Butterfly (6 page)

Like your eyes?

I blush as the thought pops into
my brain. I haven’t been able to get those eyes out of my head. I
want him to stop looking at me, but at the same time, I don’t want
him to stop. ‘OK, I’ll try that.’

‘Have you tried meditating
before?’

‘No.’ I look at him then, even
though I’m trying so hard not to.

‘Well, that’s good for panic
attacks, too.’

‘So what do I need to do
exactly?’ I can’t believe I’m talking with him about this. I
haven’t spoken to anyone before, but I want to know what he knows.
I want to know how to get better.

‘I can show you if you
like.’

‘No!’ It comes out louder than I
intend. ‘No,’ I say again, softly this time. ‘Can you just explain
it to me?’

He smiles. ‘Sure. Just find a
comfortable position, either sitting or lying down. Then just
breathe in and out deeply. Close your eyes and just focus on the
breath. You can repeat a word or a mantra if you feel too fidgety,
or do the counting like I said.’

‘What sort of a word?’

‘Anything that makes you feel
calm.’ His gaze drifts up to the ceiling as he thinks. ‘Like,
“breathe” or “relax” or “I am fine”.’

‘OK. How long should I do it
for?’

His gaze is back on me now. ‘I’d
start off with around three minutes a day if you can manage it,
then try and increase it. People who meditate daily are a lot more
relaxed and able to handle the stresses of life easier. And, of
course, if you’re in the middle of an attack, try and ground
yourself with something and do the same breathing.’

‘Thanks.’

‘No problem.’ He pulls a piece
of paper out of his front pocket and reaches for a pen on the
worktop. ‘If you have another attack and you want to talk, just
phone me, OK?’ He scribbles down his number and hands over the
piece of paper.

I look at the piece of paper,
and before I know what I’m doing, I take it and stuff it in the
pocket of my trousers. ‘Thanks.’

‘Honestly, please call if I can
help. Maybe I can talk you through it. Any time, it doesn’t
matter.’

As he smiles and his eyes light
up, crinkling around the edges, my whole body floods with warmth,
and the tension in my shoulders releases its grip. Some kind of
strange connection that I can’t explain is passing between us, and
I find myself smiling back.

This time it’s definitely not
fake.

10

BEN

It’s a start. I can see her
relaxing slightly as I talk. If only I’d known all this before. In
time to save Mia. But if everything that’s happened can help Grace,
then maybe it won’t have all been for nothing.

She slips out to serve another
customer, and I finish the pipe work. I turn the stopcock back on
and methodically check for leaks. It’s all good.

As I walk into the shop, she’s
turning the open sign on the door to closed, but she doesn’t lock
the door to stop more customers coming in. There’s just us here,
and I don’t want to crowd her or make her nervous, so I stay where
I am as she hovers by the door.

‘The leak’s cured,’ I say.

‘Thanks so much. I don’t know
what I would’ve done without you.’

The way she says it makes me
realize she’s not just talking about the plumbing emergency, and I
want to go to her, slip my arms around her and just hold her tight.
Smooth out the creases on her forehead and ease away the pain. I
shuffle on my feet to stop myself moving.

‘So, what do I owe you?’ she
says.

‘Nothing.’

‘Nothing? I have to pay you for
your time and the materials.’

I shrug. ‘You could give me the
job instead.’

She bites her lip again, and a
torrent of emotions plays out across her face.

‘Do you have any experience in a
coffee shop?’ she asks.

I’ve got tons of experience
serving tea, coffee, and food, but not in a trendy coffee shop in a
nice town. A prison kitchen’s a million miles away from that.

She takes a seat at a table next
to the door, and I look for a chair I can use that’s not too close
to her. I settle for one a little way in front of the counter, put
my tools and stuff on the floor, and lean back.

‘I served coffee when I was
studying for my counselling and psychology degrees.’ It’s not a
total lie. ‘The place wasn’t as nice as this, but it won’t take me
long to pick it up.’ I glance at the coffee machines. ‘I’m a quick
learner.’

‘Where did you study?’

‘Overseas. Australia.’ Now that
is a big, fucking whopper, but if she knew I’d got Open University
distance learning degrees when I was inside, she’d never see me
again. I feel guilty as hell about the crap spewing from my
mouth.

