‘Sorry,’ he said, both for overstepping the mark and for staring at her. ‘I just – I think you’d like it there.’
She paused by the sink for a moment and then made to leave the room.
‘I’ve got some work to be getting on with,’ she told him without turning around. ‘You have everything you need to make yourself at home here?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Luke said, cursing himself for having riled her and hoping she’d forgive him. But it did make him wonder about her situation and why it was that she chose to shut herself away from the world. Helen had been anxious about that too, hadn’t she?
Once Luke had brought his few things in from the van, he opened his bag and reached inside for Helen’s journal, which he’d brought with him like some kind of talisman – a little piece of her to travel with him – and he turned to the page where he thought he’d read about BB. Orla. And there it was: Helen’s concern about her friend.
I wish there was something I could do to help her. She sounds so isolated. So alone. And scared too, although she won’t tell me why. That’s no way to live, is it? I wish she’d confide in me. I’d love to help.
Luke read Helen’s words again, making a silent promise to her that he would try to help Orla. Luke knew that he had failed to help Helen realise her dreams, but perhaps there was something he could do to help Orla reach hers.
The first morning after Luke’s arrival at the castle was particularly difficult for Orla. She’d slept badly the night before, wondering if she’d made a dreadful mistake in agreeing to his staying there and, several times during the night, she’d been on the verge of ringing her mother for advice. However, a cup of herbal tea, a walk around the great hall and a cuddle with One Ear had calmed her down on each occasion.
Now, though, as Luke got up from the kitchen table and walked to the worktop where the kettle was, she found herself feeling agitated in a way she couldn’t explain. He was babbling about something – a nervous kind of chatter, probably to fill the void of silence between them which she was doing nothing to alleviate.
Orla felt herself nodding, possibly in the wrong places because she wasn’t sure what he was saying. Her head was full of a sort of white noise and that awful panicky sensation filled her.
Luke had put the kettle down and was now standing in front of her. In her space.
‘Are you okay?’
She took a step backwards.
‘I – I need some air,’ she said, and ran out of the kitchen into the green serenity of the garden. She could breathe more easily there. It was just her and the plants. Her little haven.
The next day was just as bad, with Orla seeming to trip over Luke every time she turned around. Perhaps she was overreacting. It was highly likely that she was. She knew she was more susceptible to nerves than most people. But, all the same, she couldn’t help her reaction.
The only cure for her seemed to be long walks on the beach to calm herself, inhaling the salty sea air and finding a space to call her own.
When she got back to the castle, Luke was unloading his van.
‘Just been into town to get some clothes and toiletries,’ he explained.
‘Do you have everything you need?’ she asked, knowing that the guest bedroom was small and fairly basic.
‘Yes, thank you.’
Orla nodded and scuttled inside.
There was another very awkward moment that first night. The castle had two toilets, but only one of them had a shower and bath and Orla had just wrapped herself in her towel after getting out of the bath when Luke knocked on the door.
‘Orla? Are you in there?’ he asked gently.
‘I’ll be out in a moment.’
‘No rush, please!’ he called.
But she hadn’t been able to relax after that and found that she was feeling panicky again, her personal space violated.
When she’d got dressed and summoned up the courage to face Luke, she found him in the great hall, his hair covered in dust and cobwebs.
‘Thought I’d better take a shower after rummaging around the basement,’ he’d said with a grin, and Orla couldn’t help but smile.
The big thing on Luke’s agenda, he told her, was to assess what work needed doing to the castle. It was a long list which could have taken several builders and decorators many years, so he had to prioritise, asking Orla’s advice as he went. Together, they decided to focus on the rooms that were used the most: the great hall, the great chamber, one of the passageways and another room which Orla had been hoping to use for her photography. Luke looked like he was enjoying the slow process of getting to know the castle and Orla began to enjoy her role as a guide to it, taking him down into the dungeons, where the stonework was rough hewn, and then up onto the turreted platform where the views across Lorford’s coastline could be seen in all their glory.
Luke was obviously impressed.
‘I just hope I can do justice to all this,’ he told her.
She watched as he left each day to gather more materials, observing the careful way he handled everything.
‘The thing to remember is that you have to use natural materials in these old buildings,’ Luke informed her. ‘They have to be able to breathe, you see? So no dreadful man-made products like cement or emulsion. It’s all got to be natural.’
‘Good to know,’ Orla agreed.
Once they’d decided which rooms to focus on, Luke got to work, setting up his equipment in one of the many disused rooms in the castle. One Ear was as curious as Orla was and frequently kept Luke company while Orla let him get on with things.
‘It’s so good to be working again,’ Luke told her one evening.
Orla was pleased he was happy, but she couldn’t help remembering what she’d lost giving up her own work. That comforting routine – to have a project to focus on, to have something solid like a full day’s work ahead of you. It gave the mind clarity and took one out of oneself, didn’t it?
Orla couldn’t help envying Luke that.
