Free The Butterfly Effect by Julie McLaren Page A

being apart at New Year.
    So, that was the holiday over. I had been single at the start of it, and now I wasn’t. I had been a mess, worrying about something that, almost certainly, was much less significant than it seemed, and now I hardly thought about it at all. I arrived at school early, full of optimism and enthusiasm, and picked up the contents of my pigeon hole on my way up to my tutor room. I could see that there were a number of envelopes, almost certainly containing cards from pupils, and I wondered how I should acknowledge them, now that I had taken all the others down from the pin board. Should I display them on my desk just for a day or so?
    I was still mulling this over as I opened them and glanced inside. I decided to say a personal thanks to any that were from children in my tutor group but to take the others home. It was very unlikely that pupils from my English classes would even remember they had sent me a card, let alone feel let down if I failed to mention it.
    It was the third or fourth card that I opened. Even before I had looked inside, it had struck me as being rather elaborate for a pupil to have sent, but I had only vaguely registered this when I read the inscription:
    To Amy,
    Wishing you a very happy Christmas. I hope you liked the flowers. I am looking forward to seeing you sing again in the New Year, and I know our paths will cross.
    Much love,
    Greg
    My first instinct was to tear the wretched thing into pieces, hurl them to the floor and stamp on them, but I didn’t. Maybe because I was feeling so positive, I was able to stop myself and read it through again. What did it actually say? There was nothing really threatening about any of it, when I analysed it phrase by phrase. He wished me a happy Christmas – fine. He wanted to see me sing again – fine. He had sent me some flowers – not fine, but hardly anything I could complain about. The only part that resisted all my attempts at a positive spin was about knowing our paths would cross, but even that could be ambiguous. I replaced the card in its envelope and put it in my bag. Maybe I would show it to Richie later.
    I tried, I really did, but I could not forget it as the morning progressed. It was like knowing I was carrying around an unexploded bomb, and I found my stomach lurching every time my eye settled on my bag. Eventually, I put it in a cupboard, but that only transferred the anxiety from one inanimate object to another, and then I found myself trying to ensure that the offending piece of furniture was always behind me, teaching from a strange position to one side of the room. It wasn’t a great lesson and I knew I couldn’t go on like that, so when break came, I grabbed my bag and went to find Richie.
    “This was obviously sent some time ago,” he said. “Look at the language. ‘Wishing you a very happy Christmas.’ That’s a wish for the future, or it would say ‘I hope you had a happy Christmas,’ so it’s at least a couple of weeks. Agreed?”
    I nodded.
    “We weren’t together then, were we? As far as he knew, you were still a single girl. He liked you – I get that – and he wasn’t going to give up that easily, but if he finds out you’re not single any more, my guess is that he’ll back off. It’s what I would do.”
    “You wouldn’t fight for me?” I said, affecting a pout.
    “No, not if I found out you were with somebody else before we had even kissed. I’d go away and lick my wounds, but I’m not a caveman and I doubt he is either, from what you’ve said. He’s just a bit sad. Let’s find a way to give him the information and see what happens. I don’t think you will hear from him again.”
    It sounded reasonable and I hadn’t got a better idea, so I agreed and, that night, I posted a selection of photos of me and Richie at various events during the holiday. Me and Richie, arms around each other and holding glasses of fizz at New Year; a close up of our two faces, smiling the stupid smiles