Chapter 35
Harley
Open Your Heart to Others
Harley’s sitting at his kitchen table clutching an envelope between sweaty palms. He’s certain it’s from his donor’s family, and knows he’ll be disappointed if it’s not.
If he’s right and the contents don’t absolve him of the debt he owes them, or if they hated his letter, or are angry it’s him who is the recipient of their daughter’s gift, he’ll be devastated.
Ever since speaking to Marnie, he’s lighter and stronger than since his teens, before any of life’s responsibilities and pressures had come into play.
Since talking to his ex-wife, and being able to apologise and make peace, he’s been sleeping through the night.
Obviously, the result of a cleaner conscience.
He’d given serious thought to contacting the woman he’d had an affair with who’d harmed herself, but on balance she was better off never hearing from him again.
When his solicitor had called and dropped the bombshell about part of the divorce settlement being returned to him, he hadn’t known what to think.
His first instinct, borne of years of cynicism, was that it was a hoax and some sort of twisted revenge.
But the man has confirmed by email the payment is going ahead, with an attachment from Marnie’s solicitor as proof.
It’s not enough to restore the lifestyle he enjoyed at the height of his fame, but it’s significant.
Thank you, he’d texted his ex-wife, I’ll do something good with it, I promise.
Wishing you all the best. Her reply had been swift, I hope you do.
He's happy he can help Little Beaubrook, and the ideas for his project are also coming along nicely. He’s ready to share them with someone: Kirsten to start with. He hopes she’ll be proud and pleased for him.
He looks down at the letter again. It’s tempting to ask Kirsten over, but an unfathomable instinct tells him to read it alone. Shaking his head at his cowardice, he tears the envelope open and yanks the pages out. Holding his breath, he begins to read.
Dear Harley,
We hope this finds you well. Thank you for writing. It touched us to hear how our darling daughter has had such a positive impact on you. Losing her was the hardest thing we’ve ever faced, and some days it’s so raw we can barely talk about it, but your letter brought us great comfort.
Before we go any further, let us tell you a little bit about Louisa.
She was wonderful. Smart, wry, kind, and generous.
So full of life, warmth and laughter. She was a Nursery Assistant, a job she revelled in and was uniquely suited to.
Even as a child, whenever we went to parties or family gatherings other children would follow her around.
Wanting to be with her and feel the sweet glow of her attention.
Her career choice was no surprise to anyone who knew her.
She had an affinity with children that was a natural born trait.
Our beautiful girl, only twenty years old when she died far too young, had black hair and blue eyes, with pale skin.
One of the children in the room she oversaw called her Snow White.
We’re enclosing a photo as we thought you might like to put a face to a name.
(We’re not sure if that’s allowed, but quite frankly it’s our decision. She was our child, after all).
So, to your letter. It was lovely to hear Louisa’s given you such a gift.
She would have been pleased. She saved the lives of seven people through her selfless decision to be an organ donor, also improving the quality of life for twenty others.
Not once after her accident when the doctors spoke to us about her wishes, did we consider not seeing them through.
Organ donation was a generous choice, true to the person she was.
A tragic accident took her from us. Alone at home one afternoon, she went up into the loft to get something from her childhood to share at the nursery.
She fell awkwardly from the ladder, hitting her head on the banister on the way down.
Slipped straight into a coma, and by the time we found her, nothing could be done.
It was just one of those random, unaccountable things you can’t explain, and which makes no sense.
She didn’t get to have a future, grow older, travel, fall in love, get married, or have children.
We won’t get to see her features passed down in the faces of the next generation.
So much was stolen from her, and us. But while we’ll never get over losing our daughter, we are glad other people are alive because of her, and living vicariously for her.
Lastly, thank you for giving Louisa’s heart a good home, Harley Bellmont.
Even if you don’t think you deserve it. We’ve read articles in the press of course, but it was clear from the sincerity and gratitude in your letter, and the fact you spent time writing it in the first place, you’re not the person the world believes you to be.
