Page 132 of Butterfly

Ollie nodded. “I got to see Teddy.”

“I can tell. Your mouth now matches your nose.”

Jarvis checked Harrison had gone, then leaned over to whisper to Ollie, “You can read it.”

“Huh?”

“Teddy’s words.” He gave Ollie a weak smile. “He asked me to make copies just in case.”

22

RoryandSebastianmovedinto one of the recently finished houses. It wasn’t as big and flashy as their previous home, and not many of their belongings could be saved. Pichard had used petrol, throwing it up the walls of the house and pouring it through the letters box.

Although the fire service arrived in good time, the flames were aggressive, burning through the house. Any item or object that wasn’t turned to ash had been stained black and held a charred aroma.

Rory had said they could knock the house down and start again, but Sebastian hadn’t liked the idea. He didn’t want to live in the same place where he’d walked into the living room and found Rory unconscious. He didn’t think he could unsee it even after a rebuild.

Ollie moved into Captain’s flat, which did remind him a little of an army barracks. He had five locks on the door but only seemed to use one. The furniture was big, bulky, made of thick wood, but he had hardly anything on the bookcases or the dresser. Captain favoured the colour green, not a vibrant green, but a murky camo one the same shade as the combats he loved to wear. The sofa was green. The kettle was green. The handles on the fork, knives and spoons were the same green.

He kept his place neat, tidy, and whenever he opened the door to the spare bedroom Ollie was staying in, he looked on the verge of fainting.

Teddy’s words were everywhere.

The stack of papers Jarvis had handed over had been five inches thick. Teddy could write with his left hand, but his letters were big and wobbly, and it took a while for Ollie to work his way through all of them.

Teddy had started from when he’d first met Pichard.

Pichard had been there for him.

Pichard helped him, and yes, Teddy admitted they were a couple. Teddy had grown up with Gary. They were friends. Gary hadn’t expressed a desire for anything more than friendship until Teddy started dating Pichard.

Gary made his interest known; Teddy shut him down.

That should’ve been it.

Pichard’s paranoia and jealousy grew, and he took away Teddy’s voice, didn’t let him explain, or reassure, oranything, until one night when he’d had far too much to drink, he threw petrol over Gary’s caravan and set it alight.

No one could get close to the inferno.

Teddy said he was relieved when they finally stopped screaming.

It meant their agony was over.

He still heard them sometimes in his nightmares, though.

When he ran from the scene, he did so to confront Pichard.

Pichard blamed Teddy, told him if he’d have pushed Gary away, if he’d have ended their friendship, he wouldn’t have done what he did. Pichard was drunk, and scared about what was going to happen to him, and he told Teddy he wassomeoneand Teddy wasn’t, and if he really did care about Pichard, he should take the blame.

Teddy couldn’t be anyone.

He was damaged.

Worthless.

He didn’t go into any more detail than that about what Pichard had said to convince him, but whatever poison he’d used worked.

Teddy took the blame.

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