The Beauty of Broken Things

by Victoria Connelly

  ‘I think I will,’ he said. ‘Maybe tomorrow. Fresh start in case it turns out to be a big job.’

  ‘Fancy a walk now?’

  ‘Yes! I really do.’

  One Ear barked at the mention of the word ‘walk’ and the three of them left the basement together and headed out into the bright sunshine. As usual, Orla wore a hat, but she didn’t bother with the large sunglasses today, and Luke noticed.

  ‘I like your new look.’

  ‘What new look?’

  He drew a circle around his own face. ‘The confident look.’

  ‘I’m feeling braver.’

  ‘You look it too. It suits you.’

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘It really does. You’re looking good, Orla. I mean, you always did, but you’re not carrying that – that . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That haunted look about you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Is it all right to say that?’

  ‘Yes, of course. It just feels funny to hear it. But it’s good that I’m changing.’

  ‘It is good.’

  Orla led the way and, instead of taking the most direct route to the beach, she showed Luke a footpath which led through the reed beds. A perfect V-shape of geese flew overhead, their wings beating steadily, and they spied an egret in one of the ditches, its white plumage bright against the dark water.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ Luke said.

  ‘It’s even lovelier in the autumn, when the blackberries and rosehips are out.’

  ‘I’d love to see it then.’

  ‘You should.’

  ‘Yeah? You inviting me to stay that long?’

  ‘Of course. We’re friends now, aren’t we?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  They walked on, climbing over a rickety stile after One Ear had taken it in an easy bound. The footpath then took them up a small hill before descending into the sand dunes and reaching the beach.

  The salty air hit them in a refreshing blast and Orla inhaled deeply as One Ear took off at a gallop. Luke laughed and threw his head back to greet the sky. There was something so wonderfully freeing about being there and Orla couldn’t help wishing she’d dragged Luke here days ago. But perhaps he would have resisted. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been ready. But he was ready now and she took her chance.

  ‘Luke?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Can I talk to you about something?’

  ‘Sure.’

  They made their way across the pebbly beach to where it turned into deep golden sand, damp and firm under their feet.

  ‘I was wondering what Helen looked like.’

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, but then reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his phone, turning it around to show Orla a moment later.

  Shielding the screen with her hand, Orla looked down at the sweet face of the friend she’d lost. She had warm, chestnut hair which curled down to her shoulders and a happy rosy face, and her eyes shone with love for the man taking the photo.

  ‘She’s lovely,’ she told Luke. ‘I knew she would be. You can just tell with some people, can’t you? And I don’t just mean beautiful to look at – although she is, of course – but beautiful on the inside.’

  ‘Yes, she was.’

  ‘Her photos showed that. Each one seemed to hold a smile. Does that make sense?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ He put his phone away and turned his head to look out to sea. Orla gave him a moment. ‘I’m sorry. I find it hard to talk about all this.’

  ‘I know you do.’

  ‘It was her birthday,’ he said at last.

  ‘When?’

  ‘On the twentieth.’

  ‘Oh, Luke!’

  ‘I knew it was coming and yet it hit me so hard.’

  ‘Well, of course it did. You can’t shut these things out. You wouldn’t be human if you did.’

  He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and sniffed.

  ‘Oh, God! I seem to do nothing but break down on public beaches!’

  ‘There’s nobody around and, even if there was, it wouldn’t matter.’

  Luke hid his face in his hands. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Orla’s heart felt like it was bleeding as she saw his helplessness. ‘It’s okay,’ she told him.

  ‘I feel so – so ridiculous, crying like this!’

  ‘Luke – it’s okay that you’re not okay. You do know that, don’t you? You shouldn’t try to hide from this, and I think maybe that’s what you’ve been trying to do, isn’t it? You’re living with the expert on hiding, don’t forget.’

  Luke sniffed and Orla handed him a clean tissue from her pocket.

  ‘Oh, God!’ he cried. ‘When will this stop?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think you might have a way to go yet, though.’

  He glanced at her and she gave him a little smile.

  ‘I’m sorry. You didn’t want to hear that, did you?’

  ‘No, not really. But thanks for being honest.’

  ‘My pleasure. Well, it’s not really. I hate seeing you like this.’

  ‘Sorry!’

  ‘Stop apologising,’ she told him. ‘Anyway, I mean, I think it’s healthy to cry, but I wish I could spare you this pain.’

  They walked on for a bit.

  ‘I guess it’s early days, isn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘Yes. You’re being too hard on yourself. You’ve got to give yourself time and space to get through this.’

  ‘I want it all to be over.’ He sighed. ‘And then I feel guilty feeling like that because it’s like I’m saying I don’t want to think about Helen any more and that I want to get on with living.’

  ‘But that’s only natural.’

  ‘Well, nature is cruel, isn’t it?’

  ‘Luke – you’re alive. You’re young. It’s only normal that you want to get on.’

  ‘It’s not fair, though. When I think of Helen and all the promise life held for her, I feel sick – actually sick. Why did this happen? Why the hell did this happen?’

  Orla reached out and touched his shoulder, wishing she had an answer for him, but there wasn’t one. Life could be cruel, and that was it.

