Paper Butterflies

by Lisa Heathfield

  Reverend Miller reaches out and holds my hand. He reads on, breathing calmly. I breathe with him. My blood goes into my heart and out again. It makes my lungs be filled with air.

  I let my tears come. The feel of the pain in my chest and in my throat and the water on my cheeks. The salt touch on my lips.

  I look at the reverend’s kind face as he reads to me. I close my eyes and listen as the letters make up the words and they lift from the page and twist and duck above us.

  “Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken.” His voice calms me. The words calm me.

  “Do you believe I’ll see her again?” I ask suddenly, opening my eyes. He puts his finger on the line in the page and looks up at me. “My mom died when I was young. Will I see her again?”

  Reverend Miller thinks for a moment, before he replies. “Jesus answered him, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.’ ”

  “Does that mean yes?”

  “I believe you’ll see her again, June.”

  “Will she still love me?”

  “Of course.”

  “Even after what I did?”

  “Yes.” He looks at me. “You are loved, June. You are precious.”

  “Then why do they want to kill me?” I ask him.

  Reverend Miller sighs. “I suppose they think that by taking your life it will even things out.”

  “Does that make them murderers too?”

  “I think it’s very complicated.”

  “Will they really do it?”

  He doesn’t reply. The air buzzes between us.

  Time passes. The reverend stays with me.

  An officer brings in a meal I no longer want.

  Reverend Miller reads to me.

  The words are all.

  The officer takes away the cold, jellied food I have not touched.

  I see Reverend Miller glance at his watch.

  “What time is it?” I ask. He sits up straight, but I can see what’s in his eyes.

  “You haven’t long, June,” he says.

  I look at him for such a long time. I almost reach out to touch the skin on his face.

  “Will you tell Reverend Shaw something for me?” I ask.

  “Of course.”

  “Will you tell him that I forgive Kathleen?” I’m surprised how strong my voice is. And how as soon as I say the words a dark knot in my chest begins to loosen. “If I’m not a monster, maybe she wasn’t either.”

  “I think you’re right,” Reverend Miller says.

  “Maybe she didn’t mean to.” I want so much to make sense, to be understood. “She wasn’t born bad, either,” I tell him.

  “No,” he says, “I don’t think she was. I don’t think anyone is.”

  “And will you tell Reverend Shaw that I forgive my father for not seeing?”

  “I will,” he says.

  In an instant, I remember my dad sitting at the top of the High Point. The wind pushes his hair from his face as he smiles at me. He is alive and he loves me. It’s how it was. It’s how it should always have been.

  “And what about you, June? Can I tell him that you’ve forgiven yourself?”

  I shake my head. “I still don’t know how.” I want to see his face clearly, but my tears are washing him away.

  “Forgiveness is easy,” he says. “It’s just like a door. You open it and walk through.”

  “Am I allowed, though?”

  “You are,” he says. “In fact, it’s the right thing to do.”

  I close my eyes and listen to the beating of my heart and the whisper of my breath.

  And I push open the heavy door and step through.

  “You won’t be forgotten, June,” Reverend Miller says. “Many people will remember you. There were protestors outside here all night.”

  “For me?” I open my eyes and look at him again.

  “Yes. I have photographs, if you’d like to see.”

  To see a picture of strangers who don’t want me to die? People I don’t know and will never meet. People who stood in the cold as I slept.

  “Yes,” I say.

  Reverend Miller takes a photograph from the pocket inside his jacket and he passes it to me.

  It shows a crowd of people, holding candles against the night.

  “They really came here for me?” I whisper.

  “Yes.”

  I breathe in sharply. Because there, in the middle, is Blister. He looks older. His hair is short again and he’s wearing his glasses. I touch the photograph. He’s just there. My Blister.

  In his hand, he holds a candle. I stare at him and see all the years that he never gave up on me.

  Mr. and Mrs. Wick are standing beside him. They’ve aged a hundred years. I touch their faces. The sadness in them floods my skin. I have so much that I want to say to them. I have so much that I want them to say to me. But they honored my wish. They stopped visiting when I asked. I never answered their letters. I never told them how much they meant to me and how the words they wrote to me became boats that kept me afloat. And I only didn’t reply because the pain blinded me.

  Maggie is there too. Older, more sensible-looking, but still Maggie. I search the faces. Mil, Si, Chubbers, Eddie—they’re all there. I look for Tom, although I know I won’t find him. I try to imagine the young man he would have become, tall and slim, with a look in his eyes like Blister used to have. I have spent so many days, years, holding his hand tight as he drifted away.

  I should have been with him.

  And there, at the side, is my sister.

  “You came,” I whisper to Megan, but, as the wasted years crush me, I can’t say anymore.

  “June?” Reverend Miller’s voice is here, but I hold onto the photograph.

  I make myself look again at Blister. I touch his lips. I wish I could make him smile. My eyes meet his.

  Keep fighting for others like me, I tell him.

  Blister looks at me. The candle he holds is bright against the dark.

  I’ve got my compass, I tell him. It’ll show me the way.

  There’s a sudden ringing in the corridor. A strange, distorted phone, which shatters my calm. Reverend Miller looks up quickly and walks to the bars of the cell. An officer is speaking. His back is toward us. Another woman officer rushes to stand beside him. She looks at me, but I don’t understand the expression on her face.

  The officer replaces the telephone’s handset in the hook on the wall. He turns around and walks toward me. Is he coming to get me? Is it my time?

