Eartha kicked the wheel of the car uselessly and watched as the steam rose from the bonnets seams. She would never get the the butterflies to the venue in time. They were to have been set free at the start of Charlotte’s set: a cloud of butterflies dissipating while she herself morphed into being from the lights on stage. A beaten up Volvo pulled up in the layby ahead and a man with a heavily tattooed arm leaned from the window.
“Need some help love?”
Eartha seeths. Is there any more blatantly stupid thing anyone can possibly say in this situation. She reigns in her temper and takes a deep breath.
“Phone’s dead, radiator’s overheated and I need to get to Stroud. Any chance you might be a mechanic?”
“Not me love, I’m a foosball champion, amateur circuit. But we're going to Stratford. Me and my mate Billy here are going to the Festival. We could give you a lift if you like.”
“That's very kind. How much room do you have?”
“Back seats free.”
“How do you feel about carrying livestock?”
“Do what?”
“Livestock.”
“Well, none of your cats and dogs, I'm allergic see”
“I've got 600 butterflies to release at the start of Charlotte Pryor set. They're all boxed. I don't think they will be a problem.”
“Well let me help you load ‘em into the car then."
“Thanks.This really is very kind of you," she smiles warmly.
Ed gets out of the car, his low rise shorts revealing more than they conceal, and limps over to Eartha’s car.
“Oh dear, have you hurt your foot?”
“Nah. Athletes foot. Ruined my professional career it did. I'd rather not talk about it.”
They load the butterflies in busy silence. Eartha locks the steaming car, leaving her collection of glass jelly moulds covered under a picnic rug.
They pass through a stale slate village and know the destination cannot be much further. (It is difficult for Eartha to see the yellow information signs without being distracted by Ed’s foot which he now had hanging out of the window: he said the cool air made the itching more bearable.)
The Volvo pulls up to the entry gate in a plume of exhaust fumes. They speek with urgency to a security guard in Day-glo orange jacket.
“We need to get these butterflies to Charlotte Pryor as quickly as possible.” The guard looks surprised.
“She's here as it happens, just popped down for a chat.” He indicates the little wooden hut and as they peere inside the booth they spot Charlotte. She is sitting quietly, absorbed in her knitting and chewing on an apple. Eartha finally understands why they used to call her Cousin Apple when she was a small child, and her oft repeated saying comes to mind: a little of what you fancy does you good.
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