How the Light Gets In

  “I just wouldn’t feel comfortable walking around with over ten grand on my finger,” I said. “That’s the sort of thing that gets your hand chopped off in the supermarket.”

  He gave me a funny look. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Haven’t you heard the story of the woman whose hand was chopped off while she was shopping for groceries? The guy who did it was after her engagement ring.”

  He stared at me, looking dubious. “And where exactly did this happen?”

  “Germany, I think. Or was it South Africa?”

  He arched a wry brow. “Smacks of an urban legend, Ev.”

  “Either way, I don’t want any of these overpriced rings. They’re too ostentatious.”

  He let out a sigh and slid his hand into mine, steering me to another glass cabinet. “Fine. What about one of these?”

  I studied the collection. “Still expensive, but acceptable.”

  “I like this one,” Dylan said, pointing out a white gold ring with a teardrop shaped diamond.

  “It’s very pretty,” I commented. And it was. It was beautiful, all sparkly under the fluorescent lights.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then we’ll buy it,” he said and waved the sales clerk over.

  I grabbed his arm. “Hold up. We can’t buy it just like that. We should wait a few days. Shop around to see if there’s a better deal somewhere else—”

  “Ev, I’m buying it, so build a bridge.”

  I poked him in the side. “You build a bridge.”

  The sales clerk arrived. “How may I help you, sir?”

  “I’d like to buy this ring.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  And that was how I found myself walking around with a brand-new diamond on my finger. It felt bizarre. When Dylan left to go to work, I decided it was time I went to the apartment to pack. During our ‘honeymoon’, Dylan convinced me to move in with him. Albeit, it didn’t take too much convincing. Now that we were married, why would I have even considered spending a single night alone?

  I walked into the apartment, making plans for how I was going to pack and move all my stuff, and came face to face with Conor stepping out of the bathroom.

  I repeat, Conor Abrahams just stepped out of my bathroom. Steam billowed behind him. He wore a towel and nothing else, stopping short as soon as he saw me.

  And it suddenly dawned on me. I hadn’t seen him since his family left.

  He’d been here.

  With Yvonne.

  Oh. My. God.

  A sense of pure delight filled me. My aunt was going to get some serious ribbing for this. And I had so many questions. Like, how had this come about? Did it happen on the night of the wedding, or afterwards, while Dylan and I were wrapped in our own little sex bubble?

  “Conor, what time are you—” Yvonne’s voice trailed off when she saw me standing there.

  “Ev,” she exclaimed. It was almost a shriek. “I thought you’d be with Dylan.”

  “He had to go to work.”

  “As do I,” Conor cut in. “I’ll just, uh, go get dressed.”

  He disappeared inside Yvonne’s bedroom, while I folded my arms and shot my aunt a smug look. “Well,” I chirped.

  She pursed her lips. “Well, what?”

  I shook my head. “Just, well.”

  Walking past her, I went to hang my things. I could practically feel her embarrassment and anxiety simmering to a high heat. “Listen, Ev—”

  “No need to explain, Yvonne. If I were you, I’d have hit that on the first night.”

  “Evelyn.”

  I smirked. “What? It’s true. You go, girlfriend.”

  “Ugh. You’re so pleased with yourself right now,” she huffed.

  I cocked a brow. “Aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not. If my mother were alive, I shudder to think what she’d say.”

  “If Gran were alive, she’d say exactly the same thing as I just did.”

  That got a small smile out of her and then she laughed. “Do you know what, you’re probably right.”

  “I’m always right. Now go say goodbye to your lover and wish him a good day at work.”

  She let out a shaky breath. “My lover. It sounds weird.”

  “It does sound weird,” Conor agreed when he emerged from Yvonne’s bedroom. She jumped a little, realising he’d overheard. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Boyfriend sounds so much better.”

  With a pleased wink and a smirk, he hustled out the door. He didn’t just look pleased though. He looked euphoric, smug . . . happy. It wasn’t just that he had been infatuated with Yvonne. In his own way, he’d loved her for a very long time. So, he had every right to be feeling smug, but I thought it was happiness that shone the brightest.

  Yvonne’s gaze met mine. “Boyfriend,” she repeated.

  “Congratulations, you’re officially a cougar,” I teased, smiling wide.

  She scowled playfully and grabbed a cushion from the sofa. She came at me, thumping me on the head and demanding, “I am not a cougar. Take that back.”

