The Butterfly Box (17 page)

When they turned the corner into the narrow lane that wound its way down to the house where Toby and Helena had grown up, Helena felt her heart turn over. She rolled down the window to smell the familiar scents of her childhood. But it was January and the air was frosted so she smelt nothing. This did not dampen her enthusiasm. As they drove through the gates and onto the gravel the white house rose into view like a steady old friend, exactly as it always had been, pretty in spite of the winter that left its walls naked and exposed.

On hearing the car, Jake and Polly, who had spent the previous hour pacing the rooms in agitation, hurried out of the front door to welcome the weary travellers home. Polly noticed immediately that her daughter was thin and gaunt but she was surprised at how well the children looked. Federica ran into her arms and embraced her in excitement.

‘You have your own room, Fede, and I’ve even made you chocolate crispies for tea because I remember how much you liked them when I made them for you in Chile.' said Polly, hugging the skinny child who held on to her waist like an orphaned monkey. Hal clung to his mother’s legs and begged to be picked up.

‘Hal, sweetie, you’re too big to be carried. You’re four and not a small four either,’ Helena laughed, kissing her father with emotion. ‘God, it’s good to be home. I feel better already.’

‘Do come in out of the cold. It’s warm in the kitchen, let’s all go and talk in there,’ Polly suggested, ushering Federica in with her capable big hands.

‘Well driven, Toby,’ said Jake, patting his son stiffly on his back. ‘It was very good of you to pick them up.’

‘No trouble at all, Dad,’ he replied, grateful for his father’s praise. He didn’t get much of it these days.

Polly laid the table with a chipped teapot that Toby had once dropped and an odd collection of mugs she had acquired over the years. She then loaded up a tray with chocolate crispies, biscuits, cake and Marmite sandwiches. Unlike other Chilean children Hal and Federica had grown up on Marmite which Polly had sent out regularly to Viña along with the Mary Quant makeup Helena couldn’t do without. Polly looked at her daughter with worry. She was still good looking but her radiance had faded like a dried flower. Neglect had

sucked the juice out of her and left her dehydrated. Polly wanted to wring Ramon’s neck, but she was careful to wait until she was alone with Helena before she talked about her errant husband. The children warmed up in front of the Aga, eating their way through the tea like hungry locusts. They settled in quickly and Hal overcame his shyness when he saw the chocolate cake.

‘It’s so wonderful to be home again. It’s just like the old days. Nothing’s changed,’ said Helena, surveying the room in one swiff glance while she lit a cigarette and inhaled slowly, savouring the first rush of nicotine. Her mother had barely aged in the last few years. She was an agile sixty-year-old with plump honey skin that seemed too lubricious to dry into lines and the shining eyes of someone blessed with a strong constitution and good health. If it hadn’t been for her greying hair that she twisted into an untidy bun and the matronly clothes she wore, she wouldn’t have looked a day older than fifty. Her father’s hair was now a dignified silver which softened his craggy features and made him look less like the swarthy smuggler he had resembled when it had been black. He still said little but observed everything. When he did speak everyone listened.

‘It’s lovely to have you back,’ Polly enthused, her ruddy cheeks hot from the excitement of seeing her child and grandchildren again. ‘I’ve got the perfect friends for Federica and Hal.' she added happily. ‘Do you remember the Applebys?’

Helena looked at Toby. ‘What, that mad family who live at Pickthistle Manor?’ she replied, smiling at her brother because as children they had always tried to engage old Nuno Appleby in conversation whenever they saw him because he was Polperro’s most entertaining eccentric. He had been in his early sixties then, walking on the balls of his feet with a very straight back, nodding his tortoise-shaped head at people as he passed them as if he were mayor. He had been born in Cornwall and yet, because he had spent much of his youth in Italy studying art, he spoke with a pseudo-Italian accent and had changed his name from Nigel to Nuno. He lived in Pickthistle Manor with his daughter Ingrid, an avid bird watcher, and her writer husband Inigo and their five wild children.

‘Well, they’re not mad, dear, original perhaps, but not mad,’ Polly replied.

‘Original!’ Jake chuckled, grinning a lopsided smile that revealed one crooked wolf’s tooth. ‘And I usually count on Polly to say it like it is.’ He laughed.

