2

Needing to get the group’s attention, I clap my hands and turn up the wattage on my smile.

‘Well, that was quite a display. Hello, everyone, my name is Ivy Jenkins and I’m an assistant here at the centre. As you may know, the female butterfly lays its eggs on plants, and these hatch into larvae called caterpillars. These voracious eaters spend their days consuming as much vegetation as they can and will shed their skin several times as they get bigger.’ I point at the case. ‘Once fully grown, the caterpillar forms a chrysalis.’

The man in the anorak hasn’t looked away once. He stares at me with bulbous eyes but doesn’t seem to actually see me. It’s like his eyeballs have stopped working. A prickle of dread creeps over my skin and I hurry on with my talk. I’m halfway through explaining the process of metamorphosis when the moody girl interrupts. ‘Ew, can’t we just look at butterflies? I mean, that’s why it’s called a butterfly zoo, right?’

Pretending I haven’t heard, I continue. ‘They may look like cute little sleeping bags, but these chrysalides are actually made from the caterpillar’s own skin. It sheds it one final time and remains inside while the metamorphosis takes place.’ The group peers at the branch and I smile sweetly at the girl and whisper. ‘You might think the caterpillar is resting inside, but it’s actually busy dying. The enzymes it used to digest its food are now used to break down its body. It devours itself and from the leftover juices, the butterfly is born.’

The girl’s face pales and a flush of satisfaction runs through me. The science is way more complicated than that, and the last bit is not in the approved script, but then why shouldn’t she know the truth? Nature is like life – cruel to some. Refusing to look at Anorak Man, I ask if there are any questions and a small boy tugs my sleeve. ‘Does it hurt?’ he asks.

I start to answer, when one of the chrysalides sways and pulsates as the tiny creature inside wriggles and moves about. Who’s to say the caterpillar didn’t panic as it shed its skin and formed a prison from its own body? Maybe it had been aware of another being inside it trying to take control; perhaps it didn’t want to die so that a new version of itself could be born. A while ago I mentioned this to a group of schoolkids and their heavily pregnant teacher complained afterwards, saying I’d upset them. Yet as far as I could tell, she was the only one who had cried. People are strange.

I smile at the boy and try to sound reassuring. ‘No, of course not. Don’t worry. They’re just grub-like little things. They can’t tell what’s happening to them.’

The man in the anorak grunts and my body tenses, but then I notice his eyes are no longer staring and he’s stopped touching his beard. His face is relaxed and he seems normal.