The Butterfly Storm (22 page)

‘Here,’ he beckons me over. ‘Have a look.’

The distant stream cutting through the marsh fills the lens. The focus is on a gorse bush pinpricked
with delicate yellow flowers.

‘Adjust the focus if you want and take a picture,’ he says. His hand shadows mine, his palm
warm over the back of my hand. He shows me how to adjust and zoom in and out. He
lets me experiment on my own but I can sense him behind me, not quite touching, but
close enough. All I have to do is lean back against his chest. My concentration wavers.
I’m treading on dangerous ground. I zoom in on the gorse bush until the image is crisp. I
can see a bee hovering over a flower, its stripy body blending with the yellow. I take a
picture.

I pull back from the camera and brush against Ben. I step away.

‘Just the one?’ he says.

‘I’m a digital camera girl. I like to see the image.’

‘It’s far more satisfying watching them develop.’

‘Do you have a darkroom?’

‘I used to. Mandy’s turned it into a spare bedroom.’

‘She’s taken everything away from you.’

‘I’m better off without her. We were destroying each other. It’s not how I imagined life would turn
out but I don’t regret leaving. It’s Fraser and Bella I care about.’

I sit down on a patch of grass by the side of the path and watch Ben take pictures. Surrounded by
tall grasses, I’m warm and sheltered from the breeze. I feel at home here, watching the birds and
insects. The colours are vivid: the blues and greys of the sky, the green of the marshes pinpricked with
yellows, white and the occasional bright red.

‘Thirsty?’ Ben asks after a while.

I nod and shake the dirt off me before we continue our walk along the salt marsh path.

The pub at Stiffkey is larger than
The Globe
but it is still cosy with a low-beamed ceiling and dark stained
wooden tables and chairs. Ben gets the drinks and I sit at a table by a window that looks out across the
road to a field of cows. There’s no music playing and I can hear the thump of darts over the
conversation filling the bar. I don’t even look at the menu after seeing what the couple on the next
table is eating: roast beef and Yorkshire puddings. Ben returns from the bar clutching two
pints.

‘Aren’t we being traitors to your Dad’s pub?’ I ask.

‘A pint here won’t kill him or us.’

Ben’s finished his pint before our food arrives. He goes to the bar to get another one and by the
time he gets back there are two large plates in front of us brimming with meat, roast potatoes,
vegetables, Yorkshire puddings and stuffing.

‘This is the life,’ I say, dipping my Yorkshire pudding into gravy. ‘Do you know I haven’t worked for
just over two weeks. At least not proper work.’

‘A change of country is as good as a rest,’ Ben says. ‘When are you going back?’

‘I see you want to get rid of me already.’

‘Far from it.’

‘I’m in no rush,’ I say.

Ben takes a gulp of his pint before starting on his food. ‘Most people would kill to live in Greece. I
loved it.’

‘It’s always different visiting a place to living there.’

‘I guess so,’ he says. ‘I’m always wishing I was somewhere else.’

‘Maybe I’ve got itchy feet. I lived in Falmouth for three years, went back to Bristol for another
three, then Greece for four. Maybe it’s time to move on again.’

‘Would your boyfriend want to live here?’

I shake my head. ‘His whole life is his family.’

‘Even without you?’

I shrug. ‘I have no idea what Alekos would do or say if I didn’t go back. I can’t see him living here
and speaking English every day. He’d have no job, no friends. I’d have to start afresh too but that
would be exciting, a new challenge.’ I cut into a roast potato and pop it in my mouth. ‘I’d love to buy a
house and do it up, have a kitchen to cook what I want in and a garden I don’t have to share with
hundreds of other people every day. I’m just worried what I want is different to what Alekos
wants.’

‘I think you were brave to go live in another country and learn the language to begin with,’ Ben
says.

‘Mum thought I was foolish leaving everything behind for Alekos.’

‘Isn’t that what everyone does when they’re in love? That’s what I did. It’s just sometimes
it doesn’t work out.’ He mops the last of the gravy up with a roast potato and puts his
knife and fork together on the plate. ‘And there’s not many people that would turn down
the chance of living in Greece. Athens is such an exciting place. When I went there on
assignments a few days was never enough. I love travelling but it didn’t exactly help my
marriage.’

‘I always felt lost in Athens, even as a visitor.’

‘And a place like this you feel exposed.’

