The Butterfly Club Read online

‘Are you good at dancing, Selma?’ asked Miss Lovejoy.

  ‘No, she’s rubbish at it,’ Sarah whispered to the others, and they all giggled. It was true. We’d had a country dancing lesson that morning. We had to have partners. Phil and Maddie both ran over to me and said that we three would dance together, but Miss Lovejoy said we were being silly. We had to be in partners of two, one girl and one boy.

  Phil danced with a boy on her table called Mark.

  Maddie danced with Harry, lucky thing.

  I ended up dancing with Alistair. I discovered that dancing was the only thing Alistair wasn’t good at. He kept treading on my toes and starting with the left foot instead of the right. He went very red in the face.

  ‘I hate this silly dancing,’ he muttered.

  Selma was even worse. She was dancing with Mick. He was all bouncy-bouncy to the music, but she was stiff and kept stepping the wrong way. She got angry and tried to make out it was all Mick’s fault, but he just laughed at her.

  Selma must have known she was bad at dancing, but she didn’t like the others saying so. She glared and glared.

  ‘I don’t think you’re especially fond of dancing, Selma,’ said Miss Lovejoy, ‘so you wait in the classroom, please. Now, I have a feeling that some of you are in special clubs – is that right?’

  Phil and her friends giggled and nudged each other.

  ‘I like it that you’ve had the initiative to start up a club. I’m sure you have special club business to attend to, so off you go,’ said Miss Lovejoy.

  Phil hung back. ‘I think I’ll stay with Tina,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, Phil, you’re the one who makes up all the rules!’ Neera told her. ‘You have to come too.’

  Phil peered at me. I mouthed Stay! at her, because there were only two other girls left in the classroom. One of them was me, and the other was Selma!

  ‘Run along, Philippa,’ said Miss Lovejoy. ‘Don’t look so worried. I’ll be staying with Tina.’

  She still looked very anxious.

  ‘Off you go!’

  Phil went. Selma and I were left together.

  ‘Now then . . .’ Miss Lovejoy went to her store cupboard.

  Selma pulled a hideous face at me. ‘Poor licklewickle cry-baby buggy-wuggy,’ she muttered. ‘You wait!’

  I had to wait. I wasn’t at all happy.

  Miss Lovejoy emerged from the store cupboard with two painting overalls. ‘Put these on, girls,’ she said.

  ‘Oh! Are we going to do painting?’ I said, perking up a little. ‘Can I do some sunflowers?’

  ‘No, we’re not doing painting, Tina. We’re going to do a spot of manual labour and I don’t want you to get your school clothes grubby.’

  Manual labour? What did she mean?

  She was delving around in a carrier bag now. She took out three things wrapped in newspaper: three spades – one big and two smaller ones.

  ‘What are them spades for?’ asked Selma.

  ‘What are those spades for, Miss Lovejoy,’ said Miss Lovejoy. ‘What do you think spades are for, Selma? Digging!’

  ‘Where are we going to dig, Miss Lovejoy?’ I couldn’t think of anywhere to dig at school. Unless . . . ‘Are we going to dig in the sandpit?’

  ‘I’m not playing with all them babies,’ said Selma.

  ‘Those babies, Selma. And rest assured, I don’t want you to regress back to infancy,’ said Miss Lovejoy. ‘You’re going to do some proper digging. Come with me, girls.’

  She gave us each a spade and we followed along after her, down the corridor and out into the playground. We walked over the asphalt to the grassy patch at the end. It wasn’t very grassy any more. There was lots of bare, greyish earth, a few weeds, and a lot of empty crisp packets and chocolate wrappers, even though it was strictly forbidden to chuck your litter away.

  ‘Dear me!’ exclaimed Miss Lovejoy. ‘Here, Tina, you’d better be litter monitor. Gather every scrap and put it in the bag. Selma, you and I will make a start on the digging.’

