Page 59 of Butterfly

It was part nerves, part genuine amusement that had Ollie snorting.

Einstein patted him on his back. “That’s it, lad, relax.”

“Relax?”

“You looked like you were going to pass out in the holding cell.”

“It’s still a possibility.”

He hadn’t eaten anything that morning, and although the officers kept telling him there would be a tuck shop in the visiting room, Ollie wasn’t hungry. His bubbling belly made it more than likely he’d throw up whatever he ate.

“Food’s much nicer in there too.”

“Really?” Ollie asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Being inside for over a year, he’d forgotten whatnicefood tasted like.

“You calling me a liar?” Einstein asked.

An officer unlocked the gate in front of them. Ollie scrunched his hands into fists, bracing himself. They resumed their slow march, rounding a corner.

Another officer propped open a door with his foot.

His uniform was hidden beneath a blue zip-up. In fact, all the officers in this part of the prison had their uniforms underneath some kind of jacket, and they were all smiling, not in a manic, threatening manner, but with sincere smiles that reached their eyes.

Ollie stepped into the room.

Einstein was right.

It was more spacious than Ollie had expected.

Smiling flowers and huge rainbows were painted on the walls. There were no bars on the windows, although they looked too small to climb through anyway. Six low tables were placed inside the room, all with plenty of room between them, and four chairs, all different colours, were positioned around each.

Ollie glanced towards the bookcases, and the huge bean bags, and the padded floor. There was a whiteboard with magnetic letters stuck to it and a table with pitchers of orange juice.

Ollie stayed pressed against the wall, watching it all play out. Excited voices called out ‘Daddy’ and inmates’ hard faces broke into softer looks. There were even a few tears.

Leo sat at a table, facing away from him, but the woman beside him swivelled to search for him. She smiled, raising her hand in a small wave.

The last time Ollie had seen his auntie, he’d been nine years old when her husband, his uncle Asher, cut their father from his life after the wine bottle incident.

Ollie pushed off from the wall at the same moment Leo began to turn. His heart thumped hard enough it punched the air from his chest. He’d feared and craved this moment, and when Leo finally turned around in his chair, Ollie came to a stop in front of him.

His brow twitched, his fear and apprehension went out of the window, and he asked with alarm, “What the hell is that on your face?”

Leo’s blond eyebrows folded. He raised his hand, brushing his fingers against his top lip and the fuzzy moustache.

Then Maggie laughed, lightly shoving Leo’s shoulder. “I told you it looked bad.”

Leo smiled, Ollie smiled, and Maggie shot him a reassuring glance.

He feared rejection, but he opened his arms anyway.

Leo surged to his feet, tripping on the chair leg as he crushed Ollie in a hug.

Ollie squeezed; Leo squeezed back.

“You don’t hate me,” Leo whispered.

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