3. Lena
3
LENA
A fter she’d finished her food, Lena went out to the café gardens and strolled around, breathing deeply of the fresh summer air and admiring the greenery, the flowers and enjoying the sweet birdsong. After fifteen years of working in London, up early chasing stories all day and often reaching for a glass of wine or something stronger to help her unwind before falling into bed exhausted, Lena was adjusting to a different pace of life. There would be a period of adjustment, she knew, as she came to terms with the changes but it was meant to be a positive thing and so she was keen to embrace it as best she could.
She followed the path through the lush gardens around to the rear of the café, and there she came across a large chicken run. Made of wire with a coop inside and plenty of room for the occupants to roam, it was a lovely addition to the gardens. Inside, a variety of different coloured chickens roamed around, pecking busily at the ground, while a rooster kept watch over them. He was a gorgeous beast of a bird with glossy blue-black feathers, a fan of a tail and a red fleshy comb and wattles.
‘I wonder what your name is,’ she said softly, as she touched her palms to the cold wire. He stared at her, tilting his head and seeming to assess her threat level. ‘You’re OK, there, boy. I’m not a danger to your ladies.’
Lena stepped away from the run and followed the path as it wound around the gardens. There were rustic benches dotted around, shaded by trees and parasols, a pergola entwined with honeysuckle and roses with a picnic bench under it, and raised beds lush with a variety of herbs and vegetables. There were also potato sacks bursting with green shoots and a variety of large stone pots filled with more herbs, tomatoes and strawberries.
As she walked, she found herself on a slight incline that led to an elevated area of the gardens. A large oak tree stood at the highest point of the elevated area, and in front of it was a bench. While ascending, she looked back at the café, down to the village and harbour, and out to sea. She gazed at the shimmering water, watched as the sunlight made it sparkle as if someone had filled it with golden glitter and given it a good stir. On the horizon, a small white boat bobbed and from the beach she could hear shouts and laughter as people enjoyed the sunshine. Further along from the beach was the harbour, the village square and the many cottages of the village that rose along the hillside like plants growing up a rock face. Lena decided to go and sit on the bench and enjoy the view while she digested her lunch. When she reached it though, she found that someone was already sitting there. She paused, not wanting to disturb the person, but then a sneeze escaped her, and he turned around.
‘Sorry!’ She pulled a tissue from her bag. ‘Must be all the pollen.’
He stood up and stared at her and she recognised him as the man from the café. He held his cane in his right hand, and she could see the knuckles turned white with the effort of leaning on it. Or perhaps it was tension at being disturbed in this peaceful spot.
‘I was just going,’ he said.
‘No, please don’t go. I’ll leave you to enjoy the peace.’
He blinked then rubbed at his left cheek and her eyes were drawn to the scar. It was angry and red, and ran from the corner of his mouth to the end of his eyebrow. When she dragged her gaze away from it, she found herself gazing into the most beautiful brown eyes that were so dark they could have been black like his hair. The curls on his head were as dark and glossy as a raven’s feathers and she wondered if the beautiful curls were natural. The journalist in her never let up with the questions.
‘Don’t go,’ he said gruffly. ‘You don’t need to leave. There’s room on the bench for both of us.’
‘Oh… Uhm… Thanks.’
Lena came around the bench and sat down and the man did too, resting his cane against the wood. The seat was warm beneath her thin dress, and she settled against the back of the bench and crossed her ankles. She was conscious of the man’s large presence at her side, so she tried to concentrate on the view, but her eyes kept sliding his way. Even with long sleeves and baggy trousers, she could tell he was physically fit because she’d analysed enough men in her time. She was used to sizing people up, to evaluating what they did for a living and if they exercised and ate well. This man’s physique suggested he did exactly that and yet the cane made her question what had happened to make him need it. Perhaps he’d always needed it, although the scar suggested that something had happened to him somewhere along the way. However, it didn’t diminish how attractive he was, even though he seemed to wear a permanent scowl.
‘It’s lovely here,’ she said, glancing at his profile.
Silence pulsed between them, enhancing the sound of the sea as it was carried on the salt-laced air and the birdsong that surrounded them like a symphony.
‘I said?—’
‘I heard you!’ He tensed his hands into fists and Lena instinctively tensed too. Her training meant she’d been used to reading body language and to watching for signs that someone might react badly.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to annoy you,’ she said, getting ready to spring up from the bench.
He shook his head. ‘You didn’t annoy me. I apologise. I was just… lost in my thoughts and I didn’t quite register that you were speaking to me.’ He looked around them. ‘But who else would you be speaking to, right? Seeing as how we’re alone here.’
