Читать книгу Paper Butterflies - Lisa Heathfield - Страница 8

‘But at what point is a child to blame?’ Reverend Shaw asks.

‘Megan knew what she was doing,’ I reply.

‘Did she?’ he asks gently. ‘I wonder really whether she knew. Or whether she had any control over it at all.’

His words are taking me to a place I don’t want to be, a time I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to think about how it could have been. I try instead to concentrate on the flowers that he’s brought in from outside.

‘I’m glad you’re not choosing my wedding flowers,’ I say lightly.

‘Church decoration isn’t my strong point,’ he smiles. But he knows that I’m trying to take the conversation far away.

‘People do strange things when they’re scared,’ he tells me.

‘Megan wasn’t really scared.’

‘She was a child too,’ Reverend Shaw says. ‘A very lost one, I should imagine. You wouldn’t have been the only person frightened of Kathleen. Any child living under her roof would have been terrified at times.’

‘So Megan could just do what she wanted? And get away with it all?’

‘I’m not excusing her behaviour,’ he says quickly. ‘But maybe now you can see it differently? Maybe you can distance yourself from the pain and try to see Megan for what she was – a confused child, just as scared as you, but in a different way.’

I close my eyes as the sunlight streams in through the window. I need to think of something else. How these early spring days are my favourite, before it gets too hot and mosquitoes clam up the skies.

‘June?’ The reverend’s voice is patient as he waits for me to open my eyes.

‘But Megan hurt me.’ My tears are sudden and angry.

‘I know.’

‘I don’t feel sorry for her.’

‘I do,’ Reverend Shaw says calmly.