He visited Galleria, quickly finding her Beautifully Broken account and sighing when he saw that she hadn’t updated her feed for several days. The last post, in fact, had been a couple of days before Brandon had shown himself. Luke wondered whether to message her via the site. He so desperately wanted to know how she was. Was her mother still there, he wondered? Was Orla still imprisoned in her bedroom by her fears? And, if she was, who was taking care of One Ear? He had to admit to being disappointed that she hadn’t reached out to him, but perhaps she really hadn’t wanted him there after the trouble with Brandon. It had all stemmed from his uncovering that Wild Man carving, hadn’t it? He really couldn’t blame her if she’d wanted rid of him.
He looked through the last few photos she’d posted, smiling as he recognised some of the china, remembering when one of the pieces had arrived and he’d helped her unpack it. Now, it was there for the whole world to admire.
While he was on the site, he found himself gravitating towards Helen’s account at Trees and Dreams. Of course, it was the same as the last time he’d visited it, with that final photo of the oak tree at the top of the feed. That bloody oak tree. He couldn’t help but hate that tree now. It had been one of the last things Helen had ever seen. She’d seen hundreds, if not thousands, of things during her last day on Earth and all after her last sight of him. The thought nearly drove him crazy. All those moments she’d had away from him, wasting time on trains and in offices and boardrooms. What had they been thinking of? But that was modern life, wasn’t it? One couldn’t exist on love alone. One couldn’t spend every waking hour with the person you loved. It would be totally unrealistic to think that you could.
He switched his phone off, got up from the sofa and flung his plate in the kitchen sink and went to bed. It was half past nine.
Things got easier after those first few days and Luke got up one morning suddenly feeling lighter and with the need to get out of the house. He knew exactly where he had to go too, and what he had to do.
Getting in his van, he drove a short distance through the Kent countryside, which was looking resplendent in its summer attire. The hills of the Weald were a lemony green against the dark trees of high summer, and the orchards and vineyards were swelling softly with fruit.
Luke turned off a main road into a village he’d never visited before. He thought he had the right address. He hadn’t thought to double-check, but he hadn’t needed to for, a few minutes later, he’d pulled up outside a seventeenth-century home, recognising the small red van parked outside it.
The front door, a large wooden one which reminded him of the one at Lorford Castle, only on a far more modest scale, was open and the sound of sawing could be heard from inside.
Luke placed his hard hat on his head and walked down a narrow hallway, his boots echoing on the dark stone floor. He entered a room to the right and was greeted by a look of total shock on Chippy’s face.
‘Luke!’
‘Hey, Chippy!’
‘I didn’t know you were back.’
Luke gave a shrug. He felt a little guilty for having been home so long and not letting his friend know.
‘Home for good,’ Luke told him.
‘Yeah?’
‘And ready to work.’
Chippy grinned. ‘Well, there’s plenty to do.’
Luke looked around the room, which had been stripped back to its original timbers, and smiled. It was a beautiful building and he couldn’t wait to get to work on it with Chippy by his side. He’d missed a hard day’s work with his friend and the carefree banter they shared. He felt ready for this. For the first time in months, he felt like the old Luke might be ready to make a comeback.
Chapter 24
The summer slipped by in lazy, hazy days on the Suffolk coast. The residents of Lorford kept their curtains drawn against the sun during the day and flung their windows open each evening in an attempt to keep their homes cool. It was a summer they would never forget.
Orla certainly wouldn’t forget it. She was spending more time at the allotments with Bill. It was such a special place and she’d found herself becoming a part of the community, chatting to the other people who gardened there. It had been so easy to slip into a new routine and now she couldn’t envisage her day without a trip to the allotments fitted into it. Of course, she knew she had Luke to thank for it all. If he hadn’t come into her life, she would most likely still be locked away inside the castle, only coming out for her daily walks to the beach.
