. Someone was sitting on the bed, shaking his arm. “What is it?”
“It’s me. Just me.” Finn switched on the bedside lamp. The sudden light burnt.
Johnny squinted and tried to get back under the covers. “Go away,” he mumbled. “It’s still dark.” Insistent hands began peeling the quilt away until cold forced him to sit up. “What do you want?” he grumbled.
“To show you something.” Finn was dressed in hat and scarf. Tufts of fringe poked out as if trying to fight free of the striped beanie. He grinned. “You look hot when you wake up. Like a grumpy bear.”
“Grr. Where did you get that hat?” Johnny giggled despite the cold and still being half-asleep. “It’s meant for a little kid.”
“Same place I got the unicorn dressing gown—in the black bag of throw-away things by the door.”
Johnny watched blearily as Finn began putting socks over his feet. “Please don’t tell me I have to go on the run ’cause I’d be no good.” He raised his arms like a little kid, allowing Finn to cover up his pyjamas in a Christmas jumper. “Is there an emergency?”
“There you go. You’ll be nice and cosy now.” Finn patted his cheek softly. “No emergency. I just have to show you something. Come on.” He pulled Johnny upright. “Put on shoes and a coat because it’s freezing.”
Johnny rammed his feet into trainers. “Why do I always do what you tell me? I’ve got a feeling it’s going to get me in a lot of trouble one day.” Awake now, the heady excitement at being around Finn stirred. “Morning,” he said quietly. “Don’t I get a kiss?” He grappled with arms—his own and Finn’s—as they tried various positions before settling on standing close together, not quite touching. The kiss slipped over, picking him up and transporting them both into a delicious state of arousal. “Do you feel that?”
“Yeah. Come on, else we’ll never go.” Finn took his hand and led them into the silent corridor. One finger on his mouth to indicate silence, he walked quickly with a serious expression.
Johnny concentrated on not tripping as they made their way down the stairs, still holding hands. Manoeuvring stairs while attached to another person turned out to be fraught. They crashed into the wall at the bottom.
“Oops!” Finn laughed silently. Waves of something amazing went through Johnny. He slipped his arms around Finn’s waist from behind and squeezed hard.
They tiptoed outside. Early morning light was breaking over the garden and everything was still. “Over here.” Finn knelt down. “What do you see?”
Johnny bent to look. “The tree. The grass. Branches…” he yawned, and then he saw. “Cobweb. It’s beautiful.” Strong and new, dripping with morning dew. “And there—another one.” He looked around the garden as if for the first time, seeing all the webs. “I never knew—I mean, I never looked before.”
“It’s never really over, not for Napoleon. You see? I wanted you to see that so you wouldn’t worry. He’ll never leave you and nor will I, Johnny Strong.”
Kissing in the garden with birds singing and cold nipping was a rebirth into a new world. Johnny forgot about where to put his arms and lost himself in heat, wonder, and Finn.
“How did you know about the ghost? Your ears need a wash,” Johnny said, eventually, after the kiss began making his body move in ways that couldn’t be stopped. “Did Greg tell you?” Ages ago in therapy, Johnny had written about the ghost. It turned out to be one of the worst mistakes of his life because the therapist told Greg, who told Anna. “I know they take the piss.”
Finn hesitated. Johnny’s heart plummeted sixty miles—probably down into Australia. “I heard them talking,” he confessed. “When I first arrived. They dumped me in the corridor outside the shat room—”
“Chat room.”
“Yeah! They were laughing about you, and an imaginary ghost in the corner of the window. It made me so mad!” Finn pushed his head close against Johnny’s. “Because they’re stupid, and can’t see. I just couldn’t wait to meet you then.” Johnny felt Finn’s smile against his cheek. “I fell in love with you before we even met—a boy with a cobweb ghost!” He nibbled Johnny’s neck. “So brilliant.”
“Was it you leaving pine needles everywhere?” Johnny managed.