‘Ingrid and Inigo have five children,’ said Polly, ignoring her husband. ‘Let me see, there must be one or two compatible with Fede and Hal.’ She squinted her pale blue eyes as she tried to remember them.

‘Well,’ interrupted Toby, ‘Sam must be about fifteen, so he’s no good.’ He recalled the rather arrogant boy who rarely spoke to anyone and always had his nose buried in a biographical dictionary.

‘Goodness no, I’m talking about Molly and Hester,’ said Polly.

‘Ah yes. Molly must be about nine and Hester seven,’ said Toby. ‘Perfect playmates. They both go to the local school so it could work very well.’

‘That would be nice for Fede,’ said Helena, watching her children who now laughed happily, playing with the presents Ramon had given them.

‘Lucien and Joey are little, Hal’s age more or less,’ Polly added. ‘I think we should invite them over for tea sometime soon.’

‘I remember Ingrid,’ Helena laughed, ‘just as crazy about animals as you, Toby. If there was a wounded creature within five miles she’d find it, box it and nurture it back to health in her airing cupboard.’

‘Well, if they weren’t wounded they pretended to be, that airing cupboard was like the Ritz,' Toby chuckled. ‘Do you remember those flea-ridden

hedgehogs she kept in the scullery?’

‘And the goose who was so vicious they couldn’t use their kitchen for a week until its leg had recovered.
You
can hardly talk with all your insects installed in five-star incubators,’ Helena added, grinning at her brother.

‘She still spends most of the day on the cliff painting seagulls,’ said Polly. ‘She paints beautifully.’ She sighed in admiration. ‘Mind you it’s all at the expense of those dear children who live like gypsies.’

‘Rather grand gypsies, Polly,’ Jake interjected wryly.

‘Yes, grand gypsies, but they run wild. Ingrid’s so vague and Inigo spends all day locked in his study writing or tearing through the house grumbling about everything. Best to stay out of his way I always think. Still, they are charming children even though there’s not an ounce of discipline to share between them.’

‘Do you think they’re the right sort of children for mine?’ Helena asked anxiously, flicking her ash into the bin.

‘Of course they are. Federica could do with a little freedom,’ said Polly, remembering how Federica wasn’t allowed out of her front garden without the supervision of a maid or her mother. Police patrolled the streets and the

military enforced the curfew. Viña del Mar was carefree enough but a suburb was no place to bring up children. The countryside will do them the world of good,’ she added, taking joy from the idea of them playing on the beaches and running through the fields with their new friends. Federica was still a child although she seemed like a young woman in a child’s body. Polly thought it was high time she was allowed to enjoy her childhood, or at least the few years she had left.

When Federica was tucked up in her new bed she lay on her side and stared at the butterfly box that sat on her bedside table. It was so dark that she had asked her mother to keep the door open onto the landing so that the light could flood in and dilute the night that seemed all consuming in this unfamiliar country. She looked at her box and took courage from it, a little piece of home in a strange land, a little bit of her father to cling onto until he arrived to love her properly.

Flelena had allowed Hal to share her bed for the first night. She didn’t realize at the time but she needed him as much as he needed her and he would consequently share her bed for the next six months, until Polly finally intervened and tactfully suggested that perhaps it wasn’t healthy for a young boy to be so dependent on his mother. But that first night had been important for both of them. Helena clung to his warm body hoping to reassure him and assuage her guilt at having torn him away from his father and home. She knew her children were young enough to cope with the trauma of uprooting, she knew they’d make friends and one day almost forget they had ever lived in Chile. Certainly for Hal, Chile would pale into a murky memory whereas for Federica it would be harder. She thought of Molly and Hester Appleby and her hope rested with them. She resolved to introduce them as soon as possible. Federica hadn’t had many friends in Chile, she was by nature more of a loner, probably due to having had three years as an only child. She closed her heavy eyes and let sleep wash over her, drowning all the unpleasantness of the past and leaving her to dream about the wonderful new life that was opening up to them. But every now and then Ramon’s imposing will would invade her thoughts and claim her once again while she was powerless to fight him.

‘Poor Helena,’ Polly sighed, pulling the covers above her matronly breasts. ‘She’s done the right thing though. I hated thinking of her out there in Chile without anyone to watch out for her. Now she has us, we’ll take care of her.’