She missed Luke. But, as the weeks passed without word from him, she guessed that he’d long forgotten about her. At least there was plenty to distract her at the allotments. There was certainly plenty to do during those last hot weeks of summer. Bill’s two water butts had been emptied a long time ago and he and Orla were bringing buckets of water with them from home.
‘You don’t need to carry those!’ he chided her each time she did. ‘It’s easier for me to do that in my car.’
‘But I really don’t mind,’ she told him. ‘I’ve got muscles – look!’ She flexed her biceps, which bulged the tiniest amount. ‘Well, I’m on the way to getting muscles.’
Something else Orla always brought with her was her phone and her camera to photograph the daily changes in the growth of the flowers, fruit and vegetables. It was refreshing to capture something other than china with her camera – something that lived and breathed and evolved over time. She loved the scent of the soil after watering the plants and would often crouch down to inhale the earth and to photograph the jewel-bright stems of the rainbow chard.
August slipped into September, the sun sinking a little earlier in the sky with each passing day and the mornings feeling decidedly cooler. The hedgerows were filled with blackberries and rosehips, and dewy cobwebs threaded their way across the countryside, catching the light and turning everything into a fairy world. Orla helped Bill with his harvest. One of the most rewarding jobs was cutting the squashes. For Orla, who’d lived all of her life in London without a garden, this was a new experience. The only squashes she’d ever harvested before were from a shelf in the supermarket. But how fulfilling it was to lift one of the enormous leaves and to hold one of the swollen fruits in your hands, feeling the full weight of summer inside it, to cut the stalk and place the fruit in your basket and to think of the joy to come in eating it.
Bill was generous, giving Orla armfuls of produce to take away in thanks for all her help over the summer. And she was invited to Oyster Cottage one evening for a celebratory harvest supper where everything they ate had come from the allotment.
When October arrived, it brought the first frosts, and summer suddenly seemed a distant memory. The air chilled and, after months of bare limbs, jumpers were reached for. There was less to do at the allotment now, but Orla still met Bill there. He’d taught her so much over the last few months and she was determined to grow even more fruit, flowers and vegetables of her own at the castle in the spring. He’d promised to guide her through the seasons, and she couldn’t wait.
On a crisp October morning after walking One Ear on the beach, she headed to the allotment. Bill had texted her to say he’d be there and that he was going to clear the vegetable beds to make room for some spring greens and to bring a bag to fill for her kitchen. But she couldn’t see him when she arrived. She looked around in case he’d wandered into somebody else’s allotment. Wasn’t that what retired gentlemen did? Stand around with their forks in their hands, putting the world to rights? But the only other person she could see was a woman working quietly alone on her own plot.
Orla turned back to Bill’s little corner, and noticed that the door of the shed was open.
‘Bill?’ she called, walking towards it. He was probably grabbing a tool or perhaps pouring himself a cup of tea, she thought. But he wasn’t. As she rounded the door, she almost tripped over his boots. Bill was on the floor, and he didn’t look good.
‘Bill!’ Orla screamed as she fell to the floor beside him. ‘What is it?’<
br />
Bill’s face was screwed up and he was clutching his belly.
‘Pain,’ he managed.
‘I’ll get help.’
Quickly, she grabbed her phone, cursing the fact that it was switched off and took an age to turn on. When it did, she left the shed for a better signal and rang 999.
‘Ambulance, please. It’s my friend. He’s in his seventies. He’s on the floor in great pain. Abdominal, I think. He can barely speak.’
Orla gave directions to the allotment and was told an ambulance was on its way. She was just about to return to the shed when the woman from the other allotment ran over.
‘What’s happening? I heard the word “ambulance”.’
‘It’s Bill.’ Orla ran back into the shed, followed by the woman. ‘Bill? An ambulance is on its way.’
Bill was still writhing in pain, unable to speak.
‘What did they say to do?’ the other woman asked.
‘Not to move him, but to keep him warm.’ Orla took her coat off and placed it over Bill. She felt a strange numbing calmness wash over her.
‘He’ll be all right,’ the woman said. ‘He’s tough as his old boots is Bill.’
