The Butterfly Storm (12 page)

‘There’s really no need,’ I say.

‘Leave it with me.’

‘Thanks, but I don’t want you to ask her.’

I can see by his firm look that he means business. I presume he’s got a certain amount of influence
over Mum but I’ve no idea why. She’s always hated being controlled by anyone. I speak without
thinking it through just so I can make a decision of my own. ‘Anyway, now you’re here I’m
going to take the opportunity to visit my best friend in Bristol. I’ve not seen her for four
years. I thought I might go tomorrow, so I won’t be at the hotel for a couple of days at
least.’

Robert nods and doesn’t push the issue any further.

‘You’re coming in each day to see her?’ I ask.

‘Of course. Vicky, my daughter, lives close by. I was planning on coming down later this month, but
after what happened I thought Leila could use the company. I didn’t think… I didn’t know you’d be
over.’

‘It’s about time I came,’ I say.

‘Ah, here he is,’ Robert says. My eyes follow his towards the restaurant entrance. A man walks
towards us with shoulders as broad as his father’s, hugged by a worn T-shirt. We both stand when he
reaches our table.

‘Ben, this is Leila’s daughter, Sophie.’

He’s taller than Robert, his handshake firmer and damp.

‘Sorry,’ he says, releasing my hand and wiping it on his thighs. ‘It’s a bit wet out.’ He pulls up a
chair and sits down. He has deep blue eyes. A scar carves a pale line through the stubble on his chin
like a teacher’s tick on homework. My eyes drop back to my cup.

‘Do you want a coffee, Ben?’ Robert asks.

‘No thanks.’

I sip my cappuccino.

‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything to eat?’ Robert asks me.

‘No, I’m fine. I pigged out last night,’ I say. Ben looks at me as intently as his father does. He leans
forward in his chair, arms folded on the table. I glance between father and son. A black
tattoo nudges from beneath one of Ben’s short sleeves. I stir my drink. ‘We tend to eat
late afternoon back home in Greece – have a good breakfast and save ourselves for a big
dinner.’

‘There’s a great place in Athens I used to go to for breakfast, they make the best
bougatsa
.’ Ben
says.

I’m caught off guard. ‘Did you go there on holiday?’

He smiles but there’s sadness in his voice. ‘No, business.’

‘It’s my boyfriend’s favourite thing,
bougatsa
for breakfast,’ I say.

‘I usually skip breakfast but make up for it at lunch and dinner,’ Robert says.

‘Isn’t it just the worst and best thing about working with food,’ I say. ‘Putting up with gorgeous
smells all day and eating the leftovers at the end of the night.’

‘I’d eat steak every day if I could,’ Robert says.

‘You can’t?’

Robert sits back and pats his lean stomach. ‘Watching what I eat.’

‘He’s been worrying about his weight since he started noticing middle-aged spread.’ Ben picks up a
sachet of sugar and folds it between nicotine-stained fingers.

‘Your Mum’s a good cook,’ Robert says. ‘Better than she’ll admit.’

‘Candy, the friend I’m going to visit, used to love coming for tea at our house. Mum used to
experiment all the time and not everything worked. If she ever suggests spinach pancakes for dinner,
say you’re busy.’

‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ Robert looks at me intently. ‘Leila’s never visited you in Greece?’

‘I never gave her the chance.’

‘Oh?’

‘This is the first time I’ve been back.’

‘Why so long?’ He leans forward and clasps his hands together on the plastic tablecloth. The backs
of his hands are hairy, his fingernails short but neat and he has a plain gold band on his wedding ring
finger.

‘Dad, what’s with all the questions?’

‘I’m interested that’s all.’

‘That’s fine,’ I say. ‘But it’s between me and Mum. I’d appreciate it if you let me sort things out
with her.’ I take the last couple of gulps of my cappuccino and unhook my bag off the back of the chair.
‘I’m going to make a move, thanks for the coffee.’

Ben tucks the sugar packet back in its holder. ‘I should go say hello to Leila if you want me back at
the pub by five.’

Robert nods a reply but looks at me. ‘She misses you.’

‘Can you tell her I’ll be back in a couple of days?’ I stand up. ‘I don’t think I’m doing her any good
at the moment.’

‘Give her time.’

‘It’s good to meet you both.’

‘Likewise.’ Robert pushes his chair back. His hand is big and warm in mine and he squeezes it tight
before releasing it. ‘We’ll see you in a couple of days.’