We know you are worthy of our daughter’s heart and will use it wisely.
With warmest regards,
Carol & Patrick x
PS: We understand if this letter brings you closure and you don’t want to write back, but hope you keep in touch. We think she would have liked that.
The pages slip from his hands, face wet with tears as he picks up the photograph his donor’s parents have enclosed.
He feels a sharp jolt. Her open face and blue eyes are as familiar as a loved one.
She’s not a stranger, this young woman. Stroking his index finger over the photo, he breathes, ‘Thank you, Louisa. Thank you.’
The little voice present for so many months replies, ‘You’re welcome.
’ Except this time, it’s not in his head, it seems to whisper in his ear.
‘I think they’ll be okay now. I needed to know they would be.
So, thank you.’ There’s a pause, a moment frozen in time, and then in a voice throbbing with emotion, she adds, ‘Live a good life for me, Harley. Live a kind one.’
‘Always.’ Nodding, he rubs a hand over the centre of his chest. A warmth grows there, mounting and mounting, unbelievably fiery before dissipating.
There’s the faint pressure of a hand on his shoulder, and she murmurs, ‘Goodbye.’ A breeze brushes past him as if a window’s open, but he knows without checking they’re all shut.
Somehow, he knows she is gone.
But she will always be a part of him. The absolutely best part.
It takes a while to stop crying, for all he’s lost, and gained.
He re-reads her parents’ words. We know you are worthy of our daughter’s heart and will use it wisely.
He has a responsibility to, and as he thinks of everything that’s happened since his op and moving here, the doubts, fears and recriminations dissolve.
Standing, he tucks the letter in his pocket and treads silently along the hallway and down the stairs to Kirsten’s flat.
It’s late, so his tap is insistent but quiet.
He isn’t aware of the lights brightening in their sconces, and doesn’t know that if he pressed his hand to the wall beside Kirsten’s door, it would warm his palm with gentle approval.
She opens the door with heavy eyelids, and seeing his expression, ushers him in. ‘What’s wrong?’ A frown pleats her forehead. ‘Has something happened?’
‘Yes. Can we go to your room?’
‘Of course.’
Once there, he closes the door, gesturing for her to sit on the bed. All he takes in is the duvet design, pink and featuring tiny cupcakes. So perfectly her, it makes him smile.
Sliding the letter into her hand, he kneels at her feet. ‘Her parents wrote back.’
‘Oh.’ Her face is lit by the lamp on the bedside table, red hair shining as it tumbles around her shoulders. ‘And?’
‘Read it.’
Nodding, she unfolds the paper and scans the words, Harley holding his breath. The tension in his body increases with every minute until after an eternity, she lifts her chin, tears trickling down her cheeks. Her voice hitches. ‘How l-lovely.’ Holding her other palm out. ‘Photo?’
Wordlessly, he hands it over.
‘Yes.’ She nods in recognition, before looking back at him. ‘She’s beautiful.’
He closes his eyes, opens them again. ‘She’s gone.’
‘Really?’ She lays the photo and letter on the mattress.
‘Yes.’ He doesn’t want to say any more. It feels private. A secret that’s his and Louisa’s to keep. ‘But I’m okay, I mean, it’s- fine. God, I sound ridiculous. My heart donor was what, haunting me? And now she’s moved on?’
‘Not haunting.’ She tilts her head, considering, ‘Caretaking. And how is it any more ridiculous than living in a manor that holds a strange sort of magic? You’ve noticed unusual things too, right?
The cottage roses changing colour, small things spontaneously repairing, and the wallpaper in here growing steadily darker – in a nice way – unless you’ve been secretly taking it down and replacing it every week?
’ At his shaken head, she adds, ‘Plus Rosie’s occasional remarks that make it sound like the buildings are sentient. ’
‘The fountain as well, the roses and lion heads rippling or moving,’ he agrees. ‘There’s no point denying it, but I’m not sure if we’ll ever understand it.’
