Fly free, mon petit papillon

Droplets sparkled and danced the length of the window as the Boeing 787 Dreamliner slowly taxied into Heathrow airport. A faint smile tinged Nicolette’s pale lips. “Not long now, Mama, not long now,” she whispered.

Travelling only with a few personal items and her most treasured possession, a silver jewellery box etched with butterflies containing letters from her beloved mother, it didn’t take Nicolette long to disembark and be one of the first to move through customs.

It had been seven years since she had last been in this airport. Back then, it was a time of great excitement boarding the plane with her husband for their honeymoon and a new life in Australia.

Making her way along the platform, Nicolette located her train, flashed her ticket to the concierge and followed the directions to her quarters for the next twelve hours. Locking the door and drawing the blinds to her sleeper compartment on the Caledonian Sleeper, Nicolette finally began to think more clearly.

As the hot water and lather of soap suds slid down her body and gurgled away under her feet, the haze from the events of these last weeks chased after them.

Snuggling into the cozy bed, Nicolette’s heavy eyelids pulled down tight like shutters. In her mind’s eye, she replayed the day three weeks ago, that her best friend in Australia, Brittany, had shared the news that her kind, elderly landlord has passed away and his family wanted to sell the rental property.

Brittany was devastated for her own little family, but more so, for Nicolette.

Brittany and her eight year old son, Robbie, had moved to the semi-rural property behind Nicolette’s nine years ago. While heavily pregnant, Brittany’s husband had tragically been killed in a workplace accident.

The property belonged to a friend of her father’s and there was no formal lease agreement, meaning the standard two months notice to vacate was not required. With only four weeks notice, life was going to change rapidly.

It had been early one summer’s morning when Nicolette was watering the plants in her secret garden that she first heard Robbie’s little voice calling to her. Peering through the thick, leafy shrubs, she could make out his little 3 year old form and chubby face. Still in pyjamas, he had climbed up into their tree house, sitting on the landing facing Nicolette’sproperty, his legs swinging in the gentle morning breeze.

“Good morning,” Nicolette replied quietly to his waving hand. “You are up early,” she smiled. “Does your mummy know you are up there?”

“Mummy’s still asleep. I climbed up here all by myself!” the little boy triumphed proudly.

“Well, that is some feat. It is a long way off the ground. How did you get all the way up there?” Nicolette wondered as the tree house had obviously been made for older children. Nestled amongst the branches, it sat several feet above the height of Nicolette’s solid seven foot fence.

“That’s a silly question. I just put one foot in front of the other and climbed the ladder,” Robbie replied matter of factly.

“Oh I see,” Nicolette smiled. “Well, you are a brave little fellow. What … ,” Nicolette’s next question was interrupted as she heard a mother’s frantic voice.

“Robbie, Robbie, what are you doing up there? I was so worried when I couldn’t find you. You know that you are not to climb up here by yourself,” the mother scolded as she climbed onto the landing and wrapped her arms around her son.

“Mummy, this is my new friend,” the little boy pointed, wriggling out of his mother’s embrace.

“Good morning, I’m Lydia,” Nicolette smiled up at the young woman. Even with her long golden hair in a messy bun and still in her pink pyjamas, it was easy to see how attractive Robbie’s mother was.

“Hi, I’m Brittany, and this is my son Robbie. Thanks for keeping an eye on him. Say, would you like to drop over for a cup of coffee or a pot of tea a little later?”

Lydia lowered her eyes and her voice. “Ah, um, I won’t be able to do that … my husband doesn’t allow me to visit other people without him. … I would have loved to though,” Lydia smiled as a tear spilled over and trickled down her face.

“Well, perhaps I could come and visit you instead,” Brittany suggested hopefully.

Shaking her head, Lydia’s reply stunned her new friend. “I can’t do that either. My husband will know. He gets very angry if I don’t do what he says,” Lydia whispered.

Brittany felt a knot tighten in her stomach. “How would he know? Does he have cameras everywhere?”

“Yes, everywhere … please don’t tell anyone,” Lydia pleaded.

“Ok … I won’t. How do you leave the house?”

“I don’t. Only when my husband has a work dinner and wants to parade me in front of his friends,” she replied in a hushed voice hoping that Robbie wouldn’t understand. Voicing the truth made it even more despairing, but at the same time, some of the burden had been lifted to have shared it with another living soul.

