Paper Butterflies

by Lisa Heathfield

  “I want lots,” Blister says. “Maybe not seven, but definitely a lot.”

  Si comes rushing out from the kitchen.

  “Can June do the coconut toss now?” he asks, holding a tennis ball high above his head.

  “Just me?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Blister replies, standing up. He puts his hand out to pull me up too.

  The rest of his family spills from the house and gathers around me at the bench piled high with empty tin cans.

  Si gives me the ball.

  “Why only me?” I ask, looking questioningly at Blister.

  “Because if you knock them all off,” he says, “you get a prize.” I raise my eyebrows at him and he laughs. “Stand back, everyone. Give the top can crasher some space.”

  The children all step back.

  “Aim carefully,” Tom says.

  I swing my arm and throw the ball. Half the cans clatter to the ground, leaving a sort of jagged triangle.

  “Not bad,” Blister says.

  “But I don’t get my prize.”

  “I didn’t say you had to do it with one shot. Just that you have to knock them all off.”

  “Oh. That’s easy,” I say. It takes two more throws before I dislodge the final can and the shelf is empty. “Ta-da.” I bow to the crowd.

  Blister walks to the flower bed behind the bench. He reaches next to a rock and comes back with a little paper bag.

  “I didn’t manage to win you anything at the real fair. So I got you this.” He’s suddenly awkward. “It’s an early birthday present.”

  “He couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” Mrs. Wick laughs.

  Chubbers claps his hands and jumps from foot to foot.

  “Open it,” Mil urges me.

  “Give her a bit of space!” Mr. Wick says, trying to move them all back a bit.

  “It’s OK,” I say.

  I open the bag. It’s a necklace, with a tiny compass at the end.

  “It’s a locket,” Blister says. “It opens.” Inside is a bit of chipped stone with “L or R?” written above it.

  I stay so still, staring at it.

  “Do you like it?” Blister asks.

  “I love it,” I say.

  “Shall I put it on you?” he asks.

  I nod.

  Blister closes the compass and holds it in place. I turn away from him, so he can clasp it. I can feel it against my skin. I reach my fingers up to touch it.

  Blister bends down and kisses me gently.

  “You’ll never get lost now,” he smiles.

  Before

  one week later

  “I was with Jennifer and Helen at Creekend Pool,” I lie, remembering instead Blister and me side by side on the grass, our feet flat against the outside wall of our trailer.

  I push the creamy potato around my plate. Kathleen never gives me so much when my dad is here, but I still don’t want to eat it.

  “I was there, too,” Megan says, “with Emily. But I didn’t see you.”

  “I didn’t see you, either,” I say. I put the food in my mouth so that I don’t have to say anymore.

  “Emily said that Bell Farm Fair was really fun,” Megan says, looking at my dad. But I know she’s talking to me. It was her friends who spotted me there with Blister and his family. “We should go next year.”

  I can hear Kathleen eating. There’s the scrape of the cutlery against the plate and her mouth chewing her food. It’s one of my worst sounds in the world. It makes me feel sick. She swallows her mouthful.

  “You won’t get me going on one of those rides,” Dad laughs.

  “June’s got some news,” Megan says. She’s smiling, as though she’s my friend.

  “Oh?” But he doesn’t sound that interested as he puts a big forkful of shredded green beans into his mouth. I get the feeling that my dad’s given up on me. That he has no energy left to unravel the mess that I’ve become. It makes me want to shout that maybe I’ve given up on him too. I don’t think he’s even thought of that, or that he even cares.

  “You should tell them,” Megan says. I look at her, as if I don’t understand. But I think I do. I’m sure I know what she’s going to say.

  “You tell us, then,” Kathleen urges her, prodding her arm playfully with the end of her fork.

  “June’s got a boyfriend,” Megan says.

  Dad stares at me, surprised. And it’s almost worth hearing it, to see the look on Kathleen’s face. Yet, inside, I’m terrified. Blister is my secret. My precious thing that I never want them to know, never want them to touch. But now he’s at the threshold to our house and Megan is going to drag him in.