  ‘I miss her,’ she said quietly as they walked on.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘I really do. It might seem strange to say that because I know I never met her, but I really feel the loss of her presence.’ Orla paused. ‘I’m not upsetting you, saying that, am I?’

  Luke shook his head. ‘No.’

  She could hear the emotion in his voice.

  ‘She was a special person and I miss her in my life, even if that was only connecting through Galleria photos and exchanging the odd message.’

  ‘Isn’t that how so many friendships are made these days?’ Luke said.

  ‘Yes. I suppose they are.’

  They walked on for a bit, listening to the roar of the waves as they neared the shore.

  ‘Did she ever tell you about her twenty-eighth birthday party?’ Luke suddenly asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, it fell on a Saturday and she was behaving all moody in the morning because I was making out that I’d forgotten.’

  ‘Oh, Luke! That’s so mean!’

  ‘I know. It was a bit, but I had something planned. I told her to come with me into town because I had to pick up some tools and wood and needed her help carrying it all. Well, she wasn’t pleased, but she came along.’

  ‘You seriously made her haul wood around on her birthday?’

  Luke grinned, obviously enjoying telling the story. ‘Ah, but wait! After we picked everything up, I told her I had to deliver some of it to this pub ahead of starting a job. I was worried that she’d guess what I was up to, but her miserable face proved to me that she didn’t have a clue.’

  Orla gasped. ‘You are a cruel man!’

  ‘I know. I know. But it was all worth it when we went in carrying this massive length of wood, only to be greeted by about twenty friend
s and family all yelling, “Surprise!” You should have seen her face!’

  Orla laughed. ‘I wish I had.’

  ‘Of course, she was mad at me for not telling her to wear something nicer, but we’d been—’

  ‘Hauling wood around!’ Orla said.

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘That’s a rotten trick, Luke! I would’ve been mad too.’

  ‘But that moment when she saw everyone in the restaurant. She really thought I’d forgotten her birthday. But everyone was there, and there were balloons and cake and candles. The works!’ He laughed at the memory. ‘I think she forgave me.’

  ‘I’m sure she did.’

  They stopped for a moment and gazed out to sea, watching a pair of gulls riding the wind.

  ‘Luke?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I didn’t know whether to tell you this or not,’ she began hesitantly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve been sleepwalking.’

  Luke looked at her, his eyes still bright with tears. ‘You’re kidding?’

  ‘Several times now.’

  He looked confused. ‘Where – how?’

  ‘I’ve found you sitting in the dark in the great hall a couple of times and, the other night, you were lighting candles.’

  ‘Candles?’

  ‘Perhaps for Helen’s birthday?’ Orla suggested, now that she had that piece of information.

  ‘It doesn’t seem like me.’

  ‘But you’re not quite you at the moment, are you?’ Orla said gently.

  Luke closed his eyes. ‘No, I suppose not.’

  ‘You’ve got to be kind to yourself. Make sure you’re sleeping well and eating well. Take lots of long walks. Go out and see things. Take time to find yourself.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Everything I do seems sad now because it isn’t with Helen.’

  ‘Oh, Luke!’

  ‘I’ve been trying to focus on my work and – well – that’s good and it works sometimes. But she’s never very far away and I don’t want to block her out.’

  ‘And you shouldn’t.’ Orla watched as Luke gazed out to sea, his brow furrowed with pain. She had an incredible urge to smooth out the skin with her fingers and thought how very like her own damaged skin it looked and how they’d both been hurt and scarred by life.

  ‘I don’t know how to do this,’ Luke said in a voice barely audible above the waves.

  Orla completely understood because, in her own way, she had been there too, only she’d been mourning the loss of her face.

  ‘One day at a time,’ she told him. ‘That’s how you do it.’

  He lowered his head as if taking a moment to process this and then he gazed out to sea again, just as One Ear came splashing in the surf towards them, barking at a pair of gulls who were so tantalisingly close and yet so frustratingly far away.

  Luke nodded. ‘One day at a time.’

  Chapter 15

  Bill stuck his garden fork in the newly turned earth and stretched his back.

  ‘I don’t think I should ask her,’ he told Margy as she handed him a mug of tea.

  ‘Well, I think you should,’ Margy told him. ‘It could be just the thing she needs to integrate into village life.’

  ‘But she’s doing that naturally on her own. I don’t want to push her.’

  ‘You won’t be. You’ll be offering her an opportunity. It’ll be up to her to take it up or turn it down.’

  Bill pursed his lips. He didn’t like this. Orla was just beginning to trust him and to find her own way back into society. If he dared to push things too quickly too soon, she could easily revert back to her old ways. That was his fear anyway.

  ‘I’m not happy about this,’ he told his wife.

  ‘I know you’re not. But you can’t expect Mildred to do it, can you? She’s got enough on her plate and, anyway, you know Orla and she knows you. It’ll be better coming from you.’

  Bill took a sip of his tea, silently cursing Mildred Smy. Not that it was her fault really. She was merely carrying out what needed to be done. It was just unfortunate that Bill had been roped into this.

  ‘Bill – you’ve got to do it! If you don’t, who else will? Everyone’s still a bit scared of Orla.’

