Pool by Justin D'Ath

felt like an intruder. He had no connection with these four people, no place in their lives. What had he been thinking when he’d accepted Keith’s money?
    ‘It isn’t fair,’ Audrey whimpered.
    ‘What isn’t fair, baby?’ her mother asked.
    ‘Being blind! No one likes me because I’m blind.’
    ‘Don’t be silly, darling. We love you very much.’
    ‘Not you, Mum. Other people.’ Audrey’s voice became small and plaintive. ‘I’m never going to have a boyfriend.’
    Bernadette brushed Audrey’s hair back and kissed her forehead. ‘What are you talking about, darling? Wolfgang’s right here.’

31
    Wolfgang’s father met him in the hallway as he slipped quietly in through the front door. Even though it was only six-fifteen in the morning, Leo was already wearing his suit. He held the teapot, a grey worm of steam rising from its spout.
    ‘Whose car was that?’
    ‘Keith Babacan’s.’
    ‘He phoned you.’
    ‘I know that, Dad. That’s where I’ve been.’
    Leo made a jerky gesture with the teapot, sprinkling a trail of steaming water drops across the polished wooden floor. ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Edward?’
    Wrong son, Dad, Wolfgang thought. ‘No thanks,’ he said. All he wanted was to go back to bed.
    ‘I got your butterfly,’ Leo said.
    ‘What butterfly?’
    ‘The black one.’
    ‘I know you did. Luckily Mum found what you’d done with it.’
    ‘But your mother isn’t even up yet,’ said Leo.
    Wolfgang sighed. It was like talking to a child. ‘I’m going back to bed.’
    ‘Sleep well,’ his father said amiably, then wandered off down the passage carrying the steaming teapot.
    Wolfgang sat on the bed and dragged his sneakers off without untying the laces. Silly old fart, he thought. He stood to remove his T-shirt and draped it over the bed end. Something caught his eye.
    What was his setting-board doing in the middle of the desk?
    ‘Damn you, Dad!’ he muttered. ‘Have you been going through my stuff again?’
    Approaching the desk, Wolfgang drew in a quick involuntary breath. Neatly pinned to the cork, its four wings perfectly aligned and set beneath two rectangles of semi-transparent kitchen paper held flat by entomological pins, was a large black butterfly.

32
    Leo led him into the spare room. ‘It was in there,’ he said, pointing.
    One of Wolfgang’s traps lay up-ended on the dusty work table.
    ‘Where did you have it?’ Wolfgang asked.
    ‘Have what?’
    ‘The trap.’
    ‘It was in the shed where you left it.’
    ‘Dad, I didn’t catch the butterfly,’ Wolfgang said, ‘you did! This is a different butterfly!’
    ‘It was in the trap.’
    ‘I know that. But where was the trap?’
    ‘In. The. Shed,’ Leo said loudly, an edge of anger in his voice. ‘Are you deaf, boy? The trap was in the shed, the butterfly was in the trap. Is that too hard for you to understand? I’m surprised, frankly, that you left it in there – it might have damaged itself.’
    Wolfgang stared into his father’s watery brown eyes. ‘When did you find it, Dad?’
    ‘Yesterday, I think.’ Leo tugged on one ear for a moment. He nodded. ‘Yes, it was yesterday morning, just after you went off to work.’
    Was it possible? Wolfgang wondered as he made his way barefoot along the brick-paved pathway to the garage. Could he have caught the butterfly himself on Thursday and not noticed it in the trap? If it had been sitting in the corner of the wire frame beneath the fold of the funnel, it might have been difficult to see. It was black, after all, not the most eye-catching of colours.
    Wolfgang lifted the roller door and let himself into the garage. What his family referred to as the shed was actually an extension of the garage, little more than a storeroom at the back. Wolfgang kept his traps and his father’s old long-handled nets there. Entry was by way of a creaky iron door opening from the rear of the garage. There was an outer door too, but that was never used – Wolfgang was