  “No, I don’t,” I say.

  “Yes, you do,” Megan says, putting the smallest mouthful of potato into her nasty, little mouth. “It’s great, June. Don’t be embarrassed about it.”

  “Honey, it’s wonderful,” Kathleen says. She leans right over and squeezes my hand.

  “You didn’t tell me,” my dad says.

  “Because it’s not true,” I lie.

  “So that’s where you’ve been sneaking off to,” Kathleen laughs. “You’ve been with a boy.”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “So you’ve been lying about where you’ve been?” My dad looks hurt, rather than angry.

  If you hadn’t stopped paying attention to me, maybe I would have told you, I want to yell at him. You should have noticed. You should already know.

  “What’s his name?” Kathleen asks, her voice like a child. “You could invite him over. We could do a lunch.”

  Megan looks at me. I can see triumph behind that smile, but my dad just can’t see it. Or won’t.

  “You know I haven’t got a boyfriend, Megan,” I say, more loudly than I’d intended. “You’re being cruel.”

  My dad turns to her. Really look at her, Dad. Please see.

  “Why would Megan say that?” is all he asks.

  “Maybe she’s hiding her own boyfriend,” I say.

  I can tell that I’ve got them. They don’t know who to believe. I have a flicker of power for the first time. I hold it with both hands.

  “Megan?” Kathleen asks. A red blush creeps up Megan’s white skin. “Do you have a boyfriend?” Megan looks like she might cry. I don’t feel any pity, not even a tiny drop.

  “No,” she says.

  “You girls,” my dad laughs. “I can’t keep up with you.”

  And I think I’ve won.

  •••

  I know she’s following me. I thought she would, as soon as I saw her looking at me like that when I left the house. I stop my bicycle and hear the car stop. I start again and its engine starts up. I won’t look behind me. I have to pretend that I don’t know.

  I do a big detour, cutting off way before our trailers, so that Kathleen doesn’t go anywhere close. I loop back and end up at the edge of the river path by our house. Cars can’t come down here.

  I pedal quickly on the stony ground, around the corner and out of sight.

  I haven’t come here for months. I like to see my mom’s heron, but I hate that it’s at the spot where she died. Where they dragged her lifeless body from the river.

  And my dad replaced her with Kathleen.

  Not long, Blister always says. Soon, you’ll be free.

  I slow my bike as I see the heron, sitting looking at the water. My mom loved it here. There were nicer places to swim, with clearer water, but she liked it here. She said dark things made her feel safer.

  But then it killed her.

  There’s a noise behind me. I turn round and she’s here.

  “So, you’ve been coming here,” Kathleen laughs. “No boyfriend after all.” She walks out from among the trees. Instinctively, I step back, although she’s not close enough to touch me. “Just like your mom, an ugly little duckling. But then one of the ugly little ducklings drowned.”

  “She wasn’t ugly,” I say. I want to kill her.

  “That’s not what your father says.” Her smile burns me.
But I lock myself down. I try to put up a shield so high that her words can’t find a way in.

  “He’d never say that about my mom.”

  “Wouldn’t he? He thinks I’m far prettier than she ever was. And he thinks that Megan is far prettier than you.”

  “I don’t care what you say about Megan. He’ll always love me more than her.”

  “Will he?”

  “Yes. He’s my dad,” I tell her.

  “And he shouldn’t favor one daughter over another, should he?”

  “Megan’s not his daughter.”

  “Maybe you don’t know everything,” she says calmly.

  Her look makes my stomach turn over.

  Then she smiles at me and before I can stop her she picks up my mom’s heron. She yanks it hard from its wooden pole in the ground.

  “No,” I try to say. She steps back and swings it violently against a tree. There’s a loud crack. She swings it again and the heron begins to splinter. Again, and it’s cracked in two.

  There are voices on the path. Kathleen drops my mom’s broken heron on the grass.

  “Oh, June,” she says. “What have you done?”

