Lisa Heathfield - Paper Butterflies

First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Electric Monkey,

an imprint of Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2016 Lisa Heathfield

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

First e-book edition 2016

ISBN 978 1 4052 7539 2

eISBN 978 1 7803 1675 8

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

Typeset by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford on Avon, Warwickshire

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties.

Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

For Miles –

for making my heart beat that little bit faster.

Cover

Title Page

Copyright First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Electric Monkey, an imprint of Egmont UK Limited The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN Text copyright © 2016 Lisa Heathfield The moral rights of the author have been asserted First e-book edition 2016 ISBN 978 1 4052 7539 2 eISBN 978 1 7803 1675 8 www.egmont.co.uk A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library Typeset by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford on Avon, Warwickshire All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Stay safe online. Any website addresses listed in this book are correct at the time of going to print. However, Egmont is not responsible for content hosted by third parties. Please be aware that online content can be subject to change and websites can contain content that is unsuitable for children. We advise that all children are supervised when using the internet.

Dedication For Miles – for making my heart beat that little bit faster.

BEFORE: ten years old

BEFORE: four days later

AFTER

BEFORE: eleven years old

AFTER

BEFORE: twelve years old

AFTER

BEFORE: thirteen years old

AFTER

BEFORE: fourteen years old

AFTER

BEFORE: fifteen years old

BEFORE: two months later

AFTER

BEFORE: two months later

BEFORE: one week later

AFTER

AFTER: five weeks later

AFTER: one week later

AFTER: six weeks later

AFTER: four months later

AFTER: eighteen years old

AFTER: six months later

AFTER: nineteen years old

AFTER: two days later

AFTER: twenty-four years old

AFTER: one month later

A NOTE FROM BLISTER

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

BACK SERIES PROMOTIONAL PAGE

Praise for Lisa Heathfield’s SEED

‘Drink it.’ She’s holding the glass out to me. It’s so full that if she tipped her hand just a bit the water would trickle down the side. ‘Now.’

‘But I’m not thirsty.’ I want my voice to be big, but it’s just a whisper.

Kathleen bends so low that her eyes are level with mine. Her eyelashes are black. The blusher on her cheeks is too red, like two little apples sitting in puddles of cream.

‘Drink it,’ she says again.

My bladder is full. She hasn’t let me use the toilet since I got up this morning and I’ve already had my glass of warm milk.

I reach out my hand. I wish I didn’t touch her cold fingers as she passes it to me.

She watches as I bring the glass to my mouth, as I tilt it against my lips and begin to drink. My throat tries to squeeze shut. My body doesn’t want it. But the water flows down and into my stomach.

‘All of it.’ She’s smiling at me, the way she does. The way no one else ever sees. As though I’m a mouse caught in her trap and she is the cat and she’s got me.

I finish the glass and my bladder is stinging.

‘I need the toilet,’ I say. I know she’s heard me, but she’s walking towards the sink and turning the faucet on. The glass is filling up. Maybe it’s for her. Maybe she’s thirsty.

My stomach hurts as she comes towards me. She holds out her cold hand once again and I know what I must do.

I try to drink it quickly, but it’s so hard. It makes me ache and it burns my bladder. I step from side to side. She takes the empty glass.

‘I really need the toilet,’ I say.

‘Come on, you’ll be late for school.’ Her voice is almost sing-song. ‘I’ll do your hair quickly.’

I shake my head. The pain in my tummy is hurting my eyes.

Kathleen walks quickly out of the kitchen.

‘Megan,’ she calls up the stairs. ‘It’s time to go.’

Then she’s back, a red ribbon in her hands. She pulls my hair until my scalp stings. I can’t hold my bladder much longer.

‘Please, Momma,’ I say, trying to make my voice so sweet. Trying to sound just like Megan. ‘I’ll be quick. Please let me.’

She turns me to look into those eyes.

‘I’m not your momma,’ she says.

Megan is at the bottom of the stairs. She’s one year younger than me, but taller already. Her skin is as white as mine is black.

‘Quick, you’ll miss the bus.’ Kathleen bends to kiss her. ‘Have a good day.’

I take my coat from its peg and push my arms in. I try not to think of the hot ache in my bladder. If I concentrate on doing up my buttons, picking up my bag, then I can hold it in.

But it’s difficult to walk. Every step along the path to the pavement, I think it’ll be too late. I look up at the clouds. There’s one like an elephant. I trace the shape of its trunk with my finger. It’ll help me to forget. I can hear Megan walking beside me, but I won’t look at her. I’ll look at my elephant.

I’m ten tomorrow , I tell it. It moves slightly and its trunk begins to separate into tiny little pieces.

At the bus stop, there are other children. Megan goes to stand with them. She glances at me quickly.

I move from one foot to the other. I can’t hold it in.

The bus is coming. It turns the corner and pulls up alongside us. It’s as yellow as the sun. The sun, I tell myself, in the sky, with my elephant. Think of anything, anything but the need to go.

I let them all push each other up the steps. The boy called Greg with the broken nose is laughing so much that I can see his tongue moving. His mouth looks wet, so I look away.

I try to squeeze the muscles between my legs as I walk up the steps. Each movement makes my head pound.