The light was honeyed and warm there and gave the plates and cups a glow which was beautiful to photograph. She took some photos from above so that you could see the whole pattern on the plates, then some from the side so that the cups were shown in their full glory. It was a delightful dance with the camera that she always enjoyed, finding that angle which brought the true beauty of something to the fore. Orla was used to bending down on her knees or clambering up a step ladder in order to find just the right place to be. That was her job – an angle explorer, teaming the objects she’d sourced with the light available on any given day. And light could be a very fickle business partner indeed.
Once she was happy that she’d got a few images that would work, she took the cups and plates back to the china room to store safely. One Ear knew that this was the one place in the castle where he wasn’t allowed. It wasn’t that Orla didn’t trust him, but the mere size of him and the enthusiasm of his tail could easily wreak more havoc than the proverbial bull in a china shop and so he would wait in the hallway outside.
When everything had been safely put away, Orla sat down with her camera and her phone, doing a quick deleting round of the photos she deemed hadn’t worked as well as she’d hoped. This left her with a shortlist of two dozen or so and she loaded those onto her laptop so she could view them better before whittling them down further. This process took another half an hour and she chose three photos to use over the coming weeks, uploading one to the Galleria site that day. She was instantly hit with ‘likes’, and comments quickly followed, filling her with gratitude for her online friends, who had an eye for beauty too, even in the broken things in life.
I love the way the light plays on the chip in that cup, somebody wrote. And the way that hairline crack travels just beneath the pagoda – as if there might have been an earthquake.
Orla had liked that too. She always tried to imagine what might have caused each little chip and crack. A clumsy pair of hands, perhaps, or a dog’s waggy tail. Life had a way of finding the beautiful things and leaving its mark.
Then came the usual questions from those who only desired to own things after seeing them beautifully photographed by somebody else.
Where did you get those plates from?
Orla would smile. The joy of vintage finds was that they were hard to replicate. One couldn’t just log on and buy the exact same thing, and Orla liked that. It made her collection special.
And, finally, the more personal messages came.
So glad to see you back!
Missed you. Hope you’re okay.
Orla read them all, choosing not to reply, but touched that, in venturing out into the real world, she had been missed in the virtual one.
But there was a huge void there now. A void that could never be filled. Never again would Helen’s voice chime out loud and beautiful amongst the crowd. There would be no more messages, no more sweet exchanges between them and no more photos posted on her Trees and Dreams page.
Tears began to fall as Orla felt the loss again. With having been so focused on herself over the past few weeks and being anxious about Luke’s state of mind, she’d forgotten about the loss of her friend and realised that she hadn’t mourned properly for her at all. When Luke had arrived and told her about Helen, Orla had wanted to be brave for him, but now she realised that she hadn’t really made time to think about her own loss. But the tears were coming now, hot and relentless, and she couldn’t help but be glad that Luke wasn’t there to see them.
Luke was struggling. He’d tried to distract himself with his job, but it didn’t seem to be working and he knew why. The twentieth of July. He’d been dreading it.
He’d worked right through lunch, grabbing a sandwich in the middle of the afternoon and taking the shortest of breaks with a quick walk around the village to get some fresh air. Then it was back to it.
But he couldn’t very well work right through the night for fear of disturbing Orla. It wouldn’t be fair. He hadn’t spoken to her – not properly at least – for days now, and it was cutting him up. He knew he was being an idiot, but he was doing his best to keep his emotions in check and, if she started on at him about opening up, he didn’t know where it would lead. No. Luke was determined to keep a lid very firmly on his emotions and if that meant that Orla thought him a little gruff, then so be it.
The twentieth of July.
He’d known it was approaching, and he’d known he’d have to face it. It was one of the reasons he hadn’t wanted to be at home. Maybe it was one of the reasons he’d been dreaming about Helen too. The last few nights, her face had been so clear to him. Her voice too. Like the dream he’d had just the night before.
‘Let me read you something,’ she’d said, and he’d been smiling, shaking his head, as he knew what was coming.
‘“With the new moon in your sign this week, change is on its way.” Isn’t that exciting?’
‘I don’t believe in star signs,’ he’d told her.
‘I know. I don’t either, but they’re fun, aren’t they?’
She’d laughed at his seriousness.
‘Let me read yours, you crotchety old Capricorn!’
He’d sighed in resignation. ‘Go on, then.’
‘“Don’t let your ambition stop you having a