  I get up and go to stand next to Reverend Miller. My hands are with his, on the cold bars that cut up the corridor outside.

  The officer’s lips are moving. I know he’s saying words, but they seem like only fragments. None of them makes sense.

  I look to the reverend. I’m shaking as he turns to me and takes both my shoulders in his hands. His eyes are telling me something I can’t grasp.

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment. My heart is thumping, but the rhythm feels all wrong. “You’ve been granted a stay of execution, June,” he says. His words are framed by a smile.

  “What do you mean?” Nothing makes sense. There’s a ringing in my ears that won’t go away.

  “You’re not going to die today.”

  I’m trying to speak again, to form words, but they won’t appear.

  “A new lawyer has stepped in, to represent you,” the officer says. He’s smiling too. I think he’s genuinely happy. “She’s arguing that you’ve had inadequate representation.”

  “I don’t understand,” I finally say. I look down at the sleeves of my execution suit. “They’ve made this for me.”

  “And someone has come forward with new evidence.”

  “Who?”

  “I haven’t any more details,” the officer says.

  Reverend Miller’s smile shines. “Your new lawyer will fight for you to live, June.”

  I look up at him. His f
ace becomes clearer. I think I know what he’s trying to say. I look down at my hands. I have a small scratch underneath the knuckle of my thumb, pink against my dark skin. Now, it’ll have time to heal.

  I put my hand on my chest and feel my heart beating, steadily now. I’ll go to sleep tonight with it still beating. And I’ll wake up tomorrow.

  I can feel Blister’s compass under the sole of my foot.

  “Which way, June?” I hear him ask. “You choose.”

  The compass presses its circle into my skin as Reverend Miller puts his arms around me.

  I choose life, Blister.

  I choose life.

  A Note from Blister

  June once thought that a butterfly would die if you touched its wings. I didn’t know then whether it was true, but I know now that it’s not. I’ve learned that if you’re careful, you can hold a butterfly in your hand. And that even if it’s been trapped, frightened, in a jar, it has a chance to survive. Because a butterfly with a broken wing can still fly.

  I’ve also learned that a proper legal team changes everything.

  That a sister’s love can keep your heart beating.

  That truth can win.

  That sometimes best friends are more than that. And if you hold hands tight, you can run blind through any storm.

  And I’ve learned that with a blank piece of paper, you can do anything.

  Acknowledgments

  The biggest thank you of all is to my wonderful mum. You gave me the wings to fly. I love you and I miss you.

  Thank you, Miles, for living with a crazy lady who sees people that you don’t. And to our truly gorgeous boys, Frank, Arthur and Albert—you make my day, everyday.

  To Philip, Lara, Emma and Anna—thank you for your endless enthusiasm for my dream. I’m so proud to call you my siblings.

  Thank you to my AMAZING agent, Veronique Baxter. Your support and encouragement consistently astounds me—I feel more than lucky to have you by my side. And thank you to the rest of the brilliant team at David Higham—the lovely Laura West, Nikoline Eriksen and my foreign rights experts Alice Howe, Emily Randle and Emma Jamison.

  To my dream-team of editors, Ali Dougal and Lindsey Heaven—thank you for loving June and Blister so completely and for making my book what it is today. It’s been amazing to work with you both and I thank my lucky stars that you’re at the helm.

  To my disco hero, Ben Hughes. Your covers for my books are the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. I can never thank you enough. And a huge thank you to everyone at Egmont, especially Maggie Eckel for your kindness, patience and encouragement and Emily Thomas for spreading the word far and wide. And Lucy Pearce, for loving June’s story early on.

  To Lucy Howe—thank you for being the most amazing friend a girl could have. And Martyn, the king of firework lighting!

  Thank you, wonderful Whinneys, for encircling my family with so much love. And to Toots—for Bobby McGee and swinging to the stars. To Er (@mercytree_mum), for having a heart as big as the world and proving that there are enough hours in the day. Mari, for the strong roots of your friendship. To Jill, Cami, Evé and Louie, for the love, laughs and big pants.

  Thank you, Allie, Debs, Lucy, Sandi and Suzanna, for showing me how it’s done. And a big thank you to Nikki for your edgeless love and support. And to Tash, for evenings spent dissecting the strange writing world we’re in.

  Thank you to the following, just for being brilliant—Stephen Nash, Shanaz, Nicky M-M, Andrew, Jo Sykes, Sam, Rosie, Francoise, Fabia, Cathy and Carlene, Laura Treneer, Lou, Ula and Becky.

  To Abi, for showing us that when life serves you a stinking curve-ball, you can hold your head high and walk a happier path.

  To Jo—for fighting with such courage. You’ll always be loved and missed. And Tony, for showing incredible strength—I’m lucky to call you my friend.

  Thank you to all the amazing bloggers, for your time, energy and passion. In particular to the super-lovely Michelle Toy (Tales Of Yesterday), whose opinion I value greatly. And Jim (YA Yeah! Yeah!), Lucy (Queen Of Contemporary), Viv (Serendipity Reviews), The YA Fictionados, Lisa (City Of YA Books) and Carly (Writing From The Tub).

  To Ness and Jules at The Book Nook—thank you for championing my books from the word go!

  To the original “Seedlings”—LD Lapinski, Oliver Clark and Sana Aslam. Your support has bowled me over. I hope to be able to do the same for you one day!

  And finally, thank you to June for finding my writing spirit. Your story humbled me and broke me in equal measures. I hope I’ve done it justice.