Later that evening, as the blue summer sky was slowly fading into a soft pink, Orla ventured out into the garden. She liked this quiet time at dusk, as the birds found their way to bed and the first stars of the night made their presence known in the endless sky above the castle.
As One Ear poked around the flower beds, Orla walked around the garden. She hadn’t seen Luke since their meeting on the beach that morning. She thought he was probably keeping a diplomatic distance between them. She’d heard the occasional bang of his workman’s tools and had given him some privacy at lunchtime, grabbing a quick sandwich for herself and moving through to the china room. He hadn’t tried to find her and she was glad of that because she’d needed some space and time to think about what he’d said. What he kept saying to her.
Sitting down on a wooden bench, she looked up at the great stone walls of the castle. They were fading into shadow now, having been lit up in the most glorious pink light a few minutes before. Wasn’t it every little girl’s dream to live in a castle? And a pink castle at that! Orla smiled at the thought, and then she remembered Luke’s words to her: ‘People need people. We’re not made to isolate ourselves.’ Orla knew that, and she knew that Helen had also wanted to reach out and help her, but she still thought it very unfair of Luke to keep bringing it up after what had happened to her. It wasn’t as if she’d always been this way. In London, she’d had lots of friends and she’d gone out to dinners, to the theatre and to parties. She’d loved her life, but everything had changed with the attack. Not only had it taken away the face she’d known, but it had taken away her inner peace – that sense of self – and she’d felt herself withdrawing from the world, shutting out her friends and removing herself from her old routine.
Orla had done her best not to think about the life she’d lost. Instead, she’d focused on the new life she’d created for herself within the safe walls of the castle – a simple life of collecting beautiful broken things and photographing them. It might sound odd to some people, but it had given her a focus. A safe focus. And it made her happy, it really did. It might not seem fulfilling, but it was to Orla, so why should Luke think that it wasn’t enough? Why was it so important to him that she leave the castle? It was as if he’d become obsessed with the idea, and a part of her couldn’t help thinking that he was burying his own grief for Helen by focusing so fully on her.
She whistled for One Ear and he came trotting towards her.
‘What do you think I should do? Throw him out again?’ One Ear whined as if in understanding. ‘No, I won’t do that. You like him, don’t you? I like him too. So, what should I do? Listen to him? Is that what you think I should do?’
Orla rested her head on top of One Ear’s and let him lick her hand as her mind spun. Something in her was changing. Perhaps it was having Luke staying in the castle. He was the only guest, other than her mother, who’d ever stayed there, and it had taught her that she genuinely missed conversation – exchanging everyday pleasantries and thoughts and ideas. Luke was a link to the outside world. He’d come into her life because of something so sad and awful, but he’d brought such joy and positivity and Orla found herself drawn to that, even if it went against everything she’d been building for the last few years. But to leave the castle – to venture into the outside world, even if that was just her own village – seemed truly terrifying. She couldn’t do it, could she?
One thing was for sure, if she didn’t do it now, with Luke’s help and encouragement, she knew she never would.
Luke had been working on a large section of wall in the great chamber. He’d taken out the old lime mortar and had applied a scratch coat. It was satisfying work, but he would now have to leave it for up to ten days before applying a second coat. That gave him time to start another job and, although he had an idea of what he’d like to tackle next, he found himself drifting around the castle. There was so much he could do with the place, but he quickly reminded himself that Orla had set a tight budget and that his time with her wasn’t unlimited either. He couldn’t stay for ever. Indeed, he’d been wondering just how long her hospitality would hold out for. Probably not long if he kept badgering her about leaving the castle. He’d noticed that she’d kept her distance from him since the morning and he couldn’t blame her for that, but her response had been a little less explosive than the last time he’d dared to broach the subject and there was a part of him that believed he just needed to chip away at the tough wall she’d built around herself a little bit more and she would relent. Yes, indeed – he believed that the wall Orla had built around her heart was as deep and strong as those of the castle she’d chosen to live in.
Luke sighed, acknowledging the fact that, perhaps, he was using the castle in exactly the same way – as a wall around his own grief. What would Helen make of him staying here, he wondered? It was one thing to deliver Helen’s gift to Orla, but quite another to live under her roof. Would she understand that he’d needed to get away from home for a while? To escape the onslaught of phone calls and sympathy cards and to find a little space of his own? He hoped she would.
Luke made his way down the spiral staircase, marvelling at the stone construction as he reached the upper first floor and saw the room that would have once been a highly decorated chapel. Orla hadn’t done much in this part of the castle yet. Her living quarters were centred on the second and upper second floors. Now, Luke continued his journey down, venturing into the lower hall and, from there, towards the basement. It was certainly a lot colder in this part of the castle. It seemed to Luke as if the temperature dropped a degree with each step down he took and that the decades and centuries melted away to reveal the bare bones of the past. Well, not literally. At least, he hoped not. But what a privilege it was to see the little alcoves, the arrow-slit windows and ancient graffiti carved deep into the stone walls, although his eye caught plenty of things that weren’t so wonderful, like the great ugly blobs of cement that had been splattered onto the walls and would do more harm than good. Yes, there was certainly a lifetime’s work here for any builder who wanted to take the task on.
Luke descended further, passing the lower hall and reaching the very bowels of the castle: the basement. He’d only been down to this part of the castle once before and he hadn’t really taken it all in. It had reputedly been the dungeon. He grinned at the thought. Imagine living in a place with its own dungeon. Its own well, too. Luke got his pocket torch out and shone it through the scratched Perspex cover over the well’s opening, marvelling at its depth. He was glad to see that an iron grid had been placed over it to prevent accidents.
Swinging his torch, he looked around the rest of the basement. There was a section of wall down here that was boarded up and he approached it now. It was modern plasterboard that had definitely seen better days and was probably masking a ton of trouble. It would have to be removed, he decided. No doubt it was harbouring damp; the wall needed to be allowed to breathe. He gave it an experimental tap, wondering what was behind it, and shone his torch at the place where it joined the wall, but couldn’t make anything out.
‘Luke?’ Orla’s voice broke into his thoughts, echoing down the spiral staircase. ‘Where are you?’