That was the only downside with virtual friends. One could never be sure what was really going on with them. For one thing, there was the time difference with friends based in other countries and continents. If you messaged them, they might not receive it for hours and, by then, it could be lost in a jumble of other messages. Then there were the vagaries of the internet, with connections often being lost in Lorford. Orla gave up hope of linking up successfully on some days, which often meant she didn’t talk to anyone either in real life or in the virtual one for days at a time. She also found the language of the internet very limiting. She did her best to express herself with a few brief but carefully chosen words, but it wasn’t the same as being in a room with someone, where the tone of your voice or a glint in your eyes could make all the difference to the way you communicated with somebody.
But she didn’t want to be in a room with people. This was her world now.
Orla sighed. Feeling at a loss as to how to reach out to her friend, she switched her phone off. Perhaps she’d check in again later.
Walking across to the window, she saw that a van was pulling up outside her gates. She kept them shut and the delivery men were used to taking any goods to the back door. She never answered the doorbell. Occasionally, a persistent delivery man would ring the bell a few times and hang around as if Orla was going to make an appearance and offer to sign for something, but that was never going to happen. Instead, she watched now as a young man got out of the van and opened the door at the back to retrieve a small box. Orla knew what it was – a very pretty cup and bowl she’d just bought at an online auction. She couldn’t wait to see it and to run her fingers over the little hairline cracks and the sweet chips along the rim which would catch the light when she photographed them.
She watched the man approach the castle. Suddenly, he glanced up at the very window where Orla was standing, causing her to shoot back into the shadows. She closed her eyes, waiting for the moment of panic to subside. She counted slowly, as she’d been told to do in such situations. The fear was only in her own mind. The man was outside. He wasn’t near her and he wasn’t going to come any closer than he already was. She knew that, and yet the fear felt real all the same.
She waited a few moments, her back straight against the cold wall of the castle as she slowly breathed. It was okay. He’d leave the parcel by the back door and then he would go. She’d seen the pattern time and time again. It would be no different now.
Sure enough, a moment later, she dared to look out of the window. The van had gone. She was safe once again.
She walked through the living room and down the stone spiral staircase to the back door. It was a large, ancient wooden one with both a modern lock and iron bolts. The estate agent had seemed embarrassed by it when he’d shown her around, but it was exactly the kind of door Orla needed in her life these days.
Opening it now, she picked up the little box and took it inside, shutting and bolting herself in once again. She then took the box upstairs and placed it on a table in a special place she called the china room where she opened all her new packages. Orla took her time to remove the tape and the layers of tissue paper to reveal the delicate cup and bowl. They were a classic blue and white willow pattern that she adored and she examined them now, her gaze taking in the chips and cracks, a little smile tickling the corners of her mouth.
They were beautiful. Beautifully broken.
Chapter 3
Luke opened his eyes, blinking in the brightness of the May morning and cursing the fact that he hadn’t drawn the curtains the night before. He couldn’t really remember how he’d found his way to bed, but the empty glass on his bedside table and the throbbing behind his temples as soon as he tried to move quickly jogged his memory. Another evening lost in a wine-induced haze, he thought, pushing himself out of bed and going into the bathroom. He’d lost count of how many of those he’d had since the accident, but it was costing him a small fortune, he knew that much.
What on earth would Helen say, he wondered as he stared at the strange, bearded reflection in the mirror? She’d be appalled at the state he’d let himself get into.
He took a quick shower and then returned to stand in front of the mirror. He really should shave. Dishevelled wasn’t a look he carried well. But the truth was, he really didn’t have the energy. Or the inclination. What was the point? What was the point of anything any more? He just couldn’t see it. Why bother shaving in a world without Helen? Why bother doing anything? Why bother even being? These questions rattled around his brain in an endlessly painful cycle as he did his best to get through the days, counting down the hours until he could find some comfort, some release, in a few glasses of wine in the evening.
It had been during one appalling evening just a month ago when his life had come crashing down around him. The signs had been there, of course, but he hadn’t put them together. First, when he’d got home, he’d been surprised not to see Helen’s car in the driveway. He’d been running later than usual at work, but she was normally home by