“Is there a camera in this area?” Brittany asked, peering through the foliage.

“No, not down this far. This is my little secret garden, a place where I can truly hide. My husband knows the yard is like a fortress. He allows me to freely be outside, to tend to the plants and play the violin. Two joys that he does afford me. He even had a pergola built when we were first married. He said that we could invite friends over and I could perform in the garden for them. That was just a lie, but I am grateful for the space to play.”

“That’s you playing the violin? My neighbours and I have often talked about the music. It is so beautiful that we assumed it must be have been a recording. Wow, just wow!” Brittany’s voice could not hide the admiration she now felt.

“You have such talent. It should not be locked away, but more importantly, you should not be locked away. Let me help you escape, get away from all of this,” she pleaded.

“No, no, I can’t, please … you mustn’t tell anyone. You don’t know what he is capable of … ,” the look of sheer panic on Nicolette’s face and in her voice, reluctantly silenced any further questions from Brittany.

“I have to go now. My husband leaves for work early, but he will be expecting me to be back in the house about now. I bake fresh bread every morning. Brittany … thank you. I haven’t spoken to anyone in a long time.” And with that, she was gone.

Brittany became a literal life line for Nicolette. Each day, Nicolette would work in the garden, and each day, she and Brittany would meet when Robbie was at school. Nicolette in the secret garden, Brittany in her tree house.

She bought Nicolette a phone so she could at long last contact her mother. It had been years since she had heard her voice.

Her mother could now send letters and small gifts to Brittany’s address and they would be lowered down into the garden in a basket tied to a rope. Nicolette would keep all of these treasures in her silver jewellery box, wrapped in a plastic bag and buried under a rock in her secret garden.

As time went by, Nicolette shared with Brittany how she had been a concert violinist, studied at the Paris Conservertoire and played at Albert Hall in London. That was where her husband first saw her. He was so nice back then. As they say, it was a whirl wind romance. He swept her off her feet. He showed such kindness to her mother that she was willing to give up performing for him.

However, as soon as the honeymoon was over, he changed. One minute he was Dr Jekyll and the next, Mr Hyde. He brought her to his property on the outskirts of the city. The seven foot rendered fence was already in place. He said he liked his privacy, but to Nicolette, it was a prison.

Together, the two young women devised a plan whereby Nicolette would record pieces of music on a device attached to her waistband and hidden under a flowing shirt. Brittany set up a YouTube channel for her, edited the tracks, sourced various scenery videos and uploaded her music.

With thousands of followers, money was building up in a PayPal account. Reading the comments under the videos, Nicolette felt like her life had purpose once more.

As she played the violin, neighbours would pause to listen. The clarity of the notes poured from the depths of her soul. Sometimes playful, sometimes soaring from deep despair to the heights of heaven, but always expressive, touching the very core of the hearer.

Brittany’s friendship and her playing project made life bearable. It strengthened her to withstand the cruel, harsh words and actions, the control, her nearly every move scrutinised and recorded on camera, the forced isolation from her family and friends, the physical violence that peppered the relationship, the lack of even a kind word with the loss of her unborn baby.

All this was about to change when three weeks ago, Brittany received that fateful letter informing her of the death of her landlord and requesting that she vacate the property within four weeks. With the house to be sold, it was not safe for Nicolette to stay any longer.

Now was the time for her to leave.

Every detail had to be meticulously planned and run like clock work. With the help of Brittany’s father, a court magistrate, Lydia legally changed her name to Nicolette Dubois, her great grandmother’s maiden name. There could be no trace of Lydia Wallace, a name she had been proud to adopt on her wedding day.

It needed to be as if she had never existed.

Back in Europe, Lydia’s mother followed the same process - selling her house, changing her name … becoming untraceable.

With funds from her playing, Nicolette was able to purchase a one way flight to London in her new name.

Her husband would leave for work at 7.00am. It was a two hour commute to his office in the city. He would check the camera’s when he arrived. When he couldn’t see her, he would be ropeable.

He would leave work and make the return commute. It had happened once before when Nicolette had fallen asleep in the garden chair one morning after a particularly bad night. She never allowed that experience to be repeated again.

That meant only a four hour window. As soon as he left for work, Brittany began mixing the bread dough. Her stomach churned and knotted. Kneading the dough was therapy to her shaking hands. She shaped the mix, plopped it into the tins, sprinkled sesame seeds on top and left it covered on the bench to rise.

