After breakfast, Evie was showering with Charlotte, thinking how exciting her research task for Ben would be, when Seb entered the main bathroom freshly showered, shaved and wearing jeans and a t-shirt. He hung an apologetic head.
‘Sorry my visit is so short but I need to go. I’ve got a plane to catch.’
Evie switched off the shower and reached for the towels. ‘Yes, brief, but will we see you soon?’
‘I will try. Have a happy birthday Charlotte,’ he said, one hand on his hip and rubbing the back of his neck as he lingered. Evie couldn’t tell if he felt awkward approaching his daughter or if it was guilt for leaving.
Wrapping Charlotte first, Evie lifted her for Seb to kiss.
He moved his hand and waved. ‘Bye.’
Evie’s eyes narrowed. Why did she have to spell it out to him? ‘What about a kiss for your daughter?’
‘Oh, sorry, yes,’ he grinned, leaning forward and kissing them both briefly. ‘Right. Bye. See you soon. And, remember what I said. You don’t need to work and tell me if you need to leave here to see your family. I’ll arrange transport, maybe come with you if I can.’
What was he thinking? Why was he so against her doing anything? Burning with fury, she strapped Charlotte into her seat on the back of the bike and headed out to the canal. She peddled hard to the bridge at Colombiers and once across, turned towards the Malpas tunnel rather than directly to Beziers, just for a longer ride. Thank goodness she had her bike; as well as releasing the tension Seb had left, she found it increasingly useful as a time to reflect and think – Charlotte rarely chatted or made demands whilst on the back. And Seb had worried her this morning. He was interacting less and less with his daughter; showing little affection. Wasn’t it natural to want to kiss your child? It seemed he was so obsessed with his music, he lost track of what was real.
Seb couldn’t understand her feelings. He was with his team and working most of the time. How would he know the emptiness of those long days or nights alone, isolated with nothing but hope; wishing, dreaming he would walk through the door. She accepted he couldn’t provide everything to widen her horizons, allow her to travel, but being able to take their daughter out would be educational, having a computer would benefit them both and, if she did contribute, he wouldn’t resent her so much. It could certainly help their relationship and could be a way to recapture what they’d had. She’d convinced her family she would be happy and was loath to admit defeat. As her mother had said, she had made her bed, she would have to lie in it. Alas, it was all she’d ever wanted and now they were at loggerheads and she didn’t know what to do. The work Ben had offered sounded exciting and one she could hopefully carry out without Seb finding out, but if that didn’t work out, she now at least felt worthy enough to try.
Arriving just before the Malpas tunnel, she stopped breathless before the path inclined. Perspiration poured from her skin as she twisted around and glimpsed at Charlotte.
‘Phew, you ok poppet? I feel a bit better, or at least invigorated. Let’s get to the library. We’ll find some lovely colourful books you can look at,’ she said, stepping off and wheeling the dusty new bike full circle so that it faced Beziers.
‘Butterfly, Mummy.’
Evie’s eyes trailed Charlotte’s finger to her saddle. On it, with twitching yellow tinged-wings, the swallowtail butterfly rested. There was something wonderfully hypnotic as it fluttered, revealing hues of effervescent blue and spots of red on its tail.
‘How beautiful. Look how exquisite that pattern is.’
‘Bootifal Mummy.’
They watched in awe at its form and symmetry, the sun shimmering, even on the darkest black. ‘I don’t think she wants us to go. She wants to ride with us but Mummy can’t sit on her, can she?’
‘Butterfly sitting, ha ha.’ Charlotte giggled. ‘Hello butterfly.’
‘Perhaps she’ll tell us how she’s changed from a tiny egg to a butterfly. She has been working hard. You see, from her egg she was born a caterpillar, you’ve seen one of those, haven’t you. And after days of feeding and spinning her silk she wraps herself into a chrysalis – like a little fluffy white ball – before emerging, days later, as this, a beautiful butterfly.’
It sounded so simple, Evie thought as it suddenly took flight. Such a little thing totally dependent on itself to transform. Perhaps she ought to depend on her own resources to climb out of her rut. She could spend many, many years alone with Seb away. The thought of falling down into those dismal depths, the thought of feeling so lost again… it was not appealing. So much of that time she’d spent seeking comfort, listening to Seb’s soothing tones as she played his tracks over and over, losing herself in a bubble of longing. It seemed such a waste now. It was time she found something to fit with her care for Charlotte. Despite Seb, she was determined. Maybe this work she’d do for Ben could be the start of something.
She recalled the short time she’d spent doing work experience at the ‘Cool Girl’ magazine. It had given her such a boost when Jane Loftus, the editor, had called her in her office for a one-to-one on her progress. She’d told her she had the imagination and drive to create fresh ideas as well as handle research. She’d been impressed with the compelling piece she’d written. Perhaps she should begin her writing again. If she made a good impression on Ben, maybe it would boost her confidence to do more. So much of her time was spent listening to music and escaping into books to blank out reality; waiting for Seb. What she needed was to think about the future, not the past. To be a butterfly, not a caterpillar.
With her mood brightening, she lifted her jaw and allowed the rays from the sun to caress her face. All she needed to do was look forward. What she needed was a plan and for Seb to meet her at least halfway. She would continue working on him and keep convincing him. Feeling the soft breeze sweep around her moist neck, she set off back under the shade of the plane trees. Now letting her muscles and mind relax, she began to absorb the serene surroundings, witnessing dappled light flitting through lush leaves, the hush of still water, unruffled, reflecting the tall leafy structures along its bank. Only the bicycle wheels hitting the odd stone broke the rhythm of silence. As the path flattened then rose, an absence of trees showered down light and opened a distant landscape where farmhouses nestled among rows of bud-filled vines.
Back past the bridge at Colombiers and a further small bridge by a holiday village, Evie slowed as she hit traffic. Walkers and other cyclists bunched on her approach to Fonserannes Lock. Passing at a wider stretch beside the top of the locks, she was brought to a halt. Unusually, a large crowd congregated. She peered round towards the building to her side. A white square board with bold red writing met her gaze.
‘ATTENTION! Filming in progress. Possible dangers. Thank you for your patience. Access will resume at 11.30 a.m.’
Through the crowd, she glimpsed a barrier was in place. Spinning her watch around on her wrist, she checked the time. Another forty minutes to wait.
‘Bah. Well, poppet, we might as well sit on the grass and have an early lunch, or a drink, at least,’ she said to Charlotte, lifting her leg over the crossbar and guiding the bike past the lock keeper’s house, and towards a grass verge.
‘Evie,’ someone called, a male voice, warmly familiar. Instantly it set her tingling. She scanned the outside of the building where the sound came from, a beguiling smile curled on her lips as the tall frame approached. Ice cream in one hand, he waved tentatively with the other.
‘Oh, Ben. Hi, I’d have thought you were down there with the crew.’
‘Oh, bit of red tape to clear up with the authorities. Sorted now, so my reward…’ he brandished his ice cream in the air. ‘I’m just going back down if you want to come with me.’
‘No.