Orla nodded. ‘He’ll be all right.’ She reached out to touch his shoulder and then something occurred to her. ‘I’ve got to let Margy know.’
‘I’ll ring her,’ the woman said, getting her phone out.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.’
‘It’s Pauline.’
‘Thanks, Pauline. I’m Orla.’
Pauline left the shed and returned a moment later. ‘There’s no answer,’ she said. ‘I’ll try again. Should I leave a message?’
‘Try again in a few minutes. Where’s that ambulance? Bill? We’re getting you help. You’re going to be all right.’
‘I’ll walk down to the entrance and wait for the ambulance,’ Pauline said, knowing that the entrance was easy to miss from the road.
Luckily, it didn’t take long before two paramedics appeared, who asked a bit about Bill before moving him carefully onto a stretcher.
‘Is he going to be okay?’ Pauline asked. Orla’s mouth had gone completely dry by this stage and everything seemed to be passing in a blur. Her eyes moved from Bill to Pauline to the men carrying him and back to Pauline.
‘I’ll keep trying Margy,’ Pauline told her, giving Orla’s arm a quick squeeze. ‘Quickly – give me your number so we can keep in touch.’
‘Are you coming?’ a voice finally asked Orla after they’d swapped numbers. She looked up to see that Bill’s stretcher was now in the back of the ambulance.
Orla hesitated. Then got in.
Orla lost all sense of time after that. It was a blur of roads as they sped towards Ipswich and then a blur of white corridors as they rushed Bill to hospital There was still no word from Pauline about Margy so Orla texted her to try and find out what was happening.
But there was one person above all others she needed to reach out to: Luke. They hadn’t spoken since her mother had thrown him out of the castle and, although she’d wanted to talk to him and explain things, she’d never got up the nerve. She’d been anxious that he might ignore her calls or – worse – that he’d answer and give her a piece of his mind. She’d deserve it too. He’d given her so much and he must think she’d treated him abominably.
But this wasn’t about her, was it? It was about Bill, and Bill was Luke’s friend. So she made the call.
‘Luke?’ she said a moment later, relieved that he’d answered. ‘It’s Orla.’
‘Orla?’
‘Yes.’ She paused, giving him time to say something – anything.
‘How are you?’ he asked guardedly.
‘I’m fine. Well, I’m at Ipswich Hospital.’
‘What? Why? What’s the matter?’
‘It’s Bill. He’s just been brought in. He’s in a lot of pain. I’ve no idea what’s happened yet. I found him collapsed at the allotment.’
‘Oh, God!’
‘I’m so worried. I don’t know what to do.’ She could feel tears rising and her throat felt thick with emotion.
‘It’s okay, Orla. I’m on my way.’
‘You’re coming?’
‘I’ll be there as soon as I can,’ Luke told her. ‘Hold tight, okay?’
Orla hung up and took a deep breath. He hadn’t ignored her call and he hadn’t shouted at her or refused to come, and for that she was so grateful. She hadn’t thought about the implications of asking him to drive all the way from Kent and Luke hadn’t seemed to consider it as anything out of the ordinary. She had asked for help and he’d come through for her and she felt all the better for knowing that he’d be there soon.
Luke didn’t need to think twice. He dropped what he’d been doing, said something vague about a personal emergency to Chippy and left for Suffolk. He tried to remain calm during the drive, but it was hard not to be worried – worried for Bill, worried for Margy and worried for Orla. How was she coping with being in the hospital? It must be bringing back all sorts of horrific memories for her and he felt terrible for not being by her side right at that very moment. But he would be as soon as he could.
It had been the end of July when he’d left Lorford. Now it was October, another season, but it felt like another lifetime. And yet he hadn’t thought about any of the things that might have prevented him from returning. Orla’s apparent dismissal of him, her mother’s obvious hatred of him, and his own feelings of guilt and shame at having put her in danger. Orla had asked for him and it had been his instinct to say yes.
