ABSOLUTE CHAOS
ABSOLUTE CHAOS
S he opens the door and we step inside a small but impressive building. It’s a modern timber-framed structure, with a lot of glass and a lot of light. Huge windows offer incredible views of the ocean and an endless stretch of white sand. There are tables and shelves everywhere displaying vases, pots, jugs, mugs, and bowls, and I notice that almost all of them are stained turquoise, with hints of blue and green. They look hand-painted and the colors remind me of the sea.
“I make everything myself,” she says, pride shining in her eyes. She takes off her red coat and hangs it on a stand near the door. “Sorry the place is a bit of a mess. There aren’t normally any visitors at this time of year and life has been absolute chaos recently. Take a look around if you like. I’m just going to patch this up.” She points to the cut on her forehead. “Then I’ll get you that glass of water, unless you’d prefer tea?”
“Tea would be great, thank you.”
It will take longer for her to make tea, which gives me more time to think. And more time to snoop. She disappears out the back and I head straight over to the desk in the corner. It’s a little too neat and tidy, but there is something of interest. A report from the Isle of Amberly Trust about their annual meeting. I start to read the first page listing the members present:
Sandy MacIntyre, Island Sheriff.
Midge MacIntyre, Island Secretary and Island Treasurer.
Cora Christie, of Christie’s Corner Shop and Head of Island Retail.
I quickly scan the rest of the page and see that there are twenty-five names, which means twenty-five possible suspects, one of whom must know what is really going on here because someone does. I take the report and hide it in my pocket to read later, then I wander around the rest of the pottery, being careful not to bump into or break anything. I pick up a pamphlet from one of the display tables and see that it has the same logo as the sign outside—a Highland cow. There is a description of the pottery and a picture of my wife. Sure enough, it says her name is Aubrey. Aubrey Fairlight.
BEAUTIFUL UGLY
Unique yet functional pottery, inspired by the sea.
Abby hates the sea.
“Here you are,” she says, holding two ceramic turquoise mugs. They are just like the ones on display but contain steaming hot liquid. She stares at the pamphlet in my hand.
“Don’t mind if I keep this do you?” I ask.
“Not at all. I’ve got boxes of them and can always print more.”
“Thank you,” I say as she hands one of the mugs to me. She has cleaned her face and has a small Band-Aid on her forehead. It looks like one designed for children, with a colorful picture of a unicorn. I have so many questions, but I don’t know where to start or what to say. She clearly doesn’t know who I am, or can’t remember me, and it feels like I need to tread carefully. I take a sip of the not-altogether unpleasant tea.
“So...” she says, and I realize that she wants me to go.
I can’t leave yet.
I take another sip and she smiles politely—exactly the way Abby did when she didn’t want to hurt someone’s feelings. How can she not know me? How can she not remember us?
“Your work, everything on display, is beautiful,” I say in an attempt to keep her talking.
She beams at me and it hurts a little; I have missed that smile so much.
“Thank you. Do you want the ten-cent tour while you finish your tea?” I nod and follow her through the pottery. “It all started out as a hobby, really. A form of escapism I suppose, to take my mind off what a terrible world we live in. I use a traditional wheel, and I glaze every piece of pottery myself. But the best bit is outside.” She opens the back door, which leads directly to the beach, and I follow her, the volume of the sea so loud now she has to raise her voice. “When the pieces are ready each one is fired in this ancient wood-fired kiln,” she says, standing next to a tiny stone structure behind the pottery. It looks like an old mausoleum. She heaves open a heavy-looking metal door to reveal something resembling a medieval prison cell.
“ This was all that was here when I bought the land,” she explains, looking bewilderingly proud. “I put all the pieces I make on these shelves beneath the chimney, then seal the whole thing up. In the old days they used to brick it up, then open it one brick at a time three days later, but I added this removable fireproof door to speed up the process. I light small fires through these little holes around the bottom, and keep shoving in kindling and wood until it gets nice and hot, like an oven. Then I keep it burning for two days and two nights. This kiln would have been built hundreds of years ago to fire pottery, and now it’s where I make mine. Unlike mass-produced factory products, every single thing I make is individual. Unique. Just like the people who will own them. Some people think that something being a different shade makes it imperfect. They even use the term ‘different’ as though it were an ugly word. I choose to see the world differently, and I think there is much beauty to be found in imperfection. And I love that something beautiful can come out of something so ugly.”
“Is that why you called the place Beautiful Ugly?” I ask as we step back inside.
She stops and stares at me.
“We live in a world filled with hate and hurt, these are dark times, but there is still love and light if you look for it. Everyone you know is capable of being both good and bad. And one man’s right is another man’s wrong. We have built a society that places far too much importance on a phony idea of beauty and perfection. The world is full of people behaving like clones, all trying to look, sound, and be the same. Too busy constantly comparing themselves to each other on tiny screens to see the bigger picture. I’ve accepted that I can’t change the world, but I do believe that uniqueness is something to be celebrated, not feared or frowned upon. Life is beautiful and life is ugly and we have to learn to live with both sides of that same coin and see the light in the darkness. The world is Beautiful Ugly, relationships are Beautiful Ugly, love is Beautiful Ugly. Understanding that makes life easier to live with.”
Abby disappears behind the desk I saw earlier then says, “Beautiful Ugly was the only name that felt right because I believe that’s what life is, and my work is my life. Anyway, I don’t want to keep you too long when Columbo is waiting in the car.”
That’s the second time she mentioned him. I don’t remember telling her his name.
She starts looking inside the drawers then holds up a ring. “There it is, found it, thank goodness. For obvious reasons I always take my jewelry off when I’m working.” She nods in the direction of the pottery wheel. “But doing so sometimes gets me into trouble. Especially when people accuse me of losing my wedding ring.”
Her words dismantle me.
I stare open-mouthed as she slides the white gold band onto her finger.
“You’re married ?” I say, feeling as though I’ve been punched in the chest.
“No need to sound so surprised! Gosh, look at the time. I don’t wish to sound rude, but I need to be getting home or my better half will be wondering where I am.”