‘I bet that was really nice. All
that sunshine and lovely scenery.’

‘And surfing.’

‘And koalas’

‘And didgeridoos.’ I grin.

For some reason, she finds that
funny, and her velvety laugh washes over me. I want to hear more of
it. Want to make her laugh and smile more. That smile, when it
happens, is so startling I could lose myself in it forever.

‘Are you from Cambridge?’ she
asks.

‘No. London, originally. After I
graduated, I got a volunteer counselling job here in Cambridge and
then some part time work.’ I don’t want to blow this, so I say,
‘I’ve got an interview for a full time counselling job in a few
weeks. How about I just help you out until I find out what happens
with that?’

‘Didn’t you say you teach
women’s self-defence, too?’

‘Yeah. It’s volunteer work. I do
one class in the evenings, and one on a Sunday, so it won’t
interfere with this.’ I don’t tell her it’s part of my parole
license, and I have to do a certain amount of volunteer work. But
even if it wasn’t a requirement, I’d still be doing it. Everything
I learnt as an MMA fighter can help these women. ‘But Saturday
mornings I do youth counselling for young offenders. And the grief
counselling I do is one evening a week and one Tuesday morning, so
that shouldn’t interfere too much.’

‘Can…can anyone come along to
the self-defence classes?’

I nod and smile. ‘As long as
you’re a woman.’ Which sounds really creepy under the
circumstances, so I add, ‘You know, seeing as it’s a class for
women.’

‘OK.’ Her voice is so soft, I’m
not sure she’s actually spoken.

‘OK?’

‘Yes. Lisa’s leaving for
maternity leave. Can you come in tomorrow at eight, and we can show
you the ropes before she goes?’

I light up inside. It’s only a
job in a coffee shop, but it’s as if I’ve just landed the best job
in the world.

11

GRACE

The words are out of my mouth
before I can stop them. I can’t take them back now, and besides, it
would’ve looked really rude and ungrateful not to give him the job
after all he’s done for me today. It’s only for a few weeks.

But can I do this? Can I work
with a man? He’s easy to talk to, and the more I learn about him,
the more I believe he must be a good guy. You wouldn’t volunteer to
teach self-defence or become a counsellor otherwise, would you?

It didn’t escape my attention
that he didn’t ask questions about the panic attack, and he didn’t
crowd me, which gives me a good feeling. A safe feeling. Maybe I
can do this.

It’s been quiet in the shop
today, so I pack up quite a few leftovers and take them to the
homeless shelter. As I drive, I think about Ben and wonder whether
he can help me.

When I get back home, I heat up
a can of chicken soup from the cupboard and eat it at the kitchen
table. I really should go food shopping, but I don’t like crowds
anymore.
He
could be in amongst them, and I’d never know
until it’s too late. Instead of going to the big supermarket, I
usually go to the small shop at the end of the road, but the choice
is limited. Anyway, it’s not as if I have an appetite anymore, so
it doesn’t really matter.

It’s not until I’m in the bath
that I realize I’ve only checked the locks five times instead of
ten, and it’s because of Ben. My mind can’t stop wandering to
him.

I leap out, sloshing water all
over the floor, and quickly dry myself. Wrapped in a towel, I go
through the ritual. Top deadbolt. Yale Lock. Chain. Bottom
deadbolt.

By the time I finish, my heart’s
racing again and the familiar panic returns. My fingers are numb,
and I can’t be sure I’ve done it right so I start again.

And again.

By the time I’m on the ninth go,
I’m so mentally and physically tired that I can’t go on, so I get
the knife from the kitchen, sit in front of the door, shivering,
and gasp for more breath than I can take in.

A voice in my head screams,
Get some help!

My chest is on fire, hurting so
much I think I’m going to die from lack of oxygen. And maybe that’s
a good thing. It would solve a lot.

Then another voice pops into my
head. This time it’s Ben’s and it’s echoing loud and clear. He’s
repeating what he told me today.
It’s OK. Just breathe slowly.
In, out. In, out.

My hands drop to my lap, and I
look at the ring on my right hand. The simple silver band with a
turquoise stone that Mum left me. I stare at it through watery
eyes, trying to ground myself, as he suggested, and use all my
energy to concentrate on breathing in and out. In. Out.

