The Broken Souls

by Rivka Spicer

  “Oh Jen, it’s stunning!” She gasped as she saw the dress and Jen couldn’t help but smile proudly. It was beautiful. The fabric Nkara had designed was so fine it was almost sheer so for the bodice Jen had layered it on top of plain fabric that matched the colour in panels to cover the front of her body. The torso itself was backless, blue ribbon criss-crossing across the expanse attached to tiny eyelets in the front panel. The skirt was full and, thanks to the quality of the material, almost fluid in its motion when Nkara brushed it. Jen had originally intended to line the skirt with the same plain blue fabric as the bodice, but instead had cut dozens of layers of the sheer material separately and overlaid them so that one flowed over the other like the leaves of a weeping willow in the breeze. It was stunningly simple and beautifully complex all at once.

  “Thanks.” Jen gestured to a couple of designs still pinned to the notice board. “It’s pretty much finished except for a small section of hemming, but I’m thinking it maybe needs something to break up the plainness of it.” Nkara frowned, stepping back to study the dress more closely.

  “You’re right.” She agreed eventually. “What were you thinking of?” Jen shrugged.

  “I don’t know.” She admitted. “I did briefly consider making a fabric rose but I’m not a fan of the stick on flowery stuff. It’s a bit pointless. It needs a pattern of some sort.” Nkara nodded and then a bright smile illuminated her face.

  “I have just the thing!!” She announced, rushing out of the room. She reappeared a few moments later clutching some small ziploc bags and a piece of paper. “You remember those butterfly designs we produced and then decided not to use at the last minute?” She asked and Jen nodded. She was a fan of butterflies and liked to use them on her clothes. They had done a butterfly collection one year which was absolutely fabulous but it had taken them a long time to come up with prints and patterns they were happy with. “Well I kept them in my car because I forgot to take them out. I have two of the patterns and two sets of those tiny little jewels here. If you put one in the top left hand corner of the front, and one beneath the curve of the back it’ll look great.” She chuckled. “They’re even the right colours.” Jen studied the tiny jewels and the butterfly patterns and chuckled with her.

  “Well I do believe you are right, that’ll look gorgeous. You do that, I think my hotfix wand is in that box over there” she gestured “and I’ll get on with the boring job of hemming then!” Nkara laughed, she knew Jen hated hemming but then in fairness it was everyone’s least favourite job.

  It didn’t take long to finish the dress, with Jen hemming the last panel of the skirt and Nkara sticking the gems on with the hot gun and it was just as well, for Jen’s mum came running in at half six in a right state.

  “Jennifer! I need your help!” She burst out. “I’ve lost weight since I bought my dress and it doesn’t fit any more! It’s a disaster! People are going to start arriving in half an hour and I haven’t got anything to wear!” Jen took the dress from her and studied it, examining the seams with a professional eye, turning them in and out to look at the stitching.

  “Piece of cake.” She said calmly. “Go and put it on so I can see how much needs taking off and it won’t take long to fix.”

  “Of course.” As Jen’s mum rushed back out, Nkara had to conceal a smile.

  “You need a hand with that?” She asked in amusement and Jen groaned.

  “Why do I get the feeling that tonight is going to be a horrible disaster?” She asked, to no-one in particular and ignored Nkara’s laughter as her mum came back in. “Right, let’s get this sorted…”

  Chapter three

  They finally made it to the ball in a time still within the normal bounds of fashionable lateness and Jen had to suppress a smile at the way everyone stared as they walked in. Jen’s funky hair notwithstanding, Nkara was a spectacular sight in electric blue metallic material, making the two of them stand out like icons in the room full of elegantly dressed men and women.

  “I don’t think they like your hair.” Nkara whispered behind her hand as they headed for the bar and Jen almost creased double with laughter.

  “I suspect it’s more to do with the fact that your dress wouldn’t look out of place in a tinsel factory.” She winked as her father handed her a glass of champagne and they all laughed, looking round to see who was there and surreptitiously counting familiar dresses.

