Marlowe

My grandpa was forty something in the photograph, standing on a rock, holding a butterfly net. His gaze rested beyond the frame. He had probably seen a Papilio machaon hovering by a purple coneflower. The photo was clipped from an obituary in the 1994 issue of the Lepidopterists’ Society journal, stuck with blu-tack to the inside cover of my notebook. The caption read: Arthur Marlow Eve, 1969. Norfolk Broads, United Kingdom.

‘I miss you, Grandpa,’ I said to the photo.

The house was quiet. Olly had left, and I was sitting in the living room, reviewing my notes before heading into uni for a meeting with Professor Lipin, rereading the words I knew so well, trying to formulate a compelling way to eventually present this to my thesis panel.

The Conservation and Natural History of the Maculinea arion, Britain’s Previously Extinct Species.

Factors involved in the decline of the Maculinea arion…

Since the 1979 United Kingdom extinction of M. arion.

Thomas. J.A. and Simcox. D.J.’s research on the symbiotic relationship between the M. arion caterpillar and the Myrmica sabuleti brought the species back from the dead and changed conservation practices forever. M. arion’s social parasitisation of M. sabuleti occurs through a complex system of chemical mimicry and olfactory deception. Once the adult M. sabuleti has been deceived into caring for the M. arion grub, it will feed off the ant larvae…

I paused at a photo I had taken of a specimen, pinned. The small, blue butterfly was stunning. The insides of its dusty, metallic wings refracted the light in different shades of blue and silver. I thought of aspects of the arion grub’s cannibalistic and predatory behaviour. How could something so beautiful be born from such a violent process? I looked at the image next to it. With a zoom lens, I had captured a cluster of hardened scales on the insect’s left wing. They looked like a collection of iridescent blue snowflakes.

The sound of the phone ringing startled me. I uncurled myself from our armchair and went to the side table to answer it.

‘Hello?’

‘Darling?’ Dad again. He never called just to chat.

‘How’s –’

‘Not good.’

I felt his words sink to the pit of my stomach.

‘I’m afraid Harper’s condition is worse than we had thought…’ He cleared his throat. ‘I didn’t want to have to tell you over the phone.’ His voice started to tremble. ‘I don’t quite know how to say this…’ Adrenaline snaked through my body. I don’t quite know how to say this… He had used these exact words when Mum –

‘Harper is dying.’

Dying.

That word.

That word that I had heard so many times before.

I hated that word.

His voice sounded fuzzy now, as if he were speaking in slow motion. ‘Her heart and lung functions have deteriorated significantly. We’ve been told that medication and corrective surgery will no longer help. She needs a heart and lung transplant.’

The world both inside and outside my body went silent.

‘Well, get her those transplants then!’ I was shouting. Why was I shouting?

‘It’s not as simple as that. We’ve been to several hospitals. The doctors have told us there are not enough organs available to meet the demand, and because of Harper’s disability they are refusing even to put her on a transplant list.’

It took me a while to make sense of what he was saying, and when I did, I sank to the floor.

‘This can’t be happening. Refusing to put her on a transplant list – isn’t that discrimination? Surely something can be done!’

‘Before we go down that road, there’s one more hospital we can try. We have a meeting with the doctors from the Queen Victoria Heart Hospital on Saturday afternoon. I would like you to be there.’

‘But Wài Pó said not to worry.’ Words started flowing from my mouth as if of their own accord. ‘Wài Pó said to focus on my PhD. I have my thesis defence in a month…’ Why was I telling him this? Dad had never approved of my decision to leave Hong Kong to study overseas. My thesis defence meant nothing to him.

I paused for breath, suddenly realising what I was saying. Harper’s life was at stake – of course my thesis defence didn’t matter now.

‘Sorry,’ I said, ashamed.

‘Harper’s most recent test results came in last night. It’s much worse than we had anticipated. You know Wài Pó… she couldn’t bear to be the one to tell you.’ He sighed into the phone. ‘I think you should come home, Marlowe. This time is different. Harper needs you now.’

I felt like I was going to be sick. This couldn’t be happening. I wouldn’t allow it. I would fix things, just like I always did.

‘I’ll book my flight home today.’

I hung up the phone. Although it was warm in the house, I was shivering. I swallowed a deep sound that wanted to escape from my throat. I knew if I let myself cry, I wouldn’t be able to stop. So, I counted: One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three… focusing on the numbers, their shape, their sound, until I hit my tenth Mississippi and felt my body go numb.

I was late. I stood up and reached for my shoulder bag by the front door; it smelled like the fresh thyme that grew abundantly in our lab. I thought of my research, of all the hard work I had done. And then I thought of Olly. It was like being hit by a tonne of lead. How was I supposed to say goodbye to Olly?

Don’t think, just walk.

I opened the front door. Cold air pricked the skin at my neck and I readjusted my scarf so that no skin was exposed. My boots squelched against the wet pavement as I raced to the bus stop.

There was a queue for the 19. I joined the end of the line, trying to steady my breathing by watching a discarded Tesco sandwich being consumed by a ravenous black cat. I boarded the bus and fought my way through the press of damp, cold bodies to the upper deck.

There was an empty seat beside a foggy window. I sat down and exhaled deeply. In front of me, a middle-aged couple conversed in Hindi. The woman didn’t pause for breath, her voice growing louder by the second. To her left, a teenage girl with Down syndrome sang.

Dad’s words played over and over in my mind.

Harper needs you now. He had said those words so many times before. Damn it, he hadn’t even asked me how I was. Breathe, I reminded myself. From my bag, I took a book on the conservation practices of the butterflies I had come to love and flicked through the pages.

Harper.

