Butterfly (25 page)

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘I’d like to know why you chose
this area in particular, because the majority of rape counsellors
are female. I’m guessing there’s a story behind it.’

My mouth goes dry. ‘Yes, there
is.’

‘We have an opening coming up,
and I think you could be a suitable candidate.’

‘That’s fantastic.’

‘But I wanted to find out what
that story was first.’

Sweat pricks on my palms. I wipe
them down the front of my jogging bottoms.

‘Maybe I should start by telling
you my own story,’ she says.

I swallow through the tight lump
in my throat, trying to bring some moisture back.

She studies me for a moment
before dropping something on me I wasn’t expecting. ‘When I was
eighteen, I was convicted of shoplifting.’

As a counsellor, my job isn’t to
judge people. I’m there to give them the tools to help them cope,
heal, and move on with their lives in a positive way. And not much
surprises me anymore. Take thousands of men, mix them together in a
prison, take the time to study human nature, and you’ll see
everything and anything. Every trait, emotion, or personal history
you can possibly imagine. But this. This does surprise me, and yet
it shouldn’t, really. Everyone has a story to tell.

‘What? I don’t seem like a
shoplifter?’ She tilts her head, a brief smile in place. ‘Did you
think I was born a fifty-six-year-old counsellor?’

‘Well…no.’

‘I ran away from home when I was
fifteen because of abuse, and I lived on the streets for a while,
sleeping rough, stealing food where I could.’

I shake my head sadly. ‘I’m
sorry that happened to you.’

‘It was a long time ago.’ She
shrugs. ‘I turned to alcohol and became an alcoholic before I was
sixteen.’ She swivels in her chair. ‘The conviction saved my life,
really. The court ordered me to go into an AA programme. The man
who ran it, Bob, was an ex-alcoholic who’d lost everything because
of his addiction—his wife, his job as a city stock broker, his
home, everything. He was one of the most amazing people I’ve met in
my life. He pulled his life back together, and he taught me and so
many others to do the same.’

‘He sounds like a great
guy.’

‘He was. My point is, I know
things aren’t always black and white. Circumstances make people do
things they wouldn’t normally do, but people can change and turn
their lives around. I do believe in second chances, unlike many
people. If I hadn’t had a second chance, I have no doubt I’d be
dead now. And yet here I am.’ She lifts her hands in the air, palms
up, in a simple gesture. ‘I’m doing something worthwhile. Doing
something that helps other women get back on their feet again. And
one powerful lesson I learnt along the way is the thing that makes
someone like Bob or I good at our jobs is that we’ve been where
those people are, and we’ve survived. Sometimes you have to go
there to come back.’

My eyes water, and I blink.

‘I think what makes the
difference between a good counsellor and a brilliant one is someone
who’s hit the ground, waded through the crap, and fought back. And
I see that in you, Ben. In fact, you remind me a lot of
myself.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But I need to be sure about
things, because this centre deals with vulnerable women.’ She
pauses for a second. ‘I know about your conviction and spoke to
your parole officer on many occasions when he was liaising with me
to set up your self-defence classes. I also read the court
transcripts. But I want to hear the story from you, because I think
there’s more to it than what I know so far.’

I’m speechless for a moment.
This is the last thing I was expecting. My chance to finally move
forward is hanging in the balance. Maybe my only chance, because
I’ve never met someone with such open-mindedness about my
conviction.

I take a deep breath. She’s the
first person I tell everything to. The whole story, not just part
of it.

The story I never told my
lawyer, the judge, or my parents, because I made a promise to Mia.
But I have my own demons, and I need to tell someone, even if it
means blowing every chance I have of getting this job. Maybe ‘need’
is the wrong word. I
have
to tell her. Holding it all inside
is tearing me apart.

As I talk, she nods but doesn’t
interrupt me. Her eyes water a few times, and she blinks rapidly to
clear them.

When I finish, she swivels in
her chair, fingers steepled together again. ‘Did you ever talk to
anyone about this? The prison counsellor?’

‘I talked to them about the
conviction, but not the circumstances that led up to it.’

‘It could’ve got you a reduced
sentence if you’d told the police.’

‘Maybe, but I made a promise to
my sister. She didn’t want anyone to know, and I couldn’t betray
her.’