  “Well I spot at least eight HoA creations.” Nkara said finally with some satisfaction as Jen’s parents wandered off to mingle. “We’ve done some lovely work in our time.”

  “That we have.” Jen agreed and then winced. “Is it just me or are we the only people here under fifty?” Nkara chuckled.

  “You’re looking in the wrong direction dear. Everyone under fifty is crowded around the food bar.” Jen turned round and realised Nkara was right. Everyone even vaguely young was stuffing their faces with the free food and she groaned, recognising several faces.

  “Okay, I’ll rephrase that. Are we the only people here under fifty that haven’t got our heads stuck up our arses and are absolutely unbearable to be around?”

  “Yes.” Nkara told her gravely. “We are.”

  An hour later when Tom had still not arrived, and after a long and interminable period of social mingling (as her father put it), Jen somehow found herself surrounded by lots of old and incredibly wealthy men in a state somewhat akin to hypnotism, having tuned out of the conversation several minutes ago. So absolute was her blankness that she almost leapt out of her shoes when a large arm scooped her out of the group.

  “Darling!” An unfamiliar voice boomed behind her with a distinctly kiwi accent. “There you are! Excuse me gentleman, but the lady promised me a dance.” The men around her all nodded genially as Jen was propelled backwards and turned almost effortlessly into an equally unfamiliar and huge chest.

  “I’m sorry, do I know you?” She asked as they danced, her voice somewhat muffled by the large expanse of suit before her and she felt a rumble as he laughed.

  “No ma’am, you don’t. I just couldn’t bear to see a damsel in distress. You were starting to get that glazed look in your eyes.” He looked down at her with beautiful hazel eyes creased with mirth and Jen winced.

  “Was it that obvious?” She asked a little sheepishly and the stranger laughed again in a sound that bubbled up from his centre.

  “I don’t think anyone else noticed.” He assured her, amused. “The assholes at the food bar are too busy bragging about deviant practices and the oldies are all talking about stocks and shares.”

  “Please God may I have found someone else my age that isn’t a spoilt rich kid…” Jen prayed half aloud, much to the stranger’s amusement.

  “Well, that’s a fairly accurate description.” He offered. “I’m certainly not rich by your standards and I’ve spent too much of my life training to have had time to spend developing deviant practices!” Jen burst out laughing.

  “Well thanks for rescuing me. I’m Jennifer Anderson, but you can call me Jen as long as we’re out of earshot of my mother.”

  “Anderson as in House of Anderson?” He questioned and Jen was mildly astonished.

  “You’ve heard of me?” He had the grace to look a little embarrassed.

  “Actually no. I heard a couple of the ladies talking about the dresses you made for them. Your dress is absolutely stunning by the way. Kind of helped put two and two together.”

  “Thanks.” Jen smiled up at him, feeling dwarfed as she realised he was so tall she could only see parts of his face. “And who might my rescuer be?” He chuckled.

  “My name is Mark Aweyu.” He introduced himself and Jennifer frowned as the name stirred something in her memory.

  “Why does that name sound so familiar?” She asked eventually, irritated by her inability to place it and Mark laughed again.

  “I used to be an All-Black.” He explained and suddenly it all came rushing back to Jen.

  “You were that player that h
ad that horrific accident a couple of years back!” She exclaimed, remembering the day clearly. “I was at that match! I remember watching them carrying you off the pitch on a stretcher and wondering if you were going to be okay.”

  “Thanks for the concern.” He said in a tone so gentle it sounded genuine, and released her to step back as the music ended. “You want to go for a walk?” He suggested, looking round. “I don’t think you’ve had enough time away from the businessmen. Your brain might turn into mush.” Jennifer began to laugh, grateful for the company and glad that she didn’t have to look up any more as she was starting to get a crick in her neck. She cheerfully followed him across the hall and out through old fashioned French doors onto a wide stone patio overlooking the estate. Leaning on the balustrade she shivered slightly as a cool wind blew in from the trees, reminding her that it was still a long way from being summer. Instantly Mark had his jacket off to keep her warm and she couldn’t help but laugh at how large it was on her frame. His shoulders were so broad that when she held her arms out, her elbows barely reached the armholes.

