Butterfly Read Online Free PDF

box
of cakes, I go to the side entrance and knock.
    The lock clicks undone, and
Christine stands in the doorway. She’s in her early fifties with
long grey hair tied in a messy bun.
    ‘Hi, Grace. How are you?’ She
gives me a wide grin and steps back to let me inside. I follow her
into the industrial kitchen and smell something like beef stew
wafting its way towards me. My stomach growls.
    ‘I’m OK, thanks. I’ve brought
some leftovers.’
    She opens the box and peers in.
‘“Leftovers” don’t do them justice. Yours are the best cakes and
cookies I’ve ever tasted. These won’t last long. Thanks, sweetie.
Do you want a cup of tea?’
    I usually stay for one; anything
to delay going back to a soulless flat, but tonight I want to drop
the second box off. ‘Thanks, but I’ve got another errand to
run.’
    She rubs my arm. ‘OK, well,
thanks again. You’re an angel.’
    An angel? If she really
knew me, she wouldn’t think that.
    I suddenly remember the dodgy
brake light. The last thing I need is to have an accident like Ben.
If I can’t work, I can’t pay Aunt Imogen, or my bills.
    ‘Could you do me a favour,
Christine?’
    ‘Of course, what do you
need?’
    ‘I just need to check if my
brake lights are working.’
    She puts the box on the worktop.
‘Come on, then, let’s have a look.’
    I get in the car, leaving the
door open. I turn the ignition on and press my foot to the brake
pedal as she stands behind.
    ‘Yes, they’re both working OK.’
She rounds the car and stands at my open door.
    ‘Great, thanks a lot.’
    ‘No problem. Hopefully I’ll see
you tomorrow if you have anything left.’
    ‘Absolutely.’ I smile and drive
away.
    Maybe it’s an intermittent
problem like Ben mentioned. I should really get a mechanic to check
it.
    Damn! The plumber! I slap
a hand to my forehead as I remember the leak. Everything seems to
be going wrong at once. What was it they said? Bad things happen in
threes? I wondered what the next thing would be.
    As I pull out of the shelter and
head towards the hospital, I seriously question my mental state.
Why am I going to see him? I don’t have a rational answer, but then
I don’t think rationally anymore. Irrational is my new norm.
    I find a spot in the car park
and turn off the engine, watching people coming and going for ten
minutes. Some of them wear frowns of worry, and I try to work out
from their faces what’s wrong with their loved ones inside.
Appendicitis? A tumour? A broken leg? A couple appear, holding
hands, their faces radiant like they’ve just been given some
terrific news.
    Before I know it, half an hour’s
gone by. I can’t procrastinate anymore. All I can think about are
his eyes and the way they studied me intensely, as if he saw
something inside me that no one else does.
    Fumbling for the door handle, I
look up at the fifth floor windows and wonder for the millionth
time exactly why I’m here. But then I’m on autopilot, and I walk
through the hospital and get in the lift that’s crowded with
visitors.
    I press myself into the corner
and clutch the box to my stomach. The floors light up on the dial
as we climb higher. When I reach the ward, no nurses are at the
desk, so I retrace my steps from last night along the corridor, my
heartbeat fluttering nervously like a humming bird’s trapped
inside. When I get to the bed, it’s empty. I look around the ward.
The beds that had curtains around them last night now house an
elderly man who’s asleep, and a man in his mid-fifties who’s
reading a book. I walk towards him.
    ‘Sorry to bother you, but there
was a guy called Ben here last night.’ I point to the end bed. ‘Is
he OK?’
    The man pushes his reading
glasses up and the book drops to his lap. ‘Oh, he was discharged a
couple of hours ago. Are you a friend of his?’
    My mouth won’t work because I
don’t know what to say. I’m not a friend. I’m not anything. So why
do I feel a flood of irrational disappointment rush