  ‘Why are we digging in this dirt?’ asked Selma. ‘Is it a punishment?’

  ‘We’re going to make a garden,’ said Miss Lovejoy. ‘A butterfly garden!’

  ‘Oh!’ I clapped my hands, dropping the chocolate wrappers I’d just picked up.

  ‘I gather that’s a clap of approval,’ said Miss Lovejoy.

  ‘Oh yes yes yes! Thank you so much, Miss Lovejoy! Oh, you’re so kind! I’d love a butterfly garden more than anything!’

  ‘I wouldn’t!’ said Selma. ‘I don’t even like stupid butterflies. Why should I get roped in? Let Tina do the digging if she wants a garden.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Miss Lovejoy.

  We both stared at her.

  ‘Leave the litter clearance for now. Get started on the digging, Tina.’

  So I picked up my spade and started digging. Well, I tried. The spade wouldn’t go into the ground properly. I tried again and again.

  ‘Like this, Tina,’ said Miss Lovejoy. She put her spade on the earth, and pressed down hard on the top of the blade with her stout shoe. ‘You have to put a bit of effort in. Try to use your whole body strength.’

  I tried – I really did. I put my foot on my spade and shoved, then slipped sideways so that I fell over. It hurt a lot and normally I’d have cried, but this wasn’t an option in front of Selma and Miss Lovejoy. I gritted my teeth and tried again, but I couldn’t get the spade to go down far enough, no matter how I tried.

  ‘She’s useless,’ Selma jeered.

  ‘Yes, she is,’ said Miss Lovejoy. ‘But look how hard she’s trying, Selma. She’s gone bright red in the face. Have a little rest, Tina.’

  I leaned against a tree thankfully.

  ‘Why do you think Tina finds it so hard to dig, Selma?’ asked Miss Lovejoy.

  ‘Because she’s useless,’ said Selma.

  ‘You’ve already said that. But why is she?’

  ‘Because she’s just a little squirt.’

  ‘Yes, Tina’s very little and very thin,’ agreed Miss Lovejoy. ‘And she’s been very ill. She badly wants to make a butterfly garden but she needs some help. I think you’re the strongest of all the girls, Selma. I’m sure you’re good at digging.’

  ‘Why can’t you get some of the boys to do the digging?’

  ‘Think about it, Selma. I doubt Alistair would be very good at it, but at least he’d be sensible. I wouldn’t trust Michael and Peter with spades. They’d start a spade fight in two seconds. Let’s see what you’re like. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you won’t be able to dig properly.’

  ‘I will.’ Selma took her spade. She put her foot on it. She moved a whole chunk of earth. ‘See!’

  ‘Yes, I see. Well done! How long can you keep going? There’s only five more minutes of playtime, but perhaps we can put in half an hour after lunch . . . Or would that tire you out?’

  ‘I can keep going for ages,’ said Selma. ‘But am I going to do all the hard work while she just flops about?’ She nodded at me and sniffed.

  ‘I’ll be doing the hard work too. Tina can carry on collecting up the rubbish, and then tomorrow I’ll bring a little trowel so that she can dig up the weeds. I think I might find another big spade just for you, Selma. I’m sure you’ll manage it.’

  Selma nodded at me triumphantly.

  It was very annoying. I wanted to be the big strong girl. And I didn’t want Selma to have anything at all to do with my butterfly garden. But I knew I couldn’t dig it all. And Miss Lovejoy was an old lady, so I couldn’t expect her to dig much either. I had no choice.

  Selma went on digging. So did Miss Lovejoy. And I collected litter. Lots and lots of litter.

  ‘I’m going to garden again after lunch,’ I told Phil and Maddie while we were eating our sandwiches. (Ham and tomato today. And two cold chipolata sausages, a baby orange called a clementine, two jammy dodgers, and a little bottle of pink lemonade.) I ate everything up. Phil and Maddie looked a bit disappointed.

  ‘Fancy you eating ever