The Butterfly Box(75)

windows to marvel at the white garden that lay silently in the emerging dawn light. They had been so excited by the snow that neither had noticed the fat stockings which lay full of presents at the end of their beds.

Scrambling into Helena’s bed Hal and Federica excitedly tore open the tissue paper on each carefully wrapped present. ‘How come Father Christmas found us in England?’ Federica asked her mother, squealing in delight as she pulled out a brand new paint box.

‘He’s very clever,’ she replied, watching as Federica folded each bit of wrapping paper neatly in a pile while Hal threw his on the floor for someone else to pick up later.

‘I hope he found Papa in Santiago,’ said Federica, remembering how both parents used to get stockings too. ‘I wish he were here,’ she said wistfully, turning one of her gifts over in her hand thoughtfully. She wanted him to see her opening her presents although she knew no present would ever beat the butterfly box he had given her. ‘Where’s yours, Mama?’ she asked, noticing that Helena didn’t have anything to open.

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‘Father Christmas left it outside your bedroom by mistake,’ sm ing in her dressing gown and slippers with her greying hair long

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her shoulders. She handed her daughter the stocking.



Thank you, Mum.’ She smiled at her mother, making space for her on the edge of the bed.

Polly sat down and touched her daughter’s cheek with her large hand. ‘Don’t thank me, thank Father Christmas,’ she said and winked.

Federica ate her breakfast in silence. She had loved her presents, especially the Snoopy dog that came with lots of different outfits so that she could change him for each new occasion. Her grandmother had put little gifts on their places at breakfast and her grandfather had turned the Christmas tree lights on making the house look festive. She loved the snow and longed to run outside and play in it. But nothing could make up for the absence of her father. She tried not to think about him, she wasn’t meant to be sad on Christmas Day and she didn’t want to spoil it for her mother by sulking, but in spite of her smiles she missed him so much she wanted to cry. Helena noticed her shiny eyes and knew immediately what was wrong. ‘Why don’t you and Hal finish breakfast now and go and play outside. You can build a snowman if you like,’ she suggested kindly, hoping that the snow might distract her. But nothing could.

Federica didn’t want to go to church even though she knew the Applebys would be there. She didn’t feel like it. She didn’t feel like watching all the other children with their fathers, looking at her and wondering why she didn’t have one too. She wanted to hide. But her mother wouldn’t let her and told her that she had to go to church to thank God for all the wonderful things He had given her during the year and to thank Him for giving the world baby Jesus. On the way to church she thought about what her mother had said. God had given her lots of wonderful things, Hester, for example, and she liked Polperro. But she couldn’t help but feel deeply let down. If God could give her Hester why couldn’t He give her back her father? She resolved to ask Him in her prayers.

The church was said to be so old that it was listed in the Domesday Book. Toby had taken Federica there when she had first arrived in Polperro to show her the grave of Old Hatty Browne, the witch burnt by the villagers for sorcery in 1508. Toby added darkly that on very clear nights she was often spotted in the yard picking herbs for her potions, with which she would minister to the dead. Federica had been enchanted and wanted to know more, so they had sat among the daffodils and talked until sundown.

The church itself was small and quaint with a sloping roof and rickety porch,

surrounded by snow-capped graves and a low brick wall to keep the dogs out. For some inexplicable reason there was nothing they liked better than to cock their legs on the gravestones. Nuno said it was due to the pungent scent of the deceased that rendered the earth irresistible to them but Inigo lamented their lack of respect and said that they enjoyed ‘pissing on the deceased because they couldn’t piss on the living’. The nave and balcony only managed to seat about fifty people but due to the unlikely charisma of the Reverend Boyble there was rarely a spare seat in the place. Helena had brought her children up in the Catholic faith, because Ramon was Catholic. But now she was back in England and on her own she had reverted to the Protestant faith with which she had been raised. It gave her a sense of belonging.

Everyone was dressed in their best coats and hats. Federica had squeezed into an old tweed coat of her mother’s that Polly had kept sealed in a large white box with tissue paper. She didn’t like it because it was scratchy and a little too small, but Helena thought she looked very smart and refused to let her take it off. Consequently she tugged at the collar throughout the service. The church smelt of pine tree and perfume, mingled with the waxy scent of the candles. Old Mrs Hammond played the organ with faltering precision, her