‘I’m sensing you still feel
guilty about it.’

I take a deep breath. Look up at
the ceiling. ‘Of course I do. How could I not?’

‘You wouldn’t be human if you
didn’t feel guilty, Ben. But you have to begin to forgive yourself.
As a counsellor, you must know that. You know forgiving yourself
isn’t the same as saying what happened is OK, but it gives you the
power to move on and heal from it.’

I run a hand over my hair. ‘I
know.’

‘Shall I tell you what I
see?’

I don’t answer because I know
it’s rhetorical, and she’s going to tell me anyway. I close my eyes
for a second. My future is riding on this, and I don’t think I want
to hear what she’s going to say.

‘I see a man who loved his
sister deeply and was devastated by what happened. I see someone
who put her ahead of himself, even when it could’ve saved him. I
see a man who was provoked and caught up in a tragic accident.
Someone who has taken their experience and turned it into something
positive that will help other people. I see someone who’s fought
hard to change his life. Someone with considerable strength and
courage. You’re bigger than what happened to you, Ben, and you’re
stronger and more compassionate because of it. You’ve hit the
ground, crawled through that crap, and come out the other side. So,
yes, my gut feelings were right about you, and I really, really
hate to be wrong.’ She gives me a warm smile.

I exhale the breath I’ve been
holding.

She slides a form across the
desk. ‘I want you to fill in the application form.’

I’m speechless with the things
she’s just said and stare at her with disbelief.

‘You can say something if you
want.’ She laughs.

‘Er…thank you. I don’t really
know what
to
say.’

‘Then don’t say anything. But if
you ever want to talk in depth about it, my door’s always
open.’

‘Thank you again.’

She stands up and shakes my
hand. As I head out the door, my heart and head race. I’m one step
closer to everything I wanted, but I still don’t know if I deserve
it.

49

GRACE

A few weeks later, I wake up to
an empty bed. Ben has left me to sleep in while he teaches his
Sunday self-defence class. I smile as I shower and change, thinking
about how all the right pieces are slipping into place for both of
us. The possibility of his new job is so exciting, and surely, the
only way is up. If only I could completely let go of my fears and
finally have sex with him, life would be perfect.

But it will happen. Soon. I know
it will.

It has to.

It’s as if he’s slowly, gently
chasing away the ghosts and demons locked in my head as he worships
my body with his tongue and his mouth, his hands and his words.
It’s unhurried, gentle, as if we’re the only two people in the
world. I’m learning to let myself relax and do the same for him.
Learning what he wants and needs. Even though I’m inexperienced, I
want to give him the same pleasure he gives me.