‘I feel invisible. It’s just what I want. No one knows me.’

‘Everyone knows you.’

‘Yes, as Leila’s daughter. No one knows
me
. I could re-invent myself here if I wanted
to.’

‘I like the Sophie I’ve met very much.’ He taps what’s left of his pint against mine. ‘Do you want
another one?’ he asks, scraping his chair back.

‘Why not.’ I down the rest of my pint and watch Ben weave his way to the bar. He’s a mixture of
city and country in his Levi’s, walking boots and sweatshirt. Sitting here with the smell of beer, roast
dinner and smoke reminds me of Sundays with my flatmates in Bristol, having a pub lunch so we didn’t
have to cook. One pint would turn into four and eventually a Monday morning hangover.
More recently days off at
O Kipos
are rare and when we do have free time we never do
this: go out and relax, eat out and talk. We used to, a lot. At least I feel like I’m living life
here.

After lunch we have a game of pool. I win and Ben challenges me to a rematch, which he wins. We
can’t leave it at that so with another pint to keep us going we battle it out. It ends when Ben pots the
black.

‘The more I drink the better I get,’ he says. I can hear the slur of his words.

It’s his fifth pint and I’m struggling with my third. Even a full roast dinner hasn’t soaked up the
alcohol.

‘We’d better get going,’ I say. I take the cue from him and lean it against the wall with mine. He
downs the rest of the pint I’ve left on the side. ‘Thirsty are you?’

‘Can’t waste a good pint,’ he says.

The earlier blanket of cloud is patchy and the path switches between shade and sunlight as we walk.
There are more people around, out for their Sunday afternoon stroll. Ben clamps his arm across my
shoulders when we reach the salt marshes and we set off along the path at a fast pace,
our hips knocking against each other’s before we settle into a rhythm. A new confidence
oozes from him and I wonder if it’s just the drink talking. His laugh is louder and he’s more
upbeat.

‘Dad swears a walk every day will keep him healthy,’ Ben says. ‘Has he given you that advice
yet?’

‘Not yet. He’s given me plenty of other advice though.’

‘Ben, tidy your room for Bella and Fraser; Ben, remember it’s Vicky’s birthday,’ he says, doing a
very convincing impression of Robert. He throws his hands in the air. ‘I’m thirty-four!’ he shouts. He
startles terns hidden in the undergrowth and they squawk and flap into the air. ‘He’s disappointed in
me. He can’t understand why we’re divorcing. He has such high moral standards. Fuck him!’ He grins
at me. ‘Race you to that boat.’

He’s off before I have time to digest his words. I run after him, my legs pounding the
grassy path. By the time I catch up with him leaning against an upturned boat, I’m out of
breath.

He punches the air with his fist. ‘That felt good!’ he shouts.

‘That was unfair,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t ready.’

‘You want a rematch?’

‘I’m knackered.’

‘How about a piggyback?’

‘Now you’re talking.’

I take a run up, grasp his shoulders and launch myself on to his back. It’s warm pressed
against him and I curl my arms around his neck. He staggers along the path with my legs
resting on his arms. ‘Great view from up here,’ I say. He heads straight for the muddy
stream and I scream when he pretends to tip me in. We end up in a heap on the sandy soil,
our legs stretched out towards the water. We’re sheltered from the wind and hidden from
the path by a sand bank with reeds growing on it. We’re leaning in towards each other,
our shoulders touching. I’ve forgotten what this feels like, this closeness with someone I’m
just getting to know, the excitement of the unknown, imagining what it would be like to
touch him, to kiss him. Or for him to touch me. I dare not look at him; I don’t want him to
read my thoughts. I don’t want to see if he’s feeling the same way. I begin to scramble up
but he reaches for my arm and pulls me back. He touches my face, his fingertips smooth
against my skin. He presses his lips hard against mine, his tongue probing, the taste of
beer and cigarettes strong. His hand moves to my neck, his touch gentler than his kiss. I
close my eyes and kiss him back, teasing him with my tongue. His hand drops further,
moving above my clothes until he reaches my breasts. My head is heavy with drink, my body
longing to be free, passionate. My hands follow his lead, travelling from his face and down
the length of his torso, until I’m tugging at his belt buckle. My eagerness gives his hands
permission to dip under my top and skim across my skin. He effortlessly unhooks my bra and
kisses my neck, while all the time his hands are eagerly reaching forward until he’s cupping
my breasts. He manoeuvres on top of me and I rest my head in the sand. I open my eyes.
Everything’s unfamiliar. His pale forehead and the flecks of grey in his gelled hair. His taste. His
caress. The blueness of his eyes as he looks at me in-between kisses. And then, over his
shoulder, I see two children chasing after a Labrador along the edge of the stream. They’re
heading towards us. I nudge Ben but he’s concentrating on undoing the buttons on my
jeans.