My gaze lingered over the close-up image of the arion’s wing, and I was mesmerised by the beauty of each hardened chitinous scale.

Harper.

What was I doing reading this book? I shut it and put it back in my bag. I thought instead of how to tell Professor Lipin that I would be leaving, and slowly the significance of what I was about to do sank in.

Don’t think about it, I told myself. One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three…

The teenage girl was singing louder now. Passengers turned their heads, giving her steely looks. I suppressed the urge to tell her to be quiet and focused instead on the view outside the window. The bare limbs of trees reached towards the sky. People marched along the streets below, wrapped in black coats.

‘Shut up, ya retard,’ a bearded man shouted from the front of the bus. I turned towards the man, my body filled with heat. The teenager had her headphones in. She didn’t seem aware of him approaching until he was towering over her. She looked up at him and removed the headphones from her ears.

‘I said shut up, retard.’

Suddenly I was on my feet, fists clenched, ready to come to the girl’s defence. But she had it covered.

‘My name is Poppy, like the flower. Not Retard.’ The bus stopped at Green Park station. ‘I’m sorry. My mum also says I am too loud sometimes. I will be quiet now.’ Poppy resumed singing, softly this time.

The man did not move. He just stood there, staring at Poppy, until the influx of new passengers forced him back to his seat. I unclenched my fists and exhaled. Sounds of chatter on the bus resumed, more animated than before, and I was alone with my uncomfortable thoughts once more.

The corridor outside Professor Lipin’s office was quiet, but for a faint humming that emanated from the drinks machine close by. There was an empty chair by the door. I chose the floor instead.

I think you should come home… This time is different.

The urgency I had felt to return to my sister had dulled, to be replaced by dread. I needed to pull myself together. I would ask for an extension on my thesis defence and come back next term after the situation with Harper was sorted.

Professor Lipin emerged from his office. ‘Marlowe, come in.’

He tied his shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail as he took a seat at his desk under the large crescent window.

‘I’ve got some good news for you. I’m sure Olly has already mentioned that we recommended you for the Royal Zoological Award? Well I’ve just been notified you’re on the shortlist. Congratulations!’ He was beaming.

I gaped at him.

‘Marlowe?’ Professor Lipin was looking at me, his brow creased.

I’d been shortlisted? For a brief moment, I felt proud. But then reality hit me and I felt the life I had worked so hard to build for myself slipping out of my grasp.

‘I’m sorry.’ The words tumbled out of my mouth. ‘I need to take a leave of absence.’ My voice sounded high-pitched and small.

He was looking at me, bewildered.

‘My sister is very sick…’ A dove flew onto the landing outside the window. It turned, beady eyes latched onto mine. ‘I need to go home to Hong Kong.’

Cold trickled into my bones. I thought of my recent application to take part in the arion conservation program in Devon, thought of the larvae I had painstakingly reared and the endless observational studies I had done. The disappointment dawning on Professor Lipin’s face registered in my body.

‘I’ll be back next term,’ I assured him.

Yes, I told myself, that’s right. All would be well and I would be back.

At my locker, I fumbled with the key.

‘Hey.’ Olly walked down the corridor towards me. He was dressed in a smart blue shirt and chinos, with a nerdy I love bugs badge pinned to his breast pocket.

He really was my perfect match. It was the kind of ridiculous, romantic sentiment that belonged to Harper, not me, but I couldn’t stop the thought springing to my mind. My eyes welled, knowing I’d have to say goodbye to him in a few days. I had never been able to deal with goodbyes. At least this one wouldn’t be for too long, I reminded myself. I turned away to stare into my open locker.

‘I was waiting for you in the lab but you never showed. You okay, Marls?’ He brushed the hair out of my eyes. Despite myself, I leaned my head onto his shoulder. His arms went around me, his hand stroking my back. I wished we could stay like this forever.

My cheeks were wet. I quickly pulled away from him and picked up the empty cardboard box on the floor.

‘What’s that?’

‘A box.’

‘I know it’s a box. What’s it for?’

‘I have to leave.’ I grabbed the heavy lepidoptera and entomology hardbacks from my locker, trying to ignore my urge to hurl them to the ground, breaking the spines, sending pages fluttering through the air, creating a messy pile of words. For once in my life, things had been going well – and now I had to walk away.

‘Talk to me, Marls. What’s going on?’

I sat on the ground beside the box, my face in my hands.

Olly crouched down beside me.

‘You’ll have to look after the arion larvae for me.’ My voice started to crack. Hold it together. My mind raced through all the things I would need to impart to Olly before I left. ‘For the adults, I keep a jar of extra sugar water in the cupboard above the specimen containers. There’s also –’

‘It’s Harper, isn’t it?’

Breathe.

I nodded. ‘She’s dying.’ Startled by the bluntness of my statement, I searched for something else to say. ‘I won’t be able to go on the field trip to the Cotswolds next week.’ I cringed inwardly. Who cared about that? ‘I mean…’

‘It’s okay.’ Olly looked at me steadily. I couldn’t read his expression. He was very still. ‘I thought she’d be okay… I’m so sorry.’ He spoke softly; it was the same voice he used to speak to our butterflies. ‘When do you leave?’

My scarf felt too tight around my throat. I loosened it.

‘I’ll try and get the Friday morning flight. There’s a meeting with the doctors on Saturday.’ The words sank in the air next to us.

He took my hand. ‘Marlowe, you know you’re not alone in this, right? You have me. Why don’t I come with you?’

‘No.’ I wouldn’t let this affect his life too.

There was a long silence before he spoke again. ‘I’ll cook dinner tonight, okay?’

I nodded. ‘See you at home.’