  “You look ridiculous!” He joked and she stuck her tongue out at him.

  “I’d rather be ridiculous than cold.” She returned and he shrugged good-naturedly.

  “Fair point.” Now that she could see him clearly, Jen realised with surprise that he was actually really quite good-looking in a rugged way. He didn’t have the unfortunate flattened nose and cauliflower ears sported by so many rugby players the world over. Thankfully he turned to lean against the balustrade next to her so she didn’t have to follow that train of thought.

  “What brings you to the ball?” She asked curiously, aware that if he weren’t one of the rich playboys she’d come to know and hate then he was seriously out of place.

  “I’m in the UK for a few months raising money for charity.” He told her. “One of my sponsors wangled me an invite here thinking I couldn’t fail to gather a few donations in a room full of such rich people. What are you doing here Cinderella?” Jen grinned.

  “My dad is one of the rich people.”

  “Oh right.” He grinned back at her. “Did I just put my foot in it?”

  “Not at all.” Jen replied warmly. “What are you raising money for? Maybe I could get you a donation from my dad’s company.”

  “When I had my accident on the pitch that day, it was a lot more serious than many people realised. I’d fractured two vertebrae in my neck and I was in hospital for several weeks. It changed my whole view on mortality, you know? Suddenly I’d come within inches of being killed because of some freak tackle and I was lucky enough to walk away from it after only a few months. When I was in the spinal unit though I saw some horrific things – kids that weren’t quite so lucky. There was one boy a couple of beds down, sixteen years old and also hurt in a rugby accident. He’d damaged his spinal cord so badly he had to learn how to walk again. He used to cry every day because they had to force him out of bed and try to get him up straight and he was so humiliated by the fact he couldn’t even hold his own head up. That could so easily have been me, standing there in that hospital ward crying because I couldn’t stand up straight and in so much pain. The charity I’m raising money for is one that cares specifically for people with spinal injuries caused by rugby accidents. The game is like a religion where I come from and accidents happen a lot more frequently than you realise. I’m also raising money for a specialist spinal injuries unit at the hospital in my hometown. The facilities there are pretty poor. They need a new rehab unit with a gym and all sorts of equipment to help these people get their lives back.” Jen nodded, not entirely sure what to say.

  “I’ll see what I can do.” She managed finally, knowing she sounded lame. “Seems like a worthy cause to me. What do you do when you’re not raising money for charity?” Finally Mark cracked a sad smile.

  “Since I can’t play rugby any more I coach. I train both teams and individual players all over the world, professional and otherwise. Some of the most fun I’ve had is teaching in schools. It’s really rewarding work.”

  “Kids can be great.” Jen agreed. “We had a couple in the design studio a few months back as part of a work experience week in a nearby school. We showed them what went on and then gave them time to do some of their own designing. Some of them came up with pretty good stuff and you can imagine what they were like when we announced that we were going to produce one or two of their designs. They all came to the fashion show so excited that their work was being worn by famous models. It was worth the extra hassle to be able to stand backstage and watch the smiles on their faces.” They stood in companionable silence for a while and then Mark shifted his huge frame.

  “I guess we’ll be meeting up several times over the next few weeks.” He said. “I’ve been signed up to all sorts of these functions, dinners and suchlike. You Brits really don’t know how to have a good party. There’s only so many times I’m going to be able to rescue you from old men talking about stock prices.” Jen laughed.

  “Unfortunately this happens every year.” She pointed out. “For some reason this is party season where everyone has to cram in as many parties as they can before the kids come home from boarding school for the summer. By the end of the season I’ll have perfected the art of spacing out while managing to look interested, only to promptly forget it when party season is over. I don’t go to all of them, although I may have to go to more than usual this year.”

