The Butterfly Box(57)
Federica had spent the morning with her Uncle Toby and his friend Julian in his boat, The Helena. The sea was as calm as a lake allowing them to sail for miles with the help of a firm but warm southerly wind that sent the boat slicing through the surface like the fin of a shark. Federica liked her uncle very much. He had taken her to his cottage and shown her his collection of insects. He
had explained to her how ants built their hills and how hard they worked, like a little army of very disciplined soldiers, carrying pieces of food, sometimes twice their size, back to their nest. They had hidden in bushes at night to watch the foxes and badgers and he had built her a tree house in his parents’ garden so that she could wait for the rabbits to steal into the kitchen garden and nibble on Polly’s cabbages. In April when they had found an abandoned baby blackbird who had most probably fallen out of its nest they had immediately driven up to the Applebys’ manor to give it to Ingrid to nurse back to health. Toby and Federica had visited every day to check on its progress. Federica had been too shy to visit on her own, especially as she was afraid she might find herself alone with Sam and not know what to say. He wasn’t in the least bit interested in her. Why would he be? She was a child. But she couldn’t stop thinking of him. The bird had been promptly christened Blackie, another unoriginal name for Nuno to complain about, and no amount of coaxing would encourage it to fly away. ‘Life’s much too good!’ said Nuno as little Blackie perched on a coffee cup in the sitting room and ate breadcrumbs out of an adoring Hester’s hand. After that Hester had insisted Federica visit every day. She had been reluctant at first, but soon her desire to belong far exceeded her awkwardness and she found herself cycling up the lane daily for afternoon tea.
Hester had supported Federica during her first term at school like an overprotective nanny. Having been a shy child herself the teachers were surprised at how much she had grown in confidence in one term. Thanks to Hester, who included her in everything, Federica had made friends for the first time in her life. In Chile she had always preferred to be on her own. She had been happy that way. Now things were different. She needed Hester and to her delight Hester needed her too. But nothing could replace her father, not even Uncle Toby.
When Federica returned home from sailing she found her mother crying on the sofa in the sitting room. ‘Mama, what’s happened?’ she asked, her heart at once filling with dread that something might have happened to Hal or her grandparents. ‘It’s a letter from your father,’ Helena sniffed, handing her daughter the tear-stained piece of paper. ‘Sorry I opened it, sweetie, I thought it was addressed to me.’
She lied. She had been unable to resist. She hadn’t heard from Ramon since
they had left in January. When she recognized his handwriting she hadn’t wasted a moment, but tore it open in a sudden fit of rage and longing. It was written from India on hotel writing paper and had taken a month to reach them. He had written such an enchanting story for Federica that the tears had welled in her eyes until they had spilled over, running down her face in a stream of jealousy and resentment.
‘I hate Ramon for what he has made me become,’ she explained to her mother later that evening when Federica had gone to bed. ‘I’m jealous of my daughter because he wrote to her and not to me. He loves her. In his hopeless way he loves her. Then I resent him for maltreating her. For writing this letter which will only bring her hope. He’s not coming back. It’s over, for all of us. For Federica too. But this letter will only make it worse. He raises her hopes only to dash them later. He’s always been like that, impulsive. Suddenly gripped by remorse or homesickness or God knows what, he writes this epistle of love, but he’ll have forgotten all about it by now. That’s what sickens me. He’s so damned irresponsible. If only he’d come clean and tell her to forget him then she wouldn’t be constantly on the brink of having her heart broken. I can't bear it for her. He doesn’t even write a message to me, not even a few
Federica read the letter while her heart inflated like a happy balloon, filling her chest with excitement. Surely this must mean that he will be coming to visit soon, she thought, biting her lip to contain the impulse to scream with joy. Then she ran into her grandfather’s study to find where India was on the map. It wasn’t too far from England. Not that far at all, she deduced, turning the globe around to find Chile. Chile was the other side of the world. But India was close. Close enough for him to stop and visit on his way back to Santiago. She read the letter several times before placing it in the butterfly box that sat on her bedside table. As she listened to the light clatter of tiny bells she was comforted by the certainty that he loved her and was thinking about her. That letter made up for the four months of silence during which she had almost given up hope that he remembered her at all.