Read Online Shooting Butterflies by Marika Cobbold - Free Book Online Page A

had grown accustomed to silence. Poor Mrs Shield never did. When they were meant to be talking about her stepdaughter’s lack of teenage ways and she met only vagueness in return once again, she got so provoked that she said something about Grace maybe preferring girls. Grace had not minded. You could take pleasant too far, she had been thinking for some time. As her father fled the room, red-faced and upset, she explained kindly to Mrs Shield that, as she had never kissed a girl let alone slept with one, she could not be absolutely sure, but thought that, on balance, it was boys she liked. Mrs Shield had apologised, saying she didn’t know what had come over her. Grace had told her not to worry; having to be so damn pleasant was a strain on everyone.
    At the time of her father’s death Grace had still not brought back a nice boy, or girl either for that matter. She had friends, quite a few, but as for falling in love; well, it seemed not to be for her. Anyway, she had other things to do.
    At just after eight o’clock the following morning Grace was woken by Aunt Kathleen knocking on her bedroom door and telling her ‘that McGraw boy’ was downstairs waiting to see her. Aunt Kathleen did not approve of visitors dropping in before nine in the morning or after nine at night. Before and after those timesshe wore her curlers and her housecoat and wished to be private; everyone knew that.
    Face to face again, they became shy. He kept looking at his feet, shuffling like a ten year old. Grace started to sweat although it was still cool inside. ‘I thought you might want to go for a walk or something,’ he said finally. ‘I could show you around the place.’
    Aunt Kathleen had appeared behind them on the stairs. ‘Grace has been here for two weeks already,’ she said. ‘I’m sure she knows her way around by now.’
    â€˜No, I don’t,’ Grace said firmly and without blushing. ‘I have a truly shocking sense of direction.’ When it came to telling lies she was coming on a treat.
    Much later on Aunt Kathleen told her that she had watched the two of them walk down the path and out of the gate that morning and then she had gone into the bathroom where Uncle Leslie was shaving and said, ‘I expect that soon they’ll think they’re in love. They’re young and good-looking and we’re going through a hot spell.’ And she had worried that Jefferson might not yet have got over Cherry Jones, who had upped and left for Europe in the late spring. But she had kept her concerns to herself as she had an idea that a negative thought, once let out, would spread and take hold.
    They lay in the deep grass, gazing at the sky. He was wearing nothing but his old cut-off jeans; his shrunken tie-dye T-shirt was suspended from a low-hanging branch of a maple and his mucky sneakers lay upside down on the ground. Grace, in her khaki shorts and a white cotton shirt, was chewing on a blade of grass. He reached out and took her hand and then he raised himself on one elbow and leant down as if he was about to kiss her. Instead he said, ‘Do that again.’
    â€˜Do what?’
    â€˜Smile.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜Because.’ He turned away, but not before she could see the colour rise in his tanned cheeks. ‘Because you could light up a room with the wattage of that smile.’ Then he turned back to her.
    Grace’s grin widened. God he was corny, but still it felt good.
    â€˜You’re special.’
    I’m dreaming, she thought.
    â€˜This girl, Cherry, is travelling in Europe. She’s in Greece right now. Could you believe that, Greece?’
    â€˜I’ve never been,’ Grace said. ‘Mrs Shield always yearned to go to Rhodes but my father refused to go because of the junta. He played Theodorakis records instead, but that just made Mrs Shield yearn more. “I will not compromise my principles because my wife wants a