  “How come?” He questioned casually and Jen sighed.

  “I recently got engaged and my fiancé is big in the oil business, stepping into his father’s shoes. I guess I’m going to have to become the dutiful wife.”

  “Maybe there’s a dutiful wives club…” Mark joked and Jen couldn’t help but smile.

  “There probably is, but I think being pickled in gin is an entry qualification.” She replied wickedly and Mark burst out laughing.

  “That’s just changed my whole outlook on the ladies in there.” He told her. “Where is he tonight? Your partner…” Jen shrugged.

  “Search me. I got a phone call saying he couldn’t make it to the house and would have to meet us here, but I haven’t heard anything since. Guess he must have been held up at work. His dad works him pretty hard.” Mark grinned.

  “You sure he doesn’t just have a pretty secretary?” He asked and Jen slapped his arm playfully.

  “That was a cruel thing to say!” Then she grinned. “Besides, Deborah looks like the back end of a horse.” They were still laughing together about it when the man in question spotted them through the window and came out onto the patio.

  “Darling! Sorry I’m so late – the Brooklyn merger was about to fall through so I had to re-negotiate the hand-over terms.” He kissed her on the cheek and then stepped back waiting to be introduced.

  “Tom this is Mark Aweyu. Mark this is Tom Bergmann, my fiancé.”

  “Nice to meet you.” They both murmured, sizing each other up so Jen decided to defuse the situation.

  “Mark rescued me from being bored to death by the conversation.” She explained to Tom. “Apparently I’d reached the glazed-look stage.” Tom nodded.

  “That was very nice of you.” He said graciously to Mark although an icy undertone belied his words. “We need to go inside Jennifer, your mother is looking for you.” He waited as Jennifer handed Mark back his jacket before taking her hand firmly in his. “It was nice to meet you, Mark.” He stalked off but Jen dug her heels in.

  “Thanks for rescuing me.” She told the huge rugby player. “I hope I’ll see you again soon.” She didn’t know what on earth possessed her to say what she said next but it sort of popped out before she could stop it. “Do you ever feel like sometimes you don’t belong?” If he thought it an odd question, he certainly didn’t show it.

  “All the time.” He shrugged, a wistful smile playing on the corners of his mouth. “Sometimes I wonder if I was born in the wrong century or even the wrong reality entirely.” This time Tom actuall
y dragged her away and as they walked back into the party Jen pulled her hand back massaging where he had squeezed it too tightly.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” She demanded, flushing scarlet. “That was so rude! He was doing me a favour.”

  “We’ll discuss it when we get home.” Jen felt like she’d been slapped by the cold rage seething in his tone and they spent the rest of the evening in frozen silence towards each other.

  “Are you going to tell me what all that was about?” She demanded finally as they were getting ready for bed, alone at last.

  “What that was about? Jennifer, I proposed to you less than a bloody week ago! How do you think I felt turning up tonight to find you getting all cosy with some total stranger, wrapped up in his jacket?” Jen’s jaw dropped.

  “I can’t believe you would think anything of the sort!” She felt her own anger bubbling up. “Am I suddenly not allowed to talk to another man? Jesus Christ Tom, if you can’t even bloody trust me then why the sodding hell did you propose?”

  “Do you have any idea how bad it looked?” He shouted. “People were talking about it for the rest of the night!”

  “I don’t care what other people think!” She shouted right back. “This isn’t about anyone else, it’s about you and me and the fact that I can’t even talk to a guy without you getting jealous.”

  “Jealous!” He laughed mockingly at her. “Good God, you think I’m jealous?! Why would I be jealous of some washed up rugby player?”

  “Well if you’re not jealous then why the hell are you so angry?” She pointed out and Tom stepped right up close to her.

  “Because I don’t like seeing my fiancee behaving like a bloody slut in front of everybody I know.” Jen slapped him before she even registered her hand moving.