“Mm. Yeah.” Finn drew back and gazed towards the sky. “It’s one of the things Dad used to say.” A hundred emotions flashed into his eyes. “The doctors say it’s all crap, and some of it is. At the end—it scared me so much. He was gone. Just gone. But sometimes, what he said—I understood him!” Finn’s eyes filled with tears. “Once, he said, ‘I am nobody’s butterfly,’ and it made me cry because it’s such a lonely thing not to be lovely to anyone. The last week, he wrote it all over the wall in lines and battalions—I am nobody’s butterfly.” Tears ran down his face. “It was his way of saying, he knew—he knew he was different and not…not the handsome men on TV,” he sobbed, “not like anyone. And it’s not right! People don’t have to be perfect to be lovely.”
“I’m so sorry. I hope he gets better. I’m sorry, Finn.”
“And he had this magic! I don’t mean my wizard stuff—I know that’s rubbish. It was only me trying to—be like him—close to him. He knew things. Like he knew pine is a very powerful love potion.”
“It is?”
“Yeah!” Finn wiped his eyes. “I left a few needles outside your room and all over the house. I imbibed them with my love.” He laughed softly. “But you know what’s really weird? Before I even came here, I kept having dreams about this ghost pulling my arm, trying to tell me something. There is magic, Johnny. Don’t let anyone tell you different.”
“Your pine spell worked,” Johnny said suddenly, before he got too anxious or tripped over the words. “I’m not saying it didn’t. Your dad is right! But that wasn’t what made me notice you. I mean, it was magic, but not that kind.”
At the corner of the window, a single remaining thread of cobweb clung on amidst dirt and dust. Johnny sat in bed, watching it blow in the breeze—all that remained of the ghost. He waited for the mould patch to star
t moving or the racing cars pattern to nudge the depression. Waited and waited. Certainly there was an ache at the lack of ghost, but rather than the pang spreading into anxiety and upset, instead it was overcome by memories—Nan taking him to the park on a new bike, Granddad explaining how to use the insect catcher—Christmases long gone. He smiled at the framed photo on his bedside table of the three of them. Greg said he’d moved heaven and earth to find it, but Johnny was sure it was down to Finn’s finding spell.
“I know you’re still there. I made the ghost up—I thought I made you up. But you’ll always be there.” The curtain swished a little, like the cobweb would when the ghost laughed.
The heating came on at six-thirty, so he waited until then because it was too cold to move. It couldn’t have been more than half an hour since Finn slipped off back to his own room, but still the pillow bore the imprint of his head where he’d slept. For a while, Johnny touched the parts of the bed Finn had touched—running his hands up and down the slight hollow in the memory foam. People shed roughly 700 grams a year of skin cells not visible to the human eye, which meant that even when he wasn’t there, a part of Finn remained. Although nothing had prevented Johnny from doing it before, he moved into the hollow with glee. Quickly, he stripped off pyjamas and enjoyed the sensation of bed against skin. Knowing his naked body brushed Finn’s skin particles was giddy and wild.
Outside, the world was beginning to stir. Car engines, a dog barking. It wouldn’t be long before the kids left at Windybank began waking up, and then the day would descend into chaos. Johnny dressed quickly and made his way downstairs and out to the garden.
The bushes and trees were full of intricate cobwebs, some newly spun. “Morning, Mum. Morning, Nan and Granddad,” he whispered. “Happy Christmas. It’s going to be a good one, this year.” The garden smelt fresh and new. Within the leaves and underground, teeming life carried on. There would be spiders and worms, ants and beetles making nests and homes. A noise from the garden next door made him look across the hedge. The man was letting out his dog, rubbing hands together. “Good morning,” Johnny called bravely. “Happy Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you too,” the man raised a hand. “Chilly morning.”
Johnny looked back once towards the cobwebs and then hurried inside. Finn waited in the spot the suitcases had stood, wearing a Christmas jumper with a red pom-pom. “Happy Christmas.” The kiss tasted of cheese and onion crisps, mince pie and maybe hot chocolate. He danced them around the hallway. “I didn’t want to disturb you out there. Are you OK?”