  Slowly, she walks away. Her blonde hair is swallowed by the trees.

  •••

  I stay with Blister in our trailer until late in the evening. I’ve never missed supper before, without telling my dad where I am. But now I’m sixteen, maybe I can do what I want.

  I imagine them all sitting at the kitchen table, eating in silence, glancing at the clock. Or maybe they’ve barely noticed I’m not there. They’re talking happily about their day, Kathleen spooning more lamb onto my dad’s plate. Megan in the middle of them both.

  Blister and I lie on the cushions in our art room. We’re playing thumb wars, but I’m barely pressing down on his hand at all.

  “Are you sure everything’s all right, June?” he asks, holding my hand gently. I nod, because my thoughts are too complicated to find words for. I don’t even understand them myself. What was Kathleen trying to tell me? About my dad? About Megan?

  “Then you’re going to have to go home,” he says.

  “I could stay here.”

  “You can’t.”

  “They’d never know where I was.”

  “Precisely,” Blister says. “Your dad won’t know where you are and he’ll be worried.”

  “He’s given up caring.”

  “No, he hasn’t. He never will.”

  “He has. He’s not interested in anything about me anymore. He prefers Megan to me.”

  “That’s not true, June. You’re his daughter. You’ll always come first.”

  I think Megan might be his daughter too.

  “Come on.” Blister gets up and straightens his T-shirt. He puts out his hand to help me up. “I need to get home. I’m starving and Mom will start to wonder where I am.”

  “Can I come back to your house?” Please, Blister, please.

  “You’ve got to go home.”

  He takes my hand and we close the door and walk down the steps.

  At the gate, Blister kisses me. I try to make it last longer, but he pushes me gently away.

  “Come on,” he says. “It’s getting dark.”

  He picks up my bike from where it leans against his and I take it from him.

  How can I feel so lonely when he’s standing here, right next to me? But it’s a feeling so deep, so real, that it makes my veins ache.

  “I love you,” he says, and I know he means it.

  “I love you, too.”

  “You’ll be fine, June,” he tells me. I nod and swing my bike around. I don’t look back at him as I pedal off.

  I stop when I’m halfway home and unclasp my compass locket. I tuck it safely into the pocket of my shorts. They still don’t know. They don’t know about Blister. Megan tried, but she failed.

  I nearly don’t go home, but I know I have to. The front door is open. Quietly, I go up the path and put my bike along the side of the house. Megan sees me through the kitchen window as I walk back. Relief sweeps over her face.

  “June!” I hear her cry.

  My dad rushes out the door, with Kathleen and Megan behind him.

  “Where’ve you been?”

  “We were so worried,” Kathleen says. Her spindly arms are around me. I want to vomit into her sweet-smelling hair. I have to push her away.

  “June.” My dad’s voice is tipping into anger.

  “Can I go to my room?” I ask.

  “Where were you?” he demands.

  “Just out,” I tell him. I don’t even want to look at him.

  “You were clearly out. But where?”

  “I biked down to Laurel’s Corner,” I lie. “I lost track of time.”

  “Have you eaten?” Kathleen asks as my dad ushers us all into the house.

  “Yes.” The lies for her are so easy.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” Megan says. I won’t look at her.

  “You can’t just stay out,” my dad says. “You need to let us know.”

  “OK,” I say. I lean against the banister, facing away from them all.

  “You don’t seem to care that we were worried.” My dad’s voice is getting louder. Don’t pretend that you’re worried, I want to shout. “June?”

  Kathleen moves and I think she puts her hand on his arm.

  “Bradley,” she says gently, “she’s back now. That’s all that matters.”

  “It’s not all that matters,” my dad says sharply.

  “Well, let’s talk about it another day. I’m sure June won’t do it again. Will you, honey?”

  “No,” I say. Maybe. And I walk away from them, up the stairs and to my room.

  •••

  I’m woken in the night by the door opening. Whoever is in here closes it softly behind them. I hear them walking across the carpet. I think it’s only one of them. The breathing is so quiet. Is it Kathleen?