It was mid-afternoon by the time Luke arrived at the hospital. He found a parking space and quickly made his way to the entrance, finding out where Bill had been taken and making his way there. The walk seemed endless, but he finally saw Orla pacing the corridor ahead of him.
‘Orla!’ he cried, and she spun around to face him, her complexion pale and her eyes bright with tears.
‘Luke!’
They ran towards each other and fell into an embrace, holding one another so tightly that they could hardly breathe.
‘How are you? How’s Bill?’
‘I’m good. He’s stable.’
‘What happened?’
‘They said it was an abdominal aneurysm.’
‘What’s that? Is it like a burst blood vessel?’
‘Something like that. The doctor said all sorts of strange words that I can’t remember, but poor Bill’s been very lucky, they said.’
‘And he’s going to be all right?’
‘They think so. They had to operate and he’s going to be in intensive care for some time.’
‘Blimey! And Margy. Is she okay?’
‘We couldn’t find her for the longest time, but she’s here now and she’s pretty mad. She doesn’t understand what could have caused it. Bill’s so fit. She doesn’t think it’s fair.’
‘And you – how are you coping? Really?’
‘I’m fine. It was a shock to find him collapsed in his shed.’
‘But you’re all right? I mean, being here?’ Luke stopped. ‘In a hospital, I mean.’
‘Please don’t remind me!’ Orla gave a nervous laugh. Then she took a deep breath. ‘I’m fine. This is about Bill – not me.’
Luke reached out and took her hand in his, squeezing it tightly.
‘Thank you for calling me,’ he said.
‘Thank you for coming.’
It was then that Margy came out into the corridor, her cheeks flushed pink.
‘Luke!’
‘Margy, how are you?’ He took in her tear-stained face, and the fact that she wasn’t holding a pair of knitting needles was a very bad sign.
‘I just want to get back home with my Bill.’
‘How’s he doing?’
‘They’ve sedated him,’ Margy said with a little hiccup of fear. ‘It’s for the best, they tell me. But you can see him if you like.’
‘Can we?’ Orla asked as Margy led the w
ay.
Luke couldn’t help feeling nervous as they approached Bill’s bed.
‘Hey, Bill,’ Luke whispered, feeling a little choked up at seeing his old friend so pale and vulnerable in the hospital bed. Luke was so used to seeing him bare-armed and becapped, a fork in his hand and his face full of sunshine. The contrast between that Bill and this one was startling and scary.
‘I haven’t thanked you, Orla,’ Margy suddenly said, touching Orla’s hand gently.
‘You don’t have to thank me!’
‘Oh, but I do! When I think what might have happened . . . if you hadn’t been there . . .’
Orla wrapped her arms around her as the tears began to spill.
‘It’s all right. He’s going to be fine.’
Margy sniffed and nodded.
‘I think we’d better let him rest,’ Luke said.
‘Yes, of course,’ Orla agreed, and she bent forward to kiss Bill’s forehead.
‘Bye, Bill,’ Luke whispered. ‘Rest plenty, now.’
‘Let us know if you need anything, Margy,’ Orla told her. ‘Anything at all.’
She and Luke hugged Margy and then left the ward, standing awkwardly in the corridor for a few moments.
‘Can I give you a ride back to Lorford?’ Luke asked Orla.
‘I don’t want you to go to any trouble.’
‘It’s no trouble. I was kind of hoping my old bed might be available. I mean, if your mother’s not still with you. I don’t really fancy driving back to Kent tonight.’
‘Oh, of course! I’m so sorry, Luke. Yes, please stay.’
‘All right, then. Let’s get you back. I’m sure One Ear will be pleased to see you.’
‘Gosh – One Ear! I have no idea what the time is!’
‘He’ll be fine, I’m sure. I’ll give him a run on the beach if you want to rest.’
They got into the van and Orla immediately closed her eyes. Luke was exhausted after his long drive from Kent, but he guessed that was nothing compared to how Orla must be feeling. She was holding up pretty well, but he guessed that there was more going on with her than she was letting on.
The Beauty of Broken Things Page 26