“Yeah. I spoke to the bloke next door!”
From his pocket Finn produced a paper hat. “So the rhubarb pie spell worked?” He plonked it on Johnny’s head and then guided them underneath the plastic mistletoe stuck above the door. “I don’t think we’ve kissed enough yet. Do you?”
“No,” Johnny said fervently. He wound his arms around Finn’s neck, pushed his body close, and decided it was time to let his tongue free.
“One last present,” Greg said. They sat around the Christmas tree on wrapping paper, presents and pine needles. Most of the kids had gone for the day—to relatives—friends—but a few like Johnny and Finn remained at Windybank. “Do you want to give him it, Johnny?”
Talking in front of lots of people turned out to be much trickier than only talking to Finn, Greg and Anna. He took the parcel and handed it to Finn, who was adorned in tinsel and decorations. For a few seconds, he couldn’t meet his eyes, and burned with anxiety. Everyone looked. Then he remembered the never-ending cobwebs in the garden, lit up with moisture and life.
“Go on, Johnny,” one of the little kids—Bella—said.
“You can do it!” another urged.
Long ago, Nan and Granddad had given him a bike for Christmas. They went to the park, and after many attempts, he finally rode it across the grass. He remembered them waving him on, shouting and calling encouragement.
Finally, he looked up to Finn’s crooked smile-not-a-grin. “It’s from me. Happy Christmas.” The room erupted with cheering while Johnny erupted with redness, and pride.
“Johnny talked! He never used to talk,” Bella shouted. “It’s a miracle.”
“He always talked. It’s just that no-one heard.” Finn carefully unwrapped the parcel. He began giggling, peal after peal of infectious laughter. “It’s a magic kit.” He held up the box and showed Bella. “You see? There’s a top hat and a wand, and a little cat. I can learn how to perform magic so I can produce bunnies out of the air!” He toppled forward and covered Johnny with cheese and onion breath and happiness. “Thank you. I heard,” he whispered. Around them, the sounds of excited kids mingled with smells of roast turkey. Christmas songs played in the kitchen, and magic was in the air. “Because—”
“You’re my wizard,” Johnny finished, in between kisses. “The best wizard ever.”
“One more present here—hiding under the tree,” Greg called suddenly. “It’s for everyone, from me.” He held out the box. “But I’d like Johnny and Finn to open it.”
“You open it,” Johnny urged.
“No, you,” Finn insisted.
In the end, after much protestation and banter, they peeled off a corner each. Inside was a box covered with pictures of butterflies. “It’s for the summer. It’s not much,” Greg said shyly, struggling a bit with the words. “You order the caterpillars, and when they arrive, you keep them in a container for a while. You have to feed them, keep them safe and warm.” He gathered up Bella onto his knee. “And they grow and feel happy and confident, because they’re loved. And one day, they turn into beautiful butterflies. And if you’ve done your job right, you let them free into the garden, and watch them fly.”
The End
Claire Davis and Al Stewart have been writing together since college.
Claire Davis
Claire is a writer of YA and adult fiction.
https://www.amazon.com/Claire-Davis/e/B00ZNK2AOQ
Al Stewart
Al is a poet and writer of YA and adult fiction.
https://www.amazon.com/Al-Stewart/e/B072LMF4HC
http://astewartcdavisbook.wix.com/author
Tork and Adam Series
The Invasion of Tork (Boughs of Evergreen)
The Invasion of Adam
If I Should Stumble
Coming Up (Al Stewart and Debbie McGowan)
Eight Inches to make Johnny Smile
The Forest Savage
Ribbons and Frills (Summer Bigger Than Others)
A Case in Time (Al Stewart and Noah Homes)
The Trap (Love Unlocked)
Last Dance of the Sugarplum
Dear Mona Lisa
Shut Your Face, Anthony Pace
Nobody’s Butterfly
For more titles from Beaten Track Publishing,
please visit our website:
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