  “Okay, fine,” I relented. “You’re not a cougar. I take it back. You’re a lion cub, a cute and adorable baby lion with no wrinkles and the most youthful appearance.”

  She stopped her attack and threw the cushion back on the couch, a huge grin on her face. “And don’t you forget it.”

  After she left for work, I took a moment to reflect on our lives. We were thrown together many years ago, which could have resulted in a very different future. One less hopeful. Yvonne had been there for me through every stage of my life when I thought about it. She’d held me, laughed with me, cried with me, mourned with me, hoped with and for me. Selflessly. Now, with her final acceptance of Conor, it was almost as though knowing I was finally happy, had finally found my home with Dylan, that she had opened her heart for herself.

  I wouldn’t forget it. I wouldn’t forget any of our moments together, because they’d made me who I was. And I could step confidently into my future because of her many years of selfless and deep love. And may there be many, many more.

  Epilogue

  6 months later

  “You’ve done a wonderful job,” Frank said, and I was thrilled with the praise. He’d happened by, like he often did, hands in his pockets.

  When Dylan introduced us at the charity event last year, the flower farm owner had offered me a job, something of an open invitation. After a few more months bartending, I woke up one morning and decided to hell with it. I was going to take him up on his offer. I never realised how much I missed growing until I accepted the job here at Hillview. My passion for gardening was coming back little by little. With every new crop I helped harvest, I felt like I was finding my old self again.

  I no longer looked on the world through a dark lens. Now I understood that everything had to die so that new things could come to life.

  I’d only been working here a month and already it felt like home. Don’t get me wrong. The commute was rough, almost two hours there and back. But I only worked four days a week, so at least I had three days to recuperate.

  I wiped the sweat from my brow and gazed at Frank.

  “How did everything go at the doctors?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Prescribed me more painkillers and anti-inflammatory pills. The usual. I’m too old to be cured.” Frank suffered with chronic back pain, a result of years working to build his farm. Never let it be said that gardening was easy work.

  “Well, if you ever want to start some hydroponics, just say the word. You know, for the pain.”

  He smiled fondly. “We can get that on a prescription here, dearie.”

  I made a silly face. “Right. Sorry.”

  “Not trying to get me into drug dealing in my golden years?”

  “Sounds like the plot to a good TV show.”

  “Eh. It’s been done.”

  I feigned disappointment. “Dammit.”
/>
  “Anyway, you’re too good of a gardener to be dabbling in TV. The world of flower farming needs you.”

  “Feels good to be needed.”

  “Yeah well, if that husband of yours ever wants to move out of Manhattan, you two can come run this place for me. My old bones have had enough manual labour for one lifetime.”

  “Ah, and you make it sound so appealing.” I joked, and yet, the idea spoke to my heart. I pictured myself in a few years’ time, running Frank’s flower farm with Dylan by my side. It was definitely possible.

  He chuckled. “Right well, I’m going inside for a lie down. I’ll see you next week.”

  “See you next week, Frank,” I said and gave him a little wave.

  When I was done with my shift, I cleaned up and started the journey home. Tonight was the launch of Samuel, and I was so excited. Even though I’d been involved in creating the scent, naturally Dylan and his marketing team had done the rest. I had faith that they’d create something wonderful. The last few weeks Dylan would randomly pepper me with questions like, What was Sam’s favourite colour? His favourite song?

  I knew he was trying to design a visual that paid tribute to him in some way, and I was eager for the big reveal. I think he wanted it to be a surprise, though, because every time I asked how things were coming along, he got all cagey and wouldn’t give me any details.

  When I got home, the house was empty. I showered and changed into the black silk dress I bought especially for the launch. The party was being held at the Waldorf, so I knew I had to wear something fancy.

  Dylan organised for a town car to take Yvonne, Conor and me to the hotel, since he’d been there all day taking care of the last-minute arrangements. It still felt a little surreal that this was my life, but then, not at all. Wherever Dylan was, whatever his world entailed, that was where I would be. Whether we had to live in a tiny flat in Dublin, or in a historic old townhouse on New York’s Lower East Side, I’d be there with him and vice versa.

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” came a familiar voice I hadn’t heard in years.

  I turned and saw a woman with short dark hair wearing a green dress. I was stunned, for one because I don’t think I ever saw her wear a dress before, and two because of the gorgeous