For that first week, Orla pretty much left Luke to himself, giving him the space he needed for the work he had planned. Slowly, she found herself spending more time in his company. She found it fascinating to watch him bringing in all the equipment he needed. She had pointedly not been around while the workmen had done some of the major repairs on the castle after she’d bought it. The thought of all the noise and dust and dirt was too much to even contemplate but, more than that, she hadn’t wanted to be stared at. Business had been conducted over the phone with a project manager who’d made sure everybody knew what they were doing. To be honest, Orla didn’t really know if they’d done a good job or not. It was hard to tell with so ancient a building and she’d only had a limited budget. So it was nice to be more involved this time. And there was something else about Luke working on it – she didn’t seem to feel so self-conscious around him. She had felt a little anxious at first to have a man staying in her home and it had been awkward to wake up, knowing he was just a few rooms away and that, during the day, he might disturb her peace at any moment by entering the room she was in.
Perhaps it was because he was as vulnerable as her in his own way. The loss of his wife had injured him in just as devastating a way as she had been injured physically. Maybe that’s why she’d let him into her life so easily. Even though Orla hadn’t shared her home with anyone in many years, she found that she quickly became used to Luke’s presence and they soon learned how to move around each other’s routines, respecting one another’s time and personal space. Perhaps it was that special link they shared together. Helen.
But there were still awkward moments, such as when she’d been watching him from one of the windows of the castle as he was unloading various pots and boards from his van. He’d turned around and nodded up at her and she’d flung herself away from the window just as she did if somebody ever so much as glanced up at the castle. It was instinct. She was so used to not wanting to be seen. Only this was Luke and he had seen her fully beca
use she had let him into her home. But she still felt like she might have made a terrible mistake letting him stay with her and she knew that the transition would be a difficult if not painful one.
It was one evening at the end of May when Orla asked Luke something that had been preying on her mind. He’d been cleaning and plastering a section of wall in the great chamber that day and had taken a shower before joining her in the great hall.
‘Something’s been bothering me,’ she told him as they sat down on the sofa together.
‘What’s that? Am I making too much noise?’
‘No – nothing like that.’
‘What is it, then?’
Orla took a deep breath, nervous about asking him this question, but anxious to know the answer. ‘How did you find me? I mean, I never actually told Helen where I lived.’
‘No. I didn’t think you had.’
‘So how did you find me?’
Luke cleared his throat. ‘I – erm – looked at clues in your photos.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘On Galleria.’
‘But I don’t photograph the castle and I’m very careful with taking shots inside.’
‘Yes, I noticed,’ Luke agreed, ‘but there were some clues if you look closely enough, which I’m sure most people don’t.’
‘Where?’ Orla asked in panic. ‘Where are these clues?’
‘Do you have your phone nearby?’
Orla picked it up from the table and called up Galleria before handing it to Luke and watching as he scrolled through her photographs.
‘You see this church?’
‘Yes.’ It was St George’s in Lorford and was a favourite subject of Orla’s.
‘It was one of the first things I noticed about your feed.’
‘But I never photograph the whole building – just bits of it.’
‘I know, but it’s a very distinctive building. See here?’ He turned the phone round to her again. ‘You’ve got the round tower featured.’
‘Doesn’t it look like most churches, though?’
‘No, I’m afraid not. Round-towered churches aren’t commonplace and are quite distinct to East Anglia.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
Luke took the phone again. ‘You also photograph the sea a lot. Now, that could mean you have a holiday home by the sea or take a lot of day trips, but it does help when trying to locate someone.’
‘I never thought of that,’ Orla admitted. ‘I mean, I was aware I was photographing the sea, but we live on an island, right?’
‘Yes, but it’s when you start putting all these things together.’
‘And that’s what you did?’
‘Yes.’ She saw Luke’s face colour slightly at the admission. ‘And then there was the castle. The windows. The windowsills. You might not have photographed the exterior or anything obvious like the turrets, but the interior backgrounds are very revealing. Not in all your pictures, of course – I had to search carefully, but that was what I needed to do to find you.’
Orla didn’t say anything. She was too stunned. How could she have been so stupid? She’d thought she’d been so careful never photographing the whole of the church and only showing little corners of her home, but that had been enough for Luke to find her. And, if he could find her . . .
Suddenly, she grabbed her phone off him and started tapping furiously.
‘What are you doing?’ Luke asked.
‘Deleting.’
‘Your account?’
‘No, but perhaps I should.’
‘No! Don’t do that.’
Luke got up and stood over her, watching as she deleted photo after photo.
‘That seems a bit drastic.’
‘You found me, didn’t you?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘Nobody should be able to do that. I’ve been too careless.’ Orla could feel her heart pounding as she went through her photos. What had she been thinking, posting all those church pictures? And the beach ones too. She’d thought she’d been clever in her obscurity and that quirky angles and incomplete images were enough to hide behind, but it was obvious that they weren’t.
‘Orla,’ Luke whispered, sitting down next to her again. ‘It’s okay.’
‘No, it’s not. I’ve got to get rid of them.’