  ‘That’s nonsense. She’s a lovely woman.’

  ‘Yes, well, we know that now, but others don’t, do they? She’s still the mysterious woman who locks herself away in the spooky old castle, isn’t she?’

  Bill hadn’t thought about it like that. ‘I suppose she might seem odd.’

  ‘Oh, Bill! You know that’s odd. You never stopped going on about it when she first moved here. You said she must be a very peculiar sort not to even bother to say hello to her own gardener. Those were your exact words. A very peculiar sort!’

  ‘Margy, shush! For goodness’ sake!’ Bill said, terrified that the neighbours were out in their gardens and would hear and that word would get back to Orla.

  ‘You know it’s true, and you can’t blame people for still having – well – misgivings about her. Lorford is a small community and even people who are never seen get noticed.’

  Bill frowned.

  ‘Oh, you know what I mean.’

  Unfortunately, Bill did. Word soon got around when a property went up for sale, and eager eyes would watch to see the new arrivals. It wasn’t just nosiness, but genuine interest in one’s neighbours. After all, why would somebody move to a small place like Lorford unless they were going to be sociable? It was why it had been particularly galling to the community when the castle had been sold to a recluse. It had been the main topic of conversation for months as people had speculated about the new owner. And now word was out that she was making herself known and excitement was at an all-time high, although fear was in the mix too, it seemed.

  ‘Okay, I’ll do it,’ he said at last.

  Margy crossed the space between them and stood on tiptoes to give him a kiss.

  ‘You taste of earth,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No, I like it!’

  He smiled and watched as she went back inside with his empty mug, her mission accomplished. Bill sighed. He still didn’t like the idea, but he’d do it, and the sooner he got it over and done with, the better, so he brushed the earth from his trousers, cleaned his fork meticulously before putting it away in the shed and went inside to change clothes.

  He left the house half an hour later, hair brushed and shirt collar straightened by Margy.

  ‘Just be you,’ she’d told him. ‘She likes you.’

  She might not after what he had to ask, he thought to himself ruefully.

  Approaching the castle, he felt like a schoolboy called up to see the head teacher. There was something about being in the presence of the castle when one wasn’t invited that was especially intimidating. Perhaps that was another reason why Orla had chosen to live there. It would be a brave person who would just show up and ring that big old bell, wouldn’t it?

  Bill had never rung the bell at the front door before, although he had been inside that time he’d helped Orla bring Luke back from the beach. That dreadful day seemed like an age ago now and he couldn’t help thinking how much had changed in that time with both of them becoming such a part of his life now.

  And I might be about to ruin it all, he thought to himself, taking a deep breath and ringing the bell.

  Instantly, he heard One Ear and it wasn’t long before he heard Orla’s voice on the other side of the door.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Orla? It’s me – Bill. Bill Wilson.’

  ‘Bill?’ Orla said. ‘Quiet, One Ear – it’s only Bill.’

  He heard the sound of a bolt drawing across and a key being turned.

  ‘Hello,’ he said a moment later, nodding to her. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if I could have a word.’

  ‘Is it about the garden?’

  ‘Erm, no. Village business, you might say.’

  ‘Oh, how mys
terious!’ Orla said with a sweet smile. ‘Do you want to come in?’

  Bill peered around her shoulder at the great cavernous space of the room behind her.

  ‘Garden, I think,’ he said. ‘If that’s okay with you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Orla said. ‘I’ll just grab my hat.’

  Bill took a few deep breaths as he waited. He would feel more at home in the garden, he thought. It would, at least, be one less thing to be anxious about.

  A moment later, and they were sitting on the bench that Bill was fast thinking of as ‘their’ bench.

  ‘Bill, what is it? You look all tied up in knots.’

  He blinked, surprised that his demeanour betrayed his inner turmoil so readily.

  After a bit of throat clearing and boot shuffling, he began. ‘I have a question to ask you.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘A request, rather.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Now, before I ask it, I have to let you know that I’m dead against asking you this. I don’t think it’s fair and you have every right to say no.’

  ‘Bill, you’re making me nervous now.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Just ask me!’ she said, her eyes wide and anxious.

  Bill took one last deep breath. ‘Mildred Smy – you’ve not met her, I think – well, she runs the village show. Has done for as long as any of us can remember, and she’s a great one for getting people involved – for giving people little jobs to do. One of life’s natural organisers, you know? Well, she’s got it into her head that she wants photos – professional-quality photos – taken of the show this year.’

  ‘When’s the show?’

  ‘Next week. And, well, she wanted me to ask if you’d do the honours.’ He paused, a sense of dread filling him, but at least he’d done his bit now. He couldn’t be asked to do more.

  ‘How did this Mildred know I’m a photographer?’ Orla asked.

  Bill shifted uneasily. ‘It’s something Luke mentioned to me at the first horticultural meeting. I guess someone overheard us talking about it, and you know what a village is like – word soon gets around.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘I’m sorry to put you on the spot like this,’ he said, shuffling his boots again. ‘Please say no if it’s not your thing.’

  Orla didn’t say anything for a moment.

  ‘It’s not your thing, is it?’ Bill asked.