  I lie still. I pretend to be asleep, but my heart is beating loudly in my ears.

  Someone touches the bed. They are at the end, by my feet. A hand pats the bed-covers, closer toward me. They’re touching my arm, my shoulder. The hand is on my face.

  I keep myself turned to the wall. I am asleep. They will go.

  But they feel for my hair. It’s gripped back gently from my scalp.

  There’s the sound of scissors cutting through it.

  I don’t move.

  They’re going away. The breathing is disappearing. I hear the bedroom door opening. Closing. They’re gone.

  I stay, staring at the wall, my eyes open now.

  I don’t want to feel what they’ve done. I don’t want to know. I’m asleep and it’s a dream.

  But my hands go to my head. The hair on one side is jagged. I feel numb.

  I get out of bed and turn on my light. I don’t want to look in the mirror here, not in my bedroom.

  I open my door and walk down the hall to the bathroom. The fan whirs on as I pull the light cord.

  Above the sink is the mirror. And I see me.

  She has cut a big chunk of my hair, almost to the scalp. Beneath the shards, you can see my skin. On the other side, my hair is splayed out from sleep. It’s long, almost to my shoulder. Corkscrew curls that Blister always says he likes.

  But on one side they’re gone.

  I pull open the cupboard underneath the sink. Beneath the new tubes of toothpaste and rolls of toilet tissue, I find some nail scissors.

  Myself looks at me from the mirror. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe I don’t have to do this.

  I start to cut into the remaining curls. Wrapping lines of my hair in my fist, I hold the scissors and slice through it. It’s difficult, working with my reflection. I have to be careful not to cut my hand.

  I hear someone walking down the hall. My dad is in the doorway and he can’t hide the horror on his face.

  “June?” He doesn’t try to stop me. “What are you doing?”

  I don’t answer him.
Instead, I do the final cut, open my hand and let the hair fall like maple seeds to the tiled floor.

  “Why?” I haven’t seen him cry since my mom died, but his voice is beginning to crack and he looks like he’s on the edge.

  “I’m tired,” I tell him. “I want to go to bed.”

  “June.” My dad reaches out for me. I want to go to him. I want him to know. I want him to save me. But I’m not sure I even know who he is anymore.

  I brush past him and rush back to my room.

  •••

  “Don’t you like it?” I hold my head high and talk directly at Megan. “I did it myself.” She looks so stunned that she doesn’t speak.

  Kathleen turns and does a fake little gasp.

  “Your hair,” she whispers.

  “Yes. I wanted a change.” I go to the table and pick an apple out of the fruit bowl. “I’m going out. I won’t need breakfast.”

  “But I’ve done pancakes,” Kathleen says. I don’t bother to answer her. Instead, I walk away, out of the kitchen and out the front door.

  I pedal fast, laughing hysterically. She tried to break me, but she didn’t. I showed her that I’m too strong. That I don’t care what she does, because she’ll never win.

  But the feeling completely disappears as I get closer to Blister’s home. In an instant, it bursts and is gone.

  I look ugly. My hair is gone and Blister won’t want me. A single butterfly beats hard in me. It’s taking up all the space, right up to my throat.

  But still I keep going. I won’t let her win.

  I lean my bicycle against their hedge. The front door is open, as always. I don’t call out. I want the house to be empty. I don’t want anyone to see.

  In the kitchen, Mrs. Wick is cutting oranges on the chopping board. She turns when she hears me come in and I see her smile freeze.

  “June,” she says softly.

  I don’t know what to say. Anything will be a lie. I wouldn’t have chosen to look like this.

  “Is Blister here?” I ask.

  “I think he’s still in bed.” Mrs. Wick holds the knife in mid-air. “Is everything all right?” she asks.

  “Yes,” I reply, and leave her alone.

  Blister’s room is almost dark. He has heavy curtains covering his window and they barely let any of the morning light in. I go quietly to the outline of his bed, pull up the corner of his blanket and slide myself in beside him.