‘Don’t let her get you running around for her, Polly. You know what she’s like,’ said Jake, climbing into bed.

‘Helena needs us.’

‘Yes she does. But go easy or you’ll end up her slave just like the old days,’ he said, rolling over and turning off the light.

‘She’s different now. She’s been through a hard time and she needs our support,’ she insisted.

‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ he mumbled before sighing heavily, indicating that he was too tired to talk any more.

Molly and Hester Appleby were intrigued by the thin, trembling girl who stood shyly before them. Their mother had invited her mother to tea telling them that Fede, pronounced Fayday, had just arrived in England and had no friends. They were to make her feel welcome. In typical Ingrid style she threw the children together and told them to run off and play while she caught up with the girl’s mother.

‘Fede’s a funny name,’ said Molly, narrowing her green eyes suspiciously.

‘It’s short for Federica,’ Federica replied hoarsely.

‘That’s funny too,’ said Molly.

‘My father’s from Chile,’ she said, then noticed the two girls’ faces staring blankly back at her. ‘That’s in South America,’ she explained. They both understood South America from the map which their nanny had painted on the nursery wall and nodded.

‘Is your Daddy black?’ Hester asked.

‘No,’ Federica replied, shocked. ‘He’s got black hair though,’ she added and smiled as she thought of him.

‘Our Daddy has black moods,’ said Molly and laughed. ‘We’ll show you around if you like.’

Federica nodded.

Federica borrowed a pair of Wellington boots and a coat that was much too big for her and followed them out into the winter garden. Their house was a large white manor with tall sash windows and a wide terrace, descending onto the lawn by way of an imperial set of large stone steps. The ground was hard and glittered with crisp white frost that Federica had never seen before. She had seen snow, because her father had taken them skiing a few times in the Andes resort of La Parva, but she had never seen frost. They wandered down

the lawn towards the lake that lay flat and icy at the bottom of the garden. ‘Let’s ice skate,’ Molly suggested, padding carefully onto the lake. Federica followed her, wincing as she took her first faltering steps over the slippery surface.

‘Careful you don’t fall,’ said Molly.

Federica didn’t want to go on the ice. She was frightened it might break. But she watched miserably as the two unfriendly girls skated their way into the middle of the lake and knew that if she wanted them to be her friends she would have to follow. Reluctantly she stood unsteadily on the shiny surface. Relieved that it felt sturdy and secure she skated stiffly after them. ‘Come on, Fede!’ Molly shouted, smiling at her. ‘Well done!’

‘Bet you never did this in Chile,’ said Hester. She was right. Federica nodded.

‘Isn’t this fun? I’d like to skate properly with proper skates,’ said Molly. ‘I wish Daddy would buy me a pair, then I could twirl around.’ She demonstrated a shaky twirl. Hester tried to copy her but fell on her bottom. They laughed and Federica laughed too, feeling the first thrill of camaraderie. She practised a few turns which resulted in her falling onto the ice as well.

‘Like this,’ Molly instructed, taking large steps and lifting one leg into the air.

Hester and Federica copied her, giggling at their hopeless efforts.

‘Look, there’s Sam!’ Hester shouted, waving to her brother who descended the lawn towards them.

‘Get off the ice!’ he shouted. ‘It isn’t safe.’

‘Spoilsport,’ said Molly under her breath. ‘Come on,’ she sighed, skating off towards him.

Suddenly there came a deep cracking noise, like the awakening groan of a monster from the deep. Molly roared with laughter, Hester screamed in alarm and Federica, some way behind them, began to run in her effort to get off the ice. She didn’t realize that one shouldn’t run on ice. The groan got louder and more threatening. She ran faster but her feet started to falter. Suddenly they slipped up from under her and she landed on her chest winding herself, knocking her chin against the surface with a terrifying crunch. When she tried to get up she saw blood on the ice and cried out in terror. As she raised herself onto her knees, barely able to breathe because of her fall, it gave way and she slid into the freezing water of the lake. Panic seized her around her throat so that her cry was nothing more than a pathetic whisper. She tried to grab onto the ice that surrounded her but it crumbled in her hands like icing on a cake. Her coat