The Butterfly Box Read Free Page A

of their terracotta roof, which Federica thought looked very ugly. Her mother didn’t bother to look after herself like Chilean women who always had long manicured nails, perfect
    lipstick and immaculate clothes. Helena bustled about with her hair scrunched carelessly up onto the top of her head and she usually had a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Federica thought she was beautiful when she made an effort and judging by old photographs she was once very beautiful indeed. But recently she had let herself go. Federica hoped she would make an effort for her father.
     
    Helena stepped out of the bathroom followed by a puff of steam. Her face was pink and her eyes sparkled from the moisture. Federica lay on the white damask bedspread and watched her mother dress and prepare herself for her husband’s return. Helena could smell the lavender and the ripe scent of oranges and refrained from lighting another cigarette. She felt guilty. Federica was so excited she quivered like a horse in the starting gate while she awaited Ramon’s return with trepidation and the secret knowledge that any moment now she’d gather together her courage and leave him for good. As she painted her face she watched her daughter in the mirror while she didn’t know that she was being watched. She stared out of the window across the sea as if her father was arriving by boat and not by car. Her profile was childish and yet her expression was that of a grown woman. The anxious expectation in her frown and on her trembling lips betrayed too much awareness for a child her age. She worshipped her father with the devotion of a dog, whereas Hal worshipped his mother whom, Helena felt, was more deserving of his love.
    When Helena was ready, in a pair of tight white trousers and T-shirt, her hair scrunched up on her head, still damp and knotted, she sat on the bed beside her daughter and ran a damp hand down her face.
    ‘You look lovely, sweetie. You really do,’ she said and kissed her innocent brow affectionately.
    ‘He’ll be here soon, won’t he?’ said Federica softly.
    ‘Any minute,’ Helena replied, masking the tremor in her voice with a deftness that came from years of practice. She got up abruptly and hurried down the stairs. She couldn’t smoke in the bedroom, not after Federica had prepared it so lovingly, but she was in desperate need of a cigarette. Just as she reached the bottom, her espadrilles landing on the cold stone tiles of the hallway, the front door swung open and Ramon filled the entrance like a large black wolf. Helena gasped and felt her stomach lurch. They stared at each other, wordlessly assessing the frigid estrangement that still grew up between them
    whenever they found themselves together in the same room.
    ‘Fede, Papa's here!’ Helena shouted, but as impassive as her features were her voice croaked with repressed emotion. Ramon’s dark brown eyes pulled away from the stony countenance of his wife in search of his daughter whom he heard squeal with delight from the landing before the soft patter of her small feet scurried across the floorboards and skipped down the stairs two at a time. She jumped past her mother and into her father’s sturdy embrace. She wrapped her thin arms around his bristly neck, nuzzling her face into his throat and inhaling the heavy, spicy scent that made him different from everyone else in the world. He kissed her warm cheek, lifting her off the ground and laughing so loudly she felt the vibration shake against her body like an earthquake.
    ‘So you missed me!’ he said, swinging her around until she had to wrap her legs about his waist to stop herself from falling.
    ‘Yes, Papa!’ she laughed, clinging on as her happiness almost choked her.
    At that moment Hal ran into the hall, took one look at his father and burst into tears. Helena, grateful for the distraction, ran to him and picked him up in her arms, kissing his wet cheek. ‘It’s Papa, Hal darling, he’s come home,’ she