Free Butterfly Summer by Anne-Marie Conway Page B

the greatest magic trick in the world; a grubby little caterpillar turning into a beautiful butterfly. I took some amazing shots, recording everything from the second the butterfly emerged from its chrysalis until its wings were strong enough for it to fly. I turned to take one of Rosa May, her eyes wide as she watched the flame-coloured butterfly flutter from flower to flower, but she leaped up suddenly, skipping off across the field.
    “Come on, Becky!” she cried, calling back to me. “Let’s follow it round, see where it goes next!”
    Later on, when I was walking home, I kept replaying the moment the butterfly burst out of the chrysalis, fully formed and ready to start its new life. Squashed in one minute, free the next. It gave me a funny feeling in my tummy, like I wanted to break free myself. I started to run down Amble Cross, my arms spread out like wings. I was soaring through the sky, over the marshmallow clouds, high above the fields – light as a feather and free. I flew all the way back to the green, collapsing in a sweaty heap in front of the Jacksons’ shop.
    “I don’t know where you get the energy, running in heat like this,” said Mr. Jackson. He was sitting out front in his string vest, the paper open on his lap.
    I laughed, still trying to catch my breath. “I’ve just seen a real butterfly emerging from its chrysalis,” I said, as if that explained everything. Mr. Jackson smiled and went back to his crossword.
    As I came up the lane to our cottage I saw Stella’s car parked outside. I wondered if she knew I’d spent yesterday afternoon with Mack and the thought gave me a funny feeling in my tummy all over again. I rushed up the path, pulling my key out of my bag. I was just about to let myself in when I heard Stella’s voice from inside. It was hard and angry.
    “What do you mean you haven’t told her, Tracy? That’s the whole reason you came back to Oakbridge in the first place. You’ve got to tell her. However difficult it is, she’s got a right to know what happened!”

I fumbled with the key, straining to hear what they’d say next. They were talking about the photo. About the baby. They had to be. I’d never heard Mum and Stella argue before. Stella knew something and she obviously thought I should know too. My legs felt weird, as if they’d forgotten what to do, and I had to force myself to walk through the door and into the kitchen.
    Mum was sitting at the table; Stella was by the stove facing her. It was almost funny in a way, like one of those freeze-frame scenes we used to do in drama: Your daughter has just overheard you and your friend talking about a secret from the past. 1...2...3...FREEZE!
    Mum looked as if she might stay frozen for ever, but Stella took a step towards me, her arms stretched out for a hug.
    “Hello, Becky, my love. Have you had a nice day? Your mum and I were just having a little chat.” She glanced at Mum, but it was as if she’d turned to stone. “Come on, Tracy. Becky’s here and you’ve got something to tell her, haven’t you .”
    I stared past Stella at Mum.
    “I’ve left my job,” she said, her lips barely moving. “I wasn’t going to say anything but Stella said you had a right to know.”
    There was something else too, there had to be. I glanced back at Stella, willing her to challenge Mum. To force her to tell me everything.
    “I’ll be off then,” said Stella stiffly.
    “No, don’t go yet,” I cried. “I’ll make a cup of tea, or some lemonade. Please , Stella.” But she grabbed her bag and keys and made for the door.
    “I’ll see you soon, Becky, my sweet. You come over to my place any time you want. And I mean that.”
    She gave Mum one last long look and swept out. It was hopeless. Mum would never tell me the truth without Stella there to make her.
    “I’m sorry,” she said, as soon as the front door closed. “It was the workload, you see, it just got too much for me. They were very nice about it, but I was