Paper Butterflies. Lisa Heathfield

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      ‘I’ve never seen a ghost in them.’

      I follow him as he goes out and down the steps.

      ‘So now they’re all yours?’ I ask as we walk back down the path.

      ‘I pretend they are.’

      We go back into the trailer with all the shapes, and I copy Blister as he sits on a beanbag. He’s a bit chubby, like me. His fingers are muddy and his nails are bitten down.

      ‘I’ve been digging,’ he says.

      I look away. ‘Oh.’

      ‘So, where do you live?’ he asks, putting his glass down on the floor.

      ‘Potter’s Lane.’

      ‘Down by the river?’

      ‘Yes,’ I say, my heart thumping a bit faster. ‘Where do you live?’

      ‘Near Picker’s Yard.’ He takes a piece of red paper from the table and starts to fold it.

      ‘I don’t know it,’ I say. Blister unfolds the paper and rubs it flat again.

      ‘There’s not much to know,’ he smiles. ‘But if you like chaos, you’d love my house. It’s good chaos, though.’ He drinks a bit of his water. ‘Now, if this was orange juice, it would be delicious.’

      ‘It’s still nice.’

      ‘Yeah, I suppose it is.’

      ‘How did he murder her?’ I ask.

      ‘Who?’ He looks surprised.

      ‘The husband. Who owned these trailers.’

      ‘Oh, right.’ Blister leans on his hands and stares at me across the table. His eyes are almost black, which looks a bit strange, as his skin is so rosy and white. ‘They say he strangled her and then chopped her up and . . .’

      ‘No!’ I laugh and put my hands over my ears. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

      Blister smiles at me. His dimples are on his cheeks again.

      ‘Are you chicken?’ he asks.

      ‘No.’

      ‘I bet most of it’s rumours.’

      ‘How long does it take you to do them?’ I ask, looking up at the ceiling.

      ‘My paper shapes?’ We both stare at them, hanging like little planets. ‘Depends which one. That one –’ Blister points to a seagull, flying silently above our head – ‘that didn’t take long. But that one . . .’ There’s a castle, near the window.

      ‘It’s amazing.’

      ‘Yeah, I like it. That one took me a few hours. It took me ages just to get the turrets right.’

      ‘Can I touch it?’

      ‘You’ll see it better if you stand on a chair,’ Blister says, getting up.

      I copy him, until I’m nose to nose with the castle walls.

      ‘It’s six pieces of paper, all stuck together, with thin cardboard for the floor,’ he says. When I touch the castle, it spins slightly. He’s drawn a princess waving from one of the windows. ‘This is my best bit.’ Blister unhooks a thin piece of string and lowers the drawbridge. Inside is a little knight on a plastic horse, his sword pointing towards us.

      ‘Did you really make the castle yourself ?’

      ‘It’s not so hard.’ He draws the bridge up and gets down from his chair.

      ‘I think it’s really cool.’

      ‘Thanks.’ He moves the red piece of paper so that it meets the corner of the table. ‘I could teach you one day.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Course.’ Blister rubs at the mud on the back of his hand. It changes to a light smudge.

      ‘You don’t go to my school,’ I say.

      ‘I don’t go to any school,’ he laughs.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Our mom and dad teach us at home.’

      ‘How?’

      ‘They take it in turns, depending if Dad’s working.’

      ‘You really don’t go to school?’ A murmur of jealousy flickers inside me.

      ‘No. We learn at home. Well, we try to. It’s a bit chaotic at our house. I don’t think they know where half of us are most of the time.’

      ‘Are there lots of you?’

      ‘Seven – five boys and two girls. Nine, if you count Mom and Dad.’ He picks up a black crayon from the tub next to him and starts to draw a square in the middle of the red paper. ‘How many do you have?’ He looks up. ‘Brothers and sisters?’

      ‘One. Sort of,’ I say, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about Megan in here.

      ‘How can you have a sort of ? Are they cut in half ?’ Blister is drawing all sorts of thin lines in the middle of his square.

      ‘She’s a stepsister.’

      ‘Oh, one of those.’ He swaps the crayon for a pencil. ‘It must be quite nice, just having one.’

      ‘I guess.’

      ‘Most of mine are adopted. Mom and Dad had Maggie and me, but then they couldn’t have any more, so they adopted lots instead. It’s good, though.’

      I watch him draw and rub at the lines. His eyes screw up a little bit, in concentration. He scratches his shoulder, before he picks up the paper and shows it to me.

      ‘What do you think?’

      I think it’s meant to be the skull of some sort of animal.

      ‘It’s good,’ I say, although I’m not really sure it is. But I like the way that he took his time drawing it, how careful he was.

      ‘You can have it, if you want.’ Blister folds it in half and then half again and passes it to me.

      ‘Thanks,’ I say.

      ‘So, if you have a stepsister, does that mean you live with your mom or dad?’ he asks, sipping at his water again.

      ‘My dad.’

      ‘Where’s your mom?’

      ‘She’s dead,’ СКАЧАТЬ