I love how his eyes roll back as
he orgasms. How he calls my name, tells me how beautiful I am,
tells me he loves me. At night we fall asleep locked in each
other’s arms, naked, his breath against my skin. Knowing I can
reach out and touch him in the middle of the night is like heaven.
Having him there, holding me, chases the nightmares away. But he
never tries to push me to the next level. Full intimacy is still
just out of my reach. I’m not ready yet. But I’m the one who
decides what I do with my body now, and every day I’m a little step
closer. I’m in control and I know that, which makes me love him
even more.

~~~~

The bistro is busy with the
Sunday lunchtime crowd. It’s become our favourite place to hang out
and have lunch after Ben teaches his self-defence class. As we wait
for Lisa, Jack, and Leila to arrive, I flick through a tabloid
while Ben reads the serious paper.

‘OK, here’s a good one.’ He
glances up from the paper, giving me a lazy smile before reading
out the words. ‘“Elephant Urine in Muffin Recipes Makes for Better
Cakes”.’

I laugh. ‘You just made that up,
didn’t you?’

‘I did not!’ He tries to sound
indignant, but it’s not working. He slides the paper round to me.
‘See for yourself.’

‘Hmm.’ I pick up my paper and
look for a good one. ‘How about this, then? “Baked Beans in
Transsexual Row”. I think transsexual baked beans trumps elephant
wee any day. Or, how about this…“Condom Lorry Spills Load”.’

We both burst out laughing.

‘“Old Aged Pensioner Baffles
Scientists with Two Metre Marrows”.’ He waggles his eyebrows at
me.

Determined not to be beaten, I
scan the paper hard. ‘“Dirty Protest at Sewage Plant”.’

He shakes his head with a smile
on his face. ‘OK, you might just beat me.
Again.
’ He leans
over and kisses me.

‘Hey, break it up you two!’ a
female voice says.

We look up and Lisa and Jack are
standing there. Leila, cute and cozy in her car seat, is asleep. I
hug Lisa as Jack and Ben do a male back-patting thing.

Lisa shrugs off her jacket
across the back of the chair. ‘So, what’s new?’

‘Nothing much. Ben’s got an
interview tomorrow.’ I smile proudly at him.

‘That’s great,’ Jack says.
‘Where?’

‘The Cambridge Women’s Centre,’
Ben says. ‘They’re looking for another counsellor.’

‘Fantastic. Can you give Jack a
few tips on women?’ Lisa says, elbowing Jack in the ribs.

My face drops for a moment at
her joke. I haven’t told her about the impending rape trial. Maybe
one day I will. If she knew about Mia and me, she wouldn’t joke
about Ben’s job.

‘Well, now you’ve got two women
in the house, we’re definitely going to win any arguments,’ Lisa
jokes. ‘Hey, you OK?’ she says when she notices my expression.

I summon a smile. I don’t want
to think about the trial. ‘Yeah, I’m good.’

A waiter brings round menus and
takes our drink orders.

‘How’s she doing, then?’ I smile
down at Leila and stroke her face. I can’t resist those chubby
cheeks.

‘She’s surprisingly good,’ Jack
says.

‘That’s because you’re always at
work and you mostly see her when she’s asleep,’ Lisa says. ‘No,
honestly, though, she couldn’t be more well-behaved.’

Ben takes my hand and places it
on his knee under the table, making soft circular motions on my
palm as he chats with Jack about cars. I’m instantly warm inside
and have to concentrate on what Lisa’s saying, because even this
simple touch has me groaning with pleasure inside.

After lunch, we all walk along
the river with Ben carrying Leila in his arms. It looks so adorable
and protective as his large hands cradle her tiny head. When the
guys walk ahead of us, Ben looks at me over his shoulder, grinning,
like a secret message he’s sending me that one day he wants this to
be ours—the marriage, the baby, or even a whole brood of them.

‘So, any plans?’ Lisa raises her
eyebrows at me.

‘What do you mean?’ I know
exactly what she means.

‘You know.’ She elbows me. ‘He’s
obviously great with babies. Look at him carrying Leila and talking
baby talk to her! And he’s great with you, too.’

‘I’m not thinking about any of
that.’ Yeah, it’s a total lie. I am thinking about the future with
Ben. I’m thinking about it a lot.

‘Uh-huh.’ Her tone clearly says
she doesn’t believe me. ‘Do you love him?’

‘Yes.’ I don’t even
hesitate.

‘Have you told him?’

‘Nope.’

‘Why not?’ She gawks at me.

‘I’m working through some stuff.
When I get through it, I’ll tell him.’

She links her arm through mine
but doesn’t look at me. ‘The guy who hurt you, he’s not Ben.’ She
doesn’t get to say anymore, because Leila starts crying.

Ben walks back to Lisa. ‘OK, I’m
giving her back to mum now. I think she’s scared of the big, ugly
guy.’

‘She’s getting cranky because
needs a nap,’ Lisa says as she takes Leila from Ben’s arms. ‘We
should head back home.’

We say our goodbyes, and Ben
slides his arm round my waist as we walk back home.

Home. I roll the word around in
my head. It’s strange, and I don’t know when it happened. Can’t
pinpoint an exact date when my flat went from a depressing and
terrifying prison to a home with love and laughter and safety.

‘I love Sundays.’ I lean my head
against his arm.

‘Me too.’

When we get back to my flat, a
car is parked next to mine. I recognize it instantly, and the
breath freezes in my throat as though someone’s squeezing the life
out of me.

Ben must feel me tense up beside
him, because he looks first at the car and then me with a concerned
expression. ‘What’s wrong?’

That’s when the car door opens.
Theo’s dad steps out and says, ‘We need to talk.’

50

BEN

Grace’s face turns white. I know
who this man is. I’ve seen him in the papers. He’s the mayor of
Cambridge. Theo’s dad. Edward Porter. I can’t fucking believe he’s
got the nerve to turn up here like this.