‘I don’t think I want to,’ Kirsten sighs. ‘I think I just want to appreciate the wonder of it.’ She raises both eyebrows. ‘So, do you?’
‘Do I appreciate the wonder?’
‘No.’ She gestures to the letter, and reaches out to trace his stubbly jaw with warm, gentle fingers. ‘Do you believe you’re worthy of her heart?’
‘Yes,’ he bursts out, ‘and of yours, and Rosie’s.’ Gulping. ‘If you’ll have me?’
‘That’s not even a question.’ She replies in a soft undertone, blue eyes gleaming with a deep, spellbinding devotion. ‘We’ve been waiting for you to catch up.’
‘Oh.’ He stares at her with gratitude, relief, adoration and hope. The emotions combine to lodge a tennis-ball sized lump in his throat. ‘So, what now?’
‘Now,’ she wraps her arms around his shoulders, pulling him close, ‘we love each other.’
Two days later, he lets himself into his flat to find Rosie splayed on the sofa watching the live-action remake of Mulan, and Kirsten in the kitchen attempting to reach a mug from the top shelf.
‘Why does he have to put these up so bloody high?’ she grumbles.
‘Because it’s fun watching you try and reach.’
‘Oh!’ She jumps, whirling around. ‘You scared me.’
‘Sorry.’ He smiles, grabbing her by the waist and hoisting her up onto the kitchen counter. ‘Hello.’
She twines her arms around his neck as electricity sparks between them. ‘Hi,’ she responds, before kissing him hungrily.
When he emerges from her passionate greeting, his hair is stuck up in tufts and his body is pulsing. It’s the most alive he’s felt in years.
‘Thank god it’s all gone,’ she leans back to study his clean-shaven jaw, ‘otherwise I’d have the worst stubble rash.’
‘Glad there’s a side benefit, but you know I did it to make your daughter happy?’ He’s not entirely joking.
‘Yeah, and to be honest, it makes me love you even more.’
He gulps, a wave of overwhelming gladness crashing into him. He is so, so lucky. Reddening, he replies, ‘Uh, me too.’
She smiles widely, warming both his hearts. ‘I know that too.’
‘God, you’re lovely,’ he groans, burying his face in the crook of her neck and inhaling her familiar sweet scent. She strokes his hair, knowing what he needs. Comfort. Love. Understanding.
They stand there for a while, before breaking apart.
‘I’ve had an idea about how else I can help the village, but…
’ he broaches, reaching past Kirsten and turning the radio on.
It somehow doesn’t surprise him when the song is about karma, boyfriends, cats, people who have hurt the American singer, and sweet justice.
It’s the tune Louisa used to hum in his head. His karma feels much better, nowadays.
‘But?’ Kirsten prods.
‘Sorry, got distracted. But it’s not without risk.’
She shrugs. ‘What is? Plus, I’d say we can deal with anything at this point.’
‘We?’ This woman is a saint. He doesn’t deserve her, but will spend his life trying to.
‘Of course, we. Us. You and me. Plus, Rosie. Now stop being so mysterious and tell me your idea.’
When he finishes, her expression glows with approval. ‘That’s brilliant. Come on, let’s get started.’ Unwrapping her legs from his lean hips, she tries to shove him aside. ‘We should start making calls. Let me down.’
Tightening his grip, he lowers his head. ‘They can wait a while. This is more important.’
She sniggers. ‘I don’t think Albie would agree.’
‘Albie,’ Harley presses his mouth to her collarbone, ‘is a huge romantic trying to fulfil the love of his life’s last wish, while being lucky enough to court another amazing woman. I think he’d understand.’
‘Hmmmm.’ She tips her head back to give him easier access, sighing as he runs his hands through her long hair. ‘Maybe you’re right.’
As they close their eyes and start kissing, the wallpaper flickers through various shades between mid and dark grey. After a moment of indecision, it settles back on the original tone, seeming pleased.