‘Is everything OK?’ she asked.
He turned to her and the line between his brows deepened. ‘OK?’
‘Yes… Well, you know. You said you were lost in your thoughts and so I wondered if you’re OK?’
He laughed wryly then rubbed a hand over his jaw line where it scraped against the stubble. ‘Yeah… I guess I’m OK. If OK is… getting on with things.’
‘You too, huh?’ She bit the inside of her cheek. What was she doing? This man clearly wanted to sit in peace but the journalist in her was conditioned to make conversation even when people didn’t seem to want to talk. But it was more than that, she thought, as she watched a tiny muscle in his square jaw twitching. She knew deep down that something was wrong with this man, and she wanted to help him if she could. Not because he was movie-star handsome, or because something about him seemed familiar, but because he was a troubled human being and she had a compassionate heart. It was what had made her less successful than some of her counterparts in the industry. Lena couldn’t be quite cutthroat enough to go for a story regardless of people’s feelings. She couldn’t drill down until people cracked because they’d been pushed to the edge. She always found herself seeing stories from the human-interest angle and wanting to help the people she interviewed if she could. She had thought it made her better at her job, but when she was up against others fighting for an exclusive, it didn’t always seem that way. Some of her colleagues had pushed people to illness and worse and she’d never want to be responsible for breaking another human being. Never.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
‘Getting on with things. Against the odds. Being strong and facing each day with a heavy heart while trying to practise an attitude of gratitude.’
‘Who are you?’ He frowned at her, his eyes narrowed. ‘What do you want from me?’
‘What? Nothing. No… I was just worried about you because you looked so sad.’
‘You’re a journalist,’ he said accusingly as he stood up. He looked around the gardens. ‘Are you alone or are there more of you here?’
‘What? No. I’m alone.’
‘So you are a journalist?’ he said.
‘Yes. No. Well, not anymore.’ Wasn’t she? Had she already made that decision then and was she going to walk away from the career she’d once given her life to?
‘Yes or no? It’s quite simple, surely.’ He was towering over her now and she shuffled slowly to the edge of the bench.
‘Yes. But I’m leaving the job. I’m here to write my first novel. I want to do something different and to… to find another way.’ She held her breath, her heart racing as she peered up at him. The sun was behind him though, so his face was in shadow but she could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the way he gripped the cane between both hands now as if he was holding on for dear life.
‘Well good luck with that,’ he muttered. ‘Enjoy your day.’ He turned on his heel and stomped away, moving quickly with the assistance of the cane as if walking faster was easier than the alternative.
Lena sucked in a shaky breath then leant her elbows on her thighs and wrapped her arms around her middle. ‘What on earth was that?’ she asked, needing to vocalise her thoughts. ‘Why was he so angry?’ But deep down she knew. The majority of people hated journalists because they saw them as scum that stuck their noses where they weren’t wanted. Perhaps that man had experienced the negatives of having someone pore over his life and expose his secrets. Perhaps he was a celebrity hiding out here in Cornwall or…
Wait!
Something flickered at the edge of her mind. His face. So handsome and… familiar. His hair used to be shorter and his face clean shaven. She hadn’t seen him on anything for a while… but still… those eyes. They had peered out from TV screens and sporting broadcasts a few years ago.
He was a sporting personality.
Her brain slid the pieces of the jigsaw together.
She’d seen him on a few quiz shows competing for money for charities and on a celebrity edition of a comedy show. He was a footballer! Or had been. His name escaped her because sports hadn’t been her area, but she was pretty certain now that he was a footballer and he’d been in an accident, so he was unable to play anymore. Then he’d disappeared from the limelight as celebs sometimes did and now, he was, it seemed, hiding out in Cornwall.
But he seemed so sad, weighed down by something, probably how dramatically his life had changed. How dreadful to be forced to quit the game he had so clearly loved when he was in his prime. It made her want to find out if she could help him. See if she could soothe the injured wild animal that had roared inside him when his fear had surfaced.
Despite the fact he’d been rude to her, she knew it was a defence mechanism. She’d been at the receiving end of it many times before and she knew she’d sometimes lapsed into it herself when she’d been hurt. As a journalist, she’d developed quite a thick skin, so she wasn’t offended by his reaction, just a bit sad that he’d found her intimidating when he’d suspected her of chasing a story. She was no threat to him, and she wanted him to know that.
But how? If she chased after him now, he’d still be angry so it wasn’t the right time. And yet, if he lived in the village then she’d have to speak to him at some point because she’d be here for the summer. The last thing she wanted was to make an enemy of him or of anyone for that matter.
It looked like he’d been through enough. And, she thought, so had she…