‘You’re OK. You’re OK. You’re
OK,’ I whisper over and over to myself until the panic
subsides.

The feeling comes back into my
hands and feet, and my heart’s no longer pounding like a booming
bass drum.

I close my eyes and carry on.
When I open them again and look at the clock in the hall, five
minutes have gone by.

Slowly, I get to my feet. I take
the knife with me to bed, tucking it underneath my pillow, and lie
down. As I close my eyes, I concentrate on breathing again until I
fall asleep.

My alarm wakes me at five a.m.
It takes me a few minutes to remember where I am because it’s
unfamiliar. Usually, I’m waking up screaming, crying, or heaving.
But last night I slept better than I have for a long time, and I
didn’t have the nightmare. At least I don’t think I did. It must’ve
been the deep breathing. And probably the fact I’m so exhausted, my
body is craving a night of uninterrupted rest.

I get dressed and do my makeup.
Once the mask is in place, I go down to the coffee shop and start
baking. As I lose myself in flour, sugar, and chocolate, an idea
forms in my head.

I’m going to ask Ben to help me
get through this.

I want my life back again.

12

BEN

I shower and shave and think
about Grace. It must’ve taken a lot of courage to offer me the job,
but I already know she’s stronger than she seems; she just doesn’t
realize it yet.

The bruises on my face don’t
look good, but I can’t do much about that until they fade. I just
hope they don’t put any customers off. I don’t want to give her any
excuse to fire me before I’ve even started.

I study my sparse wardrobe. I
don’t have a uniform like Grace does, but Lisa’s too pregnant to
wear one anyway, and she was just in black leggings and a black
smock top. Obviously, the leggings and smock top are a no go, so I
pull out a plain black shirt and black jeans.

I down a cup of Earl Grey tea
and eat a couple of slices of toast. It’s six-thirty, and I’ve been
up since five. I’m used to getting up early anyway, but nothing
would stop me being late for my first day at the shop.

The insurance company are
messing me around about my car. Not that it was exactly worth much.
I hardly earn enough to pay for the petrol and my flat, so I can’t
afford to get another one. For now, I’ll just have to walk
everywhere, which doesn’t bother me. When you’ve been cooped up for
so long inside, walking is good.

I arrive at the shop at quarter
to eight and peer in the door. I can’t see anyone, so I knock.

A few seconds later, Grace comes
out of the kitchen, her eyebrows raised with a smile as she unlocks
the door. Her smile lights up her face, and it’s literally
breathtaking.

‘Hi.’ I can’t help smiling back
at her. She has that effect on me.

‘Hi,’ she says. She’s got a
dusting of flour across her cheek, and the urge to reach out and
wipe it off is strong.

‘You’ve got some flour on your
cheek.’

She brushes it off with the back
of her hand and laughs. ‘Occupational hazard. Come in.’

I follow her inside. ‘I hope
this is OK to wear?’ I look down at my clothes.

Her gaze runs up and down the
length of me, and something unfamiliar stirs in my belly. Something
I haven’t felt in a long, long time.

‘Yep, that’s fine.’ She looks
away quickly. ‘So, I’ll show you how the coffee machines and stuff
work, OK?’ She walks behind the counter.

I stand at the edge. I don’t
want to get too close to her again in case she has a panic attack,
but I really can’t see what I’m doing from here. I catch her
vanilla scent, and it smells like a gorgeous, fresh summer day.

‘Can you see from there?’ she
says, her voice wavering. She’s unsure about me, and that’s
understandable.

‘Not really.’

She steps back towards the
machine at the end wall and allows me to get closer, but I don’t
overstep the mark and keep a distance of about a metre, which I
hope is good enough for her.

‘That’s better,’ I say.

She pours milk into a stainless
steel jug and lifts it up to a metal wand on one of the machines.
When she presses a button, the wand hisses in the milk, frothing it
up. She fills a mug with a shot of coffee and tops it off with the
foamy milk before sprinkling it with chocolate.

‘OK, so that’s a cappuccino. Let
me show you how to do a latte.’

I ask a few questions as I watch
her demonstrate what to do, but it seems easy to learn. I’m just
enjoying being around her.