The Beauty of Broken Things

few years hiding away, avoiding people, and then she opened her door to this stranger. Only he wasn’t a stranger, was he? He was Helen’s husband. That made it only slightly less strange. At least she’d stopped shaking now. That was an improvement. But she still had misgivings about the whole thing. Surely Bill could have arranged something else? He could have called for help by now and had Luke taken elsewhere. But would that have been the right thing to do? What would Helen have wanted her to do, she wondered?

Helen.

She’d only just learned the name of her friend. Her dead friend.

She walked across to the table where her phone was and logged on to Galleria. So, she’d been right to miss her friend’s posts, she thought, feeling guilty now for not having reached out more in the past. Now, she scrolled through the photos on her friend’s page, reading some of the captions again and feeling all the warmth and humour which had delighted her just as much as the day she’d first seen the photos and read the accompanying words.

As with Orla’s own posts, there weren’t any actual photos of Helen herself – at least not beyond a hand holding a bunch of flowers or a pair of shiny boots amongst autumn leaves. Orla hadn’t known her name nor what she’d looked like, but that hadn’t really mattered, had it? She had known that Helen was married, but not her husband’s name nor the exact place she’d lived. They hadn’t talked about such specific things. Their conversations had been more about thoughts and feelings, hopes and dreams, and a shared love of the beautiful things in the everyday: shadows playing across a lawn, the changing colours of the seasons, the moment when a flower opens or the patterns clouds made in the sky. They’d also spoken about Helen’s need for change and how unfulfilling she found her job, and Orla had encouraged her to pursue her passion.

And now she was gone.

Orla could feel a void opening up inside her at the loss of this person she’d never met. Was that crazy? Could you mourn for somebody you’d never met? Tears blurred her eyes and she let them fall as she put her phone down and walked to one of the windows. It was a cold, cruel world that had taken so bright a gem. She could only imagine how Luke was coping with it all. It couldn’t have been that long ago either, she realised, and yet one of the first things he’d thought to do was to tell her. And she’d behaved so very badly. She felt awful now. This poor man had driven across the country when he was still in mourning and she’d shut him out and then run away from him. Well, she’d have to do her best to make up for that now.

With that in mind, she headed to the kitchen. It was one of her favourite places in the castle – a large square room on the first floor with two huge windows looking out over the garden. There was a beautiful old butler sink and a massive range that she had been terrified of at first, but which she was now coming to love.

Pulling a pan down from a rack, she started gathering ingredients. Bill had left her some fresh spinach and a spring cauliflower pulled from the garden and she’d got some potatoes left over from her shopping delivery. What was more hearty or heartening than a soup made from all that was good in the season?

Orla had been surprised at how much she enjoyed cooking for herself. In her previous life, cooking just hadn’t been feasible with her busy timetable and a hot meal at home had meant buttered toast but, since her move to Lorford, she found that she enjoyed browsing through cookbooks and assembling different ingredients. She’d even bought herself a spice rack, and she always delighted in plucking the little glass jars from it.

Getting to work now, she washed and chopped, inhaling the earthy goodness of her garden ingredients and hoping it would do Luke some good once he was ready to eat. Once the pan was on the range, Orla walked back through to the great hall. The light was just right now, lancing through one of her favourite windows onto a little oak table. It had a wonderfully mellow patina, with chestnut highlights, and was silky smooth to the touch. It made the perfect backdrop to so many of her still lifes and she was going to use it now for this morning’s Galleria post.

The day before, a new box had arrived full of china purchased from an online auction. It had been a job lot and some of the pieces were commonplace, but there were a couple of really beautiful Royal Albert cups and saucers that she knew she had to have for her collection. They looked exquisite when she placed them on the table in the sunlight, as she’d known they would when she’d seen them advertised.

Orla had to admit that she’d become rather addicted to online auctions. First, there was the thrill of the chase – of hunting those beautiful items down. Then there was that delicious moment when they arrived at the castle – the weight of the box, the heaps of bubble wrap and tissue paper which made it feel like a little Christmas on a perfectly ordinary day. Then there was the joy of seeing and handling the pieces for the first time, examining the shapes, colours and all the little imperfections that made each piece unique and beloved. Orla never tired of it.

Now, as she chose and positioned one of the Royal Albert teacups and saucers, she congratulated herself on her special find, marvelling at the way the light hit the gold rim of the cup and how gloriously rich the burgundy, pink and yellow roses looked against the dark oak of the table. She remembered