Nobody's Butterfly by Claire Davis & Al Stewart

Author:Claire Davis & Al Stewart [Davis, Claire & Stewart, Al]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Beaten Track Publishing
Published: 2017-11-30T18:30:00+00:00

Johnny’s list: Mum, Nan, Granddad, photos of Granddad, Granddad’s china dog.

“That was brilliant. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Johnny breathed. “How did you do it?” He sat down in the corner of the shed where Finn had made seats from a set of old drums. “Maybe you really are a wizard.”

“Of course I am!” Finn chuckled. “Shall we have a feast?” He pulled out a bag full of stolen food. “I’m starving. Greg’s a wanker. Why does he pick on you?”

All the other kids loved Greg. Johnny inhaled sharply, rich with the knowledge someone else agreed. “No arguments from me. How can you be starving? We just had tea.” Watching Finn eat was riveting. First, he gathered all the food in front of his bony knees and hoarded it like a squirrel. Next, he opened all the packets and carefully took out various biscuits, pies and a loaf of bread.

“You’re not going to eat all that, are you?”

He lined the items according to some system not obviously apparent, choosing which tasty morsel went to the front of the queue. Finn finally looked up. For the first time ever, his face flooded red. He looked down at the food and then back up, not quite to Johnny.

“No. Course not,” he said, but something made Johnny think he would have eaten the lot if alone. His shame made the dripping walls begin a slow descent, leading inevitably to Johnny’s feet.

“Go on. Eat,” he urged. “I don’t care. I’m still flummoxed by you getting Greg round your little finger.”

“Flummoxed.” Finn giggled. “I love that word.” He took a few biscuits and crammed them in, casting sly peeps sideways. “Almost as good as youths.”

“Go on. Eat up. Please?”

Johnny was often ashamed, so often it was, in fact, always. The trick cyclist tried to talk about it but even he had grown tired at the lack of progress. When much younger and still with hope, they drew pictures of what shame meant. The best was a bleeding circle with a small boy inside, surrounded by other kids, jeering. The blood was breaking free of the circle edges, moving closer and closer. The trick cyclist had made a lot of fuss about it. He glanced up at the dripping walls. “Where did you learn to do that? Greg just crumbled.”

Finn swallowed. Biscuit crumbs scattered his face and top, showing he was no longer ashamed. This would keep the dripping walls back for a while, but then Finn went one further and burped loudly—“’Scuse me”—and wiped his mouth with one sleeve. The crumby mess on his cheek made Johnny insanely happy. “From watching detectives and courts.” He moved nearer. “It’s amazing what you can learn about human behaviour and stuff! I must have seen thousands and thousands.”

“What’s your favourite?”

Finn considered. “Maybe the old ones. Cracker and Frost. One day, I wanna do that.”

“Be a detective?”

“Yeah. Mother of god!” Finn unpeeled a block of cheese. “Here we have the lottery win of today, my friend! Mature cheddar with—” he sniffed the yellow block “—a hint of cream.

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