Nicola Cornick - House Of Shadows

Holly bent slowly to pick it up. It was a posy of pink rosebuds, scentless.

Suddenly the wedding guests were all around her and the bride had come hurrying down the flagstone path towards her, laughing.

‘Thank you so much! I don’t know what I’d have done for the photographs otherwise!’

Holly handed the bouquet over, smiling. Her face felt a little stiff, as though it would not bend in the right places. No one seemed to have noticed though. They were all wrapped up in happiness. They didn’t know how out of touch she felt, how cut off. They went back towards the church door, where the photographer tried to arrange them in the neat rows required for the official pictures. At the same time she was aware of a sharp pain lodged beneath her breastbone. She did not begrudge these people their happiness but it made her loneliness feel suddenly unbearably acute.

‘Are you OK?’

Holly blinked. She was not the only onlooker. A man was standing to the side of the lych gate. Youngish, thirty-two or three – she was bad at guessing ages. She felt a flash of recognition, sharp and sure, as though she knew him, but as he came closer she realised that he was a stranger.

He was tall, dark and durable looking in a battered jacket, brown moleskin trousers and boots. His eyes were very dark, as dark as the hair that fell across his brow. An expensive-looking camera hung about his neck. Holly thought he was probably a tourist, out walking in the woods and attracted by the wedding as she had been. She forced a smile.

‘I’m fine, thanks. I just stopped to watch.’

He smiled back, but his dark gaze was keen. ‘If you’re sure? You look a bit … shaken.’

Behind them the group was re-arranging itself for yet another photograph. Holly put her hands in the pockets of the fleece and turned away.

‘Don’t let me stop you taking your pictures—’

The man grinned, obviously recognising the brush-off. ‘The sun’s in the wrong place. Besides, it’s too organised for me. I like spontaneity.’

Holly frowned a little. ‘Spontaneity. Yes. That’s nice. Excuse me …’

She had only gone twenty yards from him when she had to slow down because the tears were running down her face and dropping off her chin, and she couldn’t see where she was going. She felt bewildered and acutely embarrassed. She stumbled a little on the path, heard a step behind her, and felt his hand on her arm.

‘Look, can I help—’

‘No!’ Holly turned and glared at him and his hand dropped to his side. He took a step back.

‘Okay.’ His voice was quiet, oddly soothing. ‘Well … Take care—’

‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’ A shred of conventional manners stirred in Holly and she scrubbed her hands across her face, wiping away the tears. ‘I really didn’t mean to be rude—’

His lips twitched as though he were about to smile. He had a striking face, thin and brown, with high cheekbones and dark, watchful eyes beneath strongly marked brows. Holly found she wanted to go on looking at him.

‘Please don’t apologise,’ he said easily. ‘I’m the one making a nuisance of myself—’

Holly started to cry again. ‘Don’t be so nice about it—’

‘Look, this is silly. Why don’t we go and get a cup of tea until you feel a bit better? There’s a tea room just down the road, isn’t there?’

‘Yes, but—’ Holly felt horribly vulnerable. She didn’t want anyone to see her looking like this. But they were already at the courtyard and he was guiding her to one of the outside tables where she could sit in a corner, partially sheltered from view.

Holly sat down and watched as he went inside, to emerge a few minutes later, carrying two big blue and white striped mugs. The steam from them floated sideways. She wrapped her hands around hers and drank deeply. It was scalding hot, but comforting.

‘Thank you so much,’ she said. ‘What do I owe you?’

‘Don’t worry about it.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘In case you don’t take tea with complete strangers, my name’s Mark.’

‘Holly.’ She considered shaking hands and decided against it.

‘Nice to meet you, Holly.’ Mark sat back in his chair. ‘So do you want to talk about it?’

‘What?’ She stared at him, confused for a moment. Her eyes were smarting slightly. ‘Oh, no, thank you.’

‘All right.’ Mark said equably.

They sat drinking their tea in silence. Holly appraised him with an artist’s eye; his face was hard lines of cheek and jaw, like a stylised angel … He turned his head and their eyes met and again she felt that jolt of recognition, exciting, dangerous. Normally she would have run a mile from such instant attraction but today she felt different. Everything felt different.

She nodded towards the camera.

‘That’s a nice piece of kit. Did you get any good shots today?’

Mark smiled. ‘Yes, thanks. There’s plenty of potential around here. Are you interested in photography?’

‘Yes, I like it. I take pictures and sometimes I’m lucky. That’s different from being good though.’

Mark inclined his head. ‘So what do you do for a living?’

‘I’m an engraver. Glass.’ Holly realised she didn’t want to talk about herself. ‘What about you? Is photography your job?’

Mark grimaced. ‘Unfortunately not. I’m just an amateur. I used to work as a civil engineer, but I’ve done some travelling lately.’

Holly drained her mug. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘I was working in Asia for a bit, Norway. My sister lives there, so I stayed for the winter, crewing her husband’s fishing boat.’

Holly looked at him in surprise. She had seen enough TV programmes to know that was no job for amateurs.

‘Are you a good sailor then?’

‘No,’ Mark smiled. ‘A very bad one. But I had to do something to pay my way.’ He stood up, a little abruptly and Holly sensed that with him too there were barriers he didn’t want to cross.

‘Are you ready to go? I’ll walk you to your car.’

‘Oh.’ Holly realised he thought she was a tourist too. She hesitated, suddenly aware of how weird she felt. Everything felt odd, distorted in her mind, not quite real.

‘I’m staying near here,’ she said.

‘I’ll walk you back then.’

Holly was not sure that she really wanted company. ‘There’s no need—’

Mark slanted a smile down at her. She liked the lines that fanned out from his eyes when he smiled and the crease that ran down his cheek. She noticed these things about him quite objectively and yet at the same time not objectively at all.

‘I daresay you’d rather be alone,’ he said, ‘but I’d rather know you were OK. Call me over-protective if you like …’ He shrugged. ‘I could walk a few paces behind, if you prefer.’

The breeze was strengthening now and the day cooling down into evening. They left the car park and the tourists behind, passing the tiny village green with its scatter of cottages and the little stream. After all the noise and bustle the silence sounded loud. They did not speak.

Whenever Mark drew a little ahead of her, Holly watched him move; the easy, economical movements of someone comfortable in their own skin. His gaze was abstracted now as it rested on the path ahead, his face a little distant in repose. There was a tight knot in Holly’s stomach as she watched him. It felt a little like pain, but it was something different, hot and fierce, that curled inside her.

At the gate of the mill she stopped. Mark looked up and seemed to register for the first time where they were. He turned towards her, frowning.

‘Are you staying here?’

‘Yes,’ Holly said. ‘Would you like to come in?’

She felt his puzzlement, saw the slight narrowing of his eyes as they rested on her face. Much now depended on his interpretation of the invitation, and she had the feeling that Mark had probably had plenty of practice in that. She shifted slightly, keeping her gaze fixed on his. He was so cool, so distant. She needed to bridge that gap. She needed him. The thought of him turning away now and leaving her was unbearable. She wondered if he could feel her desperation.