Without so much as a backward glance, her bare feet traced the path from the house to the secret garden for the last time.

Brittany was waiting for her in the tree house. She lowered a rope ladder over the edge of the landing, laying it against the apple trees Nicolette had expertly espaliered along the rendered fence. Nicolette smiled briefly as it reminded her of Rapunzel lowering down her hair.

She bent down, and for the last time, moved aside the rock, clearing away the soft earth with her bare hands to reveal the plastic bag containing her jewellery box. Repositioning everything as it was, she clipped the bag to the ladder and began the climb upwards.

It wasn’t easy, but there was no turning back now. Forty-five minutes had already elapsed. With focus and determination, she was spurred on by Robbie’s words from their first meeting, “It is easy, one foot in front of the other”.

Grabbing Brittany’s forearms, she hauled herself up on to the landing. Embracing her friend, they rolled up the ladder, untied it from the verandah stumps and threw it to the ground before descending the wooden ladder on Brittany’s side.

Nicolette’s legs felt like jelly, but the adrenaline surging through her body enabled her to keep running towards the house. It was a lovely house and garden with old world charm, but there was no time to admire it.

Changing into the freshly laundered clothes she had purchased online and sent to Brittany, Nicolette looked in the mirror - jeans, a white t-shirt and white converse shoes. She tied her long dark hair in a high ponytail and threaded it through the cap’s opening at the back. She wrapped a navy blue cardigan across her shoulders.

“He would never recognise me,” Nicolette reflected. She hadn’t been allowed to wear clothes like this since they had been married.

Their carefully curated plan meant this was Brittany’s last day here too. Robbie was staying with her mother for a couple of days. The removalists had emptied the house yesterday.

Stuffing the ladder and her old clothes into a supermarket bag and wheeling her carry on luggage, Brittany and Nicolette fled to the car parked outside the door. One hour of their precious time had already vanished.

Silently praying for a clear run to the airport, Nicolette retrieved her new passport from its sanctuary in the jewellery box. She couldn’t thank Brittany’s father enough for his help securing all of her new documents in such an expedited fashion.

Tucking it into her cute new navy blue Review handbag, a lump welled up in her throat. She looked over at Brittany driving, tears threatening to fall. “Brittany … ,” she struggled to find any words.

Reaching over and squeezing her hand, she smiled, “I know.”

At last, they were cleared through airport security and made their way to the departure lounge. Nicolette looked at her watch. By now, her husband would be on his way home. The knot in her stomach tightened another notch. She was anxious for the plane to leave.

Once he discovered that she was not on the property or in the surrounding area, his next port of call would be the airport. He would guess that she would try to return to Europe and to her mother and he would do everything in his power to track her down.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the gate is now open for boarding. Please make your way to the checkin counter.”

“Well … this is it my beautiful friend. You will now be free,” Brittany whispered into Nicolette’s ear as they cried and embraced for the last time on Australian soil.

“Thank you … thank you for everything. I couldn’t have survived these years without you. I will see you soon, my dear friend,” tears streamed down Nicolette’s face as she farewelled her friend.

The early morning sun peeked around the edges of the blind. Nicolette’s eyes fluttered as they adjusted to the light. She must have fallen asleep at some stage.

Rubbing her eyes, she smiled as she noticed the cuff of her pyjamas. Navy blue, edged with a white trim, the soft bamboo gently hugging her skin. She slid out of bed, smiled again as she cleaned her teeth with a toothbrush that she had chosen and bought herself. Simple things that most people take for granted.

She admired the dress that she had selected for this very day. A soft blue background that accentuated her sapphire eyes, a princess seam that perfectly fitted her youthful body, and her favourite - little silver butterflies embossed in the fabric.

Butterflies held a special place in her heart. Her grandmother always referred to her as ‘mon petit papillon’, my little butterfly.

Lifting the pearl drop earrings from their little red velvet box, this most recent gift from her mother perfectly complemented her outfit.

Slipping her feet into the last new item she owned, a pair of navy pumps to match her handbag and cardigan, she could finally take the time to soak in her reflection.

This is who she always was … not the person who had been trapped for so long in a life that was not her own.

Soon, she would be reunited with her mother and her treasured violin. Together, they would stay with an old family friend in Scotland before returning to France.

But for now, as Nicolette wheeled her carry on to the dining cart, she was so very thankful to Brittany and a second chance at life.