I weave my way through the bustling restaurant. I look back before leaving. Ben’s in my chair, his
elbows resting on his knees, his legs spread round the table leg. He’s older than Alekos, his face looks
worn like his T-shirt, comfy, inviting. Robert rests his chin on folded hands. He hadn’t wasted time in
sending those flowers to Mum or in getting himself down to Norwich and close to her. I imagine him
playing with his wedding ring. But he is just a friend. Darren was her lover. I can’t wait to get out of
the hospital and into drizzle.

A short taxi journey later and I’m back in my uniform white and blue room. The curtains are open
but I switch on one of the bedside lights because the incessant rain dulls everything. Despina would
approve of the room: plain, tidy and, I suddenly realise, the colour of the Greek flag. I phone Candy
and at the beep leave a message.

‘Hi, it’s Sophie. I know this is a crazy suggestion and short notice, but I was thinking of coming to
Bristol tomorrow. What do you think?’

I make a cup of tea and flick through the TV channels while it brews. Fed up with the
weather and bored, I resign myself to children’s afternoon television and wait for Candy to
call.

Heading down the M32, I want it to feel like coming home. Through the coach window I can see Bristol
spread out in front, masked by hazy sunshine and, despite its familiarity, there’s no pang of regret or
missed heartbeat of longing. My childhood was spent in the city, being handed across the fence to play
in our next-door neighbour’s garden. I used to bounce along the uneven pavement on my tricycle,
tearing up our terraced street to the park. Ice cream vans would announce their arrival at the top
of our road with a squeaky tune, which would send me running from our house with a
fifty-pence piece clutched in my palm to exchange for a Fab lolly or one of those ice creams
with bubblegum at the bottom. My memories of Bristol were Andy’s newsagents at the
bottom of our road selling two sweets for a penny, cars parked bumper to bumper, the smell
from the Indian takeaway and terraced gardens filled with barbeque smoke on summer
days.

Candy opens the front door of her Victorian terraced house in Redland, lets out a squeal and hugs
me. Her face is immaculately made up as always and she looks relaxed in loose cotton trousers and a
close-fitting T-shirt, her boobs even bigger than I remember.

At thirteen, Candy went from being flat-chested and spotty, to being 34C and spotty. The spots
didn’t seem to matter anymore. Mum said I was blessed with freckles instead of spots. I wasn’t blessed
with 34C overnight though. I was a tomboy, happy in jeans and baggy T-shirts, while Candy was a
girlie girl. Not only did she have a bust girls envied and boys lusted after and a face that wouldn’t have
looked out of place on the cover of
Just Seventeen
but she had the brains to match. I should have hated
her.

‘Shouldn’t we kiss on both cheeks?’ she says, pulling away from me. ‘God, you look healthy. What
do you mean no tan!’

‘It’s just brought out my freckles.’

‘Are you kidding me? You look great!’

She ushers me into the hallway and I drop my bag on the polished floorboards and follow her into
the open-plan kitchen-diner. Holly, wide-eyed and open-mouthed sits in a high chair dribbling into her
bib.

‘Do you want a drink?’ Candy asks. She takes a bottle of red from the wine rack on the work
surface next to the six-ringed stainless steel oven. Garlic bulbs and a sprig of bay leaves hang from a
hook on the ceiling.

Holly watches me. ‘Yes, please,’ I say, raising my eyebrows and wiggling both hands at
Holly.

‘Red or white?’

‘Water for now, please.’

‘Water?’ Candy says, taking a glass and filling it with water from the fridge. ‘That’s not the Sophie
Keech I used to know.’

‘I’ve mellowed.’

‘Bollocks.’

‘Okay, I live above a restaurant and our garden has its own well-stocked bar. I just don’t tend to
drink before six.’

This is what I’ve missed. I’ve watched Alekos with his friends talking like I used to with Candy –
the familiarity, the freedom and intimacy of talking to a best friend. I tell her about Mum and it feels
good to be hugged.

It only takes until Lee gets back from work at six for us to start on the wine. He shakes my hand
and chucks his tie over the back of the sofa. I can’t believe this is the first time I’ve met the father of
my best friend’s children. With Lee looking after the kids, it’s like old times up in Candy’s bedroom,
both of us raiding her wardrobe for a suitable top for me to wear out. It feels as if I’ve
backtracked ten years. We could be teenagers again about to down a
£
1.99 bottle of wine or
a few cans of Scrumpy Jack before blagging our way into a club. But back downstairs,
seeing Candy bend down and kiss three-year-old Jake’s forehead erases that feeling. I’m
watching the perfect nuclear family: Mum, Dad, son, daughter. It’s how Candy grew up,
and Alekos. Lee has Holly in his arms. He rocks her from side to side and she gurgles with
laughter.