‘Ben,’ I whisper and point. He glances over his shoulder. The children’s parents have just come into
view.

‘Shit,’ Ben says as we begin to untangle ourselves. We look dishevelled with his belt and jeans
gaping open, my top riding halfway up my stomach. The children run past us, oblivious, and we
manage to tidy ourselves up by the time their parents stroll past.

‘Afternoon,’ the father says before quickly looking away.

‘Afternoon,’ we chorus like naughty schoolchildren before falling back into the sand
giggling.

‘I feel like I’m fifteen years old and have been caught in an uncompromising position by my mother,’
I say.

‘Me too.’ He strokes the sand from my hair.

‘Except when I was fifteen it was usually my mother in the uncompromising position.’

We fall silent and look towards the once again deserted landscape. Had he been waiting the whole
day to make a move? It’s like I’m living an alternate life here. Alekos filters into my thoughts. I stand
up and shake myself. ‘I’ve got sand everywhere.’

Ben reaches out his hand and I pull him up. ‘We’d better walk home,’ I say.

Salt Cottage
is quiet and the study door is ajar. The smell of baking is sweet and strong. In the kitchen
there’s a tray of flapjacks cooling on the work surface. The back door is open, and I spy Mum sitting on
the patio. I go upstairs and lock myself in the bathroom. I lean on the edge of the sink and stare at
myself in the mirror. My hair is windswept. I gather it up into a ponytail. I can still taste Ben and
smell his aftershave on my skin and in my hair. I swear my lips and chin are red from him kissing me. I
splash water on my face and clean my teeth before patting my skin dry with a towel. Walking out into
the garden I feel self-conscious as if I’ve just come home after my first kiss. ‘Hi,’ I call across to
Mum.

She looks up and waves.

‘You look relaxed,’ I say.

She shakes a tall glass filled with ice and a clear liquid. ‘Fancy a G & T?’

I shake my head and sit down. ‘You made flapjacks.’

‘I fancied getting off my arse. And I wanted something sweet to eat.’ She looks at me over the top of
her sunglasses. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘To see the seals and then we walked to Stiffkey,’ I say.

Mum sips her drink and places it carefully on the patio table. ‘Why are you getting involved with
him?’

My cheeks begin to burn. ‘I’m not involved. We’ve been to the beach and gone for a walk. What’s
the big deal?’

‘What would Alekos say?’ Mum asks.

‘You’re a right one to talk.’

‘I just don’t think you want to get attached to him and his problems.’

‘Give him a break, his marriage has broken up.’

‘Did he tell you why?’

‘It’s none of my business. Or yours.’

‘Ben makes it everyone else’s business. He’s not the victim he makes out to be.’ Mum swirls her G
& T around, rattling the ice.

‘Does Robert know you don’t like his son?’ I ask.

‘I never said I didn’t like him. Robert’s fully aware of my feelings about Ben. He feels the same,’ she
says. ‘Don’t look at me like that. I speak my mind, Sophie. Always have, always will. I stuck up for Ben
when he first moved here. We spent a lot of time talking and I defended him when Robert was being
too harsh.’

‘What changed then?’ I ask.

‘Him putting himself before his kids.’

‘I turned out okay, didn’t I?’

She sucks her breath in sharply. ‘He had a drink problem,’ she says. ‘It’s not the best place, living
above a pub, but Robert keeps an eye on him. His marriage broke down because of
his
problems.’

‘A breakdown of a marriage can’t be blamed on one person.’

Mum shrugs and wraps her cardigan tighter around her. ‘Did he drink today?’

‘He’s an adult; he can do what he likes.’

‘He’s going to lose his kids, Sophie. Mandy’s going to fight him all the way for sole custody
and she’ll be bloody ecstatic if he doesn’t get any visitation rights. That’ll break Robert’s
heart.’