‘But what about all your lovely comments?’
She paused. She hadn’t thought about that. He meant from Helen, didn’t he? She wasn’t just deleting photographs, but Helen’s voice from the past.
She could feel hot tears rising now. She felt helpless. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said.
‘May I have a look at the phone?’ Luke gently held out his hand. ‘Is there a way of saving the photos and comments? We could store them somewhere else so they’re not visible to anybody but yourself.’
Orla nodded and handed him the phone. ‘I think we can do that.’
‘Okay, good. Let’s do that, then.’
‘But I’ve already deleted so many.’
‘Don’t worry about those.’
‘But Helen’s comments—’
‘It’s okay. We’ll save the other ones.’
The two of them worked together. It took some time, opening each photo and saving the images and comments to another place, but they finally managed it.
‘I’ve lost a lot of content,’ she said once they’d finished.
‘You’ll make it up again.’
‘With more care next time.’
‘Yes,’ Luke agreed. ‘If you think that’s a good idea.’
‘I do,’ she said. ‘I’m just glad it was you who found the clues and not . . . somebody else.’ She bit her tongue. She’d said too much, and she could see the questions rising in Luke’s face so she got up and turned away from him.
‘Orla?’
‘Yes?’
‘I think you’re worrying too much.’
Orla didn’t say anything, but she knew that Luke was wrong. As far as she was concerned, she hadn’t been worrying enough.
Chapter 8
The nightmare was always the same. She was walking down a long corridor, clinically white, the lights bright and harsh. Some kind of hospital. She should have been safe in a hospital, but she instinctively knew that she wasn’t. Her whole body felt cold with fear and she could feel her heart racing as she passed each open doorway. Why were they always open? Anybody could leap out of them as she passed. Or maybe that was a distraction or some kind of trick. Maybe they would come from behind her? She turned around, just in case, but there was nobody there, and so she walked on, her speed quickening until she was running. And the corridor just kept getting longer and longer, never ending, stretching, elongating, reaching out until . . .
Until she woke up.
Bolt upright in her bed, Orla took some deep breaths as she chanted to herself, I’m awake, I’m awake, I’m awake. It took a little while to convince herself and for her trembling body to catch up with her mind but, finally, she felt safe enough to leave her bed.
The nightmares were becoming rarer now, but they still had the power to shake her to her core when they struck. Swinging her legs out of bed and turning on her bedside lamp, Orla knew it would be a while before she’d be able to fall asleep again and so she pulled on a cardigan and got up. The room she’d chosen for her bedroom was one of the smallest in the castle and was painted a warm cream with a small deep-set window which looked out over the flower garden she loved so much. She’d decorated it with thick tapestry drapes in burgundy and gold with a bedspread to match. There was a single wardrobe in one corner and a Lloyd Loom chair with a big red velvet cushion, and that was it. There was no dressing table and no mirrors. It was a safe, protective space and yet, as much as she’d made it a cosy, comforting place, it couldn’t protect her from her nightmares.
Perhaps she was responding to having somebody staying with her in the castle, she thought. Maybe her subconscious was fearful even though – consciously – she wasn’t
afraid of Luke. She genuinely liked him. One Ear liked him. He was the husband of her dear friend, Helen, and she truly believed that he wasn’t a threat. Yet maybe there was a part of her that didn’t trust him. That little part of her that kept her hidden from the world because she was fearful of being hurt again.
Padding quietly through the castle corridors towards the kitchen, she determined to make the most of being up at so ungodly an hour and have a cup of herbal tea. Something warm and soothing to chase every last remnant of the nightmare away.
She was just about to turn the light on in the great hall when she became aware of a presence. There was a change in the air around her and she instinctively knew that somebody else was there. At first, she stood paralysed. When she’d moved into the castle, she’d been terrified of the long dark corridors at night and had wondered if she’d made a huge mistake in moving there, but she’d gradually got used to the place and she knew her security was tight. Still, the thought of somebody breaking in was one she dreaded.
Of course, it could have been Luke but, if he’d got up, wouldn’t he have turned the lights on? Possibly not. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to disturb her or maybe he had excellent night vision.
‘Luke?’ she called into the darkness as she entered the great hall. Surely he wouldn’t be up in the middle of the night. ‘Luke – is that you?’
One Ear was immediately out of his basket at the sound of his mistress’s voice, and Orla took comfort from having the animal by her side. If he wasn’t growling, then perhaps the threat she felt was imaginary. She switched the light on.
And there he was. He’d been sitting there in the dark. His eyes were open, but he didn’t seem to see her as she walked into the room.
‘Luke?’ she whispered. ‘Luke!’ She reached out towards him, but then something occurred to her. Maybe he was sleepwalking. You weren’t meant to wake sleepwalkers, were you? She didn’t know if that was a myth or not, but she thought she’d try something else because she really didn’t want to distress the poor man, and so she gently took hold of his arm and encouraged him to stand.
The Beauty of Broken Things Page 9