Candy tops our glasses up with wine from the open bottle of white in the fridge. It’s crisp and ice
cold. Jake is ready for bed in stripy blue pyjamas that are too big for him. He scrunches up his face
when Candy says it’s bedtime. He folds his arms across his chest.

‘Come on, be a good boy. Say goodnight to Sophie.’

He shakes his head hard. I place my wine on the table and crouch in front of him. ‘Love your PJs,’ I
say, trying to catch a glimpse of his face beneath his sandy coloured hair. He curls himself into Candy’s
black trousers. I ruffle his hair and say, ‘Goodnight.’

‘Let me put them to bed and we can go out.’

Candy has booked a table in a Moroccan restaurant just round the corner from where I used to live with
Mum. This is the territory of my teens, but the pub opposite which I remember being grungy, dark and
serving cheap pints is now an Australian themed bar.

‘I thought you might like it here,’ Candy says, pushing the door open. The compact
restaurant is full of conversation and incense. It’s dusky and exotic. The tables are candlelit
and the benches and chairs are padded and thick with gold, red and green embroidered
cushions. A waitress with blonde dreadlocks greets us. She leads us to a table near the
door.

‘Can I get you something to drink?’ the waitress asks. She has a hint of an accent but I can’t quite
work out where from. Her face is striking; she has cheekbones even Candy would kill for and a sparkling
silver stud in her nose.

Candy looks at me. ‘Red?’

‘Just for a change, eh? Bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, please.’

The waitress leaves us with menus.

‘It’s so good to see you,’ Candy says. She reaches across the knives and forks to squeeze my hands.
‘Where’s your engagement ring?’

I pull my hands away conscious of my bare finger alongside the sparkling diamond on hers. ‘It’s a
long story.’

‘That sounds ominous.’

‘We’re working through some things.’

‘The wedding’s still on though? It’d better be as I’ve got the 2nd May in my diary. We’re all flying
out for it.’

I nod. ‘Me being here and Alekos being in Greece isn’t helping the situation though.’

‘Maybe a break from each other is a good thing.’

‘A break from Despina is certainly good. Anyway enough about all that. I’m here now with you
after four long years.’

Candy laughs. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised about you turning up like this, you always were impulsive.
What does your Mum think of you being here?’

‘Not a lot,’ I say. ‘Unfortunately for me her memory’s unaffected.’

‘You walked out of her life and pissed her off, so what? That’s no worse than what she did to
you.’

‘I wanted to come and see her. I wanted to comfort her but couldn’t. I feel so stupid.’

‘You’re not being stupid. To be honest, I didn’t think you were ever going to come back.’

The waitress returns with an uncorked bottle. ‘Would you like to try it?’

Candy shakes her head. ‘No need, just keep on pouring.’

The waitress obliges and I open my menu. The table opposite has all kinds of dishes laid out; I can
see steam rising from a tagine and peppers sizzling on a platter.

‘Are you okay?’ Candy asks.

I reassure her with a nod. ‘I can’t choose. I could eat everything,’ I say, running my eyes over the
menu. ‘I’m used to the Greek way of eating with all the food laid out in the middle of the table and no
deliberating over just one dish.’

‘How about sharing the
Mezze
for a starter – lamb parcels, fried aubergine salad…’ Candy orders
and we clink our glasses of wine together.

‘I can be critical of restaurants now, working in one,’ I say. ‘But I’m impressed.’ There’s an
infectious atmosphere, everyone looks relaxed and I can pick out laughter from up and down the
room.

Candy folds her bare arms on the table. ‘I can’t believe you’re a chef. What happened to
art?’

‘Life.’

‘Life?’ She laughs. ‘At least cooking is artistic.’

I nod. ‘I’ve surprised myself by how much I love it. If it wasn’t for Despina forcing me into it in the
first place, I’d never have contemplated it as a career.’

I relax and listen to Candy talk about how torn she is going back to her job as a make-up artist on
Casualty
. She makes me laugh when she says she’s looking forward to Halloween when Holly and Jake
are older and they can go trick-or-treating in costumes smeared with the fake blood she’s nicked from
work. It doesn’t take long for the
Mezze
to arrive on a large platter with two empty plates. I dip my
fork into what I think is the pumpkin relish and enjoy its smoothness and kick of garlic on my
tongue.