Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (classic literature list .TXT) 📗

it in her hand. To check it was really there and she hadn’t imagined it.

Amy felt the sick feeling inside her belly rising up, until it was level with her heart. What did it mean?

She put her hand on her heart, trying to quell the sensation. Then she realised what it was.

Hope.

Amy found she couldn’t think about anything else. Not while she processed papers, not while she ate her cheese and pickle sandwich, not even while she attended the team meeting that she was meant to minute. As it concluded, she realised all she had were doodles of concentric circles, like hundreds of little rings that fitted neatly inside one another.

Finally the day ended. Amy caught the train home on autopilot; it was lucky the platform hadn’t been changed or she could have ended up anywhere. She got out at her station and walked slowly home.

‘Amy!’ To her dismay she saw Rachel and Nina lingering by her front gate, the midpoint between their houses. They were deep in conversation. That was all she needed. ‘Nina told me what happened.’

‘Your cat broke my pot,’ said Amy, hoping they’d get out of her way. That incident felt like years ago now.

‘We both know that’s not the issue here,’ said Rachel, standing her ground so she blocked Amy’s path. ‘Now, I’ve been very patient, but there are children here . . . ’ She paused, made a funny little sound and Amy saw Nina uncross her arms to place a steadying hand on Rachel’s shoulder. ‘Children,’ repeated Rachel. ‘And it’s not a safe environment.’

‘They shouldn’t have been in my garden,’ said Amy.

‘We all know that,’ said Nina. ‘I’ve told them. But that fence is your responsibility. Richard was very generous to offer to replace it.’

‘There’s help for people like you,’ said Rachel, in that sanctimonious voice that Amy felt Rachel reserved for her.

Amy had a vision of Rachel and Nina trying to pave over her beautiful wilderness. ‘I like my garden,’ she replied. ‘And it’s good for the local wildlife. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . . ’ She pulled open the gate and the women finally stepped aside.

‘It’s not just the garden,’ added Rachel, as Amy put her key in the lock. ‘You need help.’

‘You need to mind your own business,’ said Amy. She was torn. She wanted to get inside, but she could feel Nina’s eyes on her back, waiting to have a peek at Amy’s hallway.

She breathed a sigh of relief. The women were retreating, both back to Rachel’s house. ‘I do my best to be compassionate,’ she heard Rachel say. ‘But it’s just getting worse.’

‘You’ve got enough to deal with,’ agreed Nina. Amy looked around. They were out of eyeshot. She opened her door and quickly stepped inside, pulling it shut behind her.

Amy selected a mug adorned with a meandering honeysuckle and made herself a cup of tea. She went to the living room and sat with Scarlett and the ring. The tiny diamonds sparkled in her inside light, but not with the same intensity as they had outside, where they greedily gobbled the light of the sun and spat it back as rainbows.

She would put the ring on, she decided. For safe-keeping. She paused. For some reason it seemed not quite right to wear it. Like putting on a dead person’s clothes.

She took a deep breath, ignored her misgivings, and slipped on the ring. It felt like a tiny hug, wrapped around her finger.

But cold.

Amy admired her hand, then got up, feeling the weight of the ring on her finger, and went into the kitchen. She saw the broken pot, forgotten in the excitement of the ring, and felt a pang of guilt. She collected the pieces and tried to fit them back together, like a three-dimensional jigsaw.

It was hopeless: too many were missing. Amy looked regretfully at her bin, and picked up the shards to dispose of them. One of the pieces caught her eye. A complete flower gazed back at her.

She stopped.

Even broken, the shards had beauty. She turned away from the bin and put the pieces back on the kitchen counter. There would be some use for them still, she decided. She didn’t paint any more, of course, but they could become tesserae for a craft project. She was warming to the idea. Maybe she could make a mosaic to frame one of her mirrors. Or she could set them into her front path. Or, if she bought a fish tank, they could live inside as lovely little decorations.

For the moment, they could live on the kitchen counter. She had other fish to fry, so to speak.

She looked at the pieces again, remembering the pot. It had sat by her front door for so long. She felt a wave of excitement.

Could that be how the ring arrived in her garden?

Amy pictured the scene. Tim, standing outside the door. Wanting Amy back. Clutching the ring, ready to propose. Getting scared. Posting it through the door instead, knowing that Amy would know what it meant.

Not knowing that Amy’s house was already filled with treasures.

But then, why did he not come back? That pot had been in the garden for . . . Amy didn’t know how long. Years. It must be. Why hadn’t he rung the doorbell? Why hadn’t he come back for her?

The doorbell rang and Amy jumped. She hurried to the door and swung it open, half hoping that Tim would be there, ready to explain.

Richard. Only Richard. Looking embarrassed.

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ he said, clearly uncomfortable. Amy stepped out and pulled the door almost closed behind her, feeling disappointment flooding through her. ‘Rachel told Nina that something had happened, and . . . ’ He paused, and glanced behind him. They both watched Smudge, who was taking a leisurely stroll across the road. ‘And the women thought that maybe, if you needed someone to, you know . . . ’

‘What?’ asked Amy.

‘A bit of muscle,’ said Richard, shrugging.

Amy laughed, feeling the tension dissipate