Free The Butterfly Effect by Julie McLaren Page B

of people newly in love; me laughing at something off-camera and Richie with his head turned to me, smiling. All those smiles, and more. I almost felt guilty as I chose them, knowing that Greg couldn’t fail to feel hurt, but I had to do it.
    “You have to be cruel to be kind,” Richie had said with uncharacteristic lack of originality, “otherwise he will just go on thinking he has a chance and he will never move on.”
    Later, I checked Facebook and there were many likes and quite a few comments in response to my post. This was news to some of my more distant friends, and they were happy for me and wanted to know more. I spent some time on one more post then went to bed. There was nothing from Greg and no way of knowing if he had even seen my status, but I had done all I could do and now it was a matter of waiting. I didn’t know it then, but I would not have long to wait.
    The gates to the car park were always open from about 7.30am. Anyone could drive in, but then they were closed a bit later to prevent parents clogging it up as they colluded with their offspring to avoid even the shortest walk to school. That’s how Greg was able to park in a space I could not avoid passing on my way to the entrance. That’s how he was able to jump out of his car and stand in my path as I hurried in with my bags of books and laptop swung over my shoulder.
    “Hello, Amy.”
    I was too surprised to answer, but I stopped. Maybe I should have tried to barge past him, told him to fuck off, but I would have needed the advantage of foreknowledge to do that. If I’d had that I would have arranged to walk in with Richie, but I was on my own and off guard.
    “I thought you said you weren’t looking for a relationship,” he said.
    I told him I wasn’t – hadn’t been – but sometimes these things just happen. I don’t know what I said, but it all blurted out whilst he stood there, impassive, unthreatening, unwanted, but there all the same. When I finally ran out of things to say he simply nodded and his lips tightened in a thin smile.
    “Well, relationships are funny things. Sometimes they last and sometimes they don’t, so I just want you to know that I’ll be there for you. If, when, you need me, I’ll be waiting. I’ll see you at the next gig. Goodbye.”
    “Well, I got that wrong, didn’t I?” said Richie, when I told him at break. I had decided not to tell him, to keep it to myself and see what happened, but it was always like that with Richie. It would have been like keeping something from myself, so it all came out, or what I could remember of it, as I found it hard to say what had actually happened. I knew I had said something to Greg, but what I’d said and what I wished I’d said had become somewhat confused. I think I may even have thanked him.
    “Still,” Richie continued, “it may have been one last attempt. Ill-advised, granted, but understandable, given the rare beauty, intelligence and all-round gorgeousness of the object of his affections!”
    “Don’t joke about it, please Richie,” I replied. I had a horrible feeling of anxiety, like watching the first few minutes of a horror film but without the pleasure. Everything is fine. The sun is shining and there is nothing for the characters to worry about, but you’ve seen the trailer and you know they will be pulled, inexorably, into something more awful than they could imagine. Now, I know that the logical explanation is that I had probably felt a similar feeling any number of times before, but nothing bad happened and so I only remembered the time when something did. That’s what my head believes. But what some other part of me knows is that I had a very strong feeling of presentiment, there in the warmth and safety of the staffroom, with Richie beside me and people coming and going as if everything were normal, so strong that I could not shake it off all day.
    ***
    I remember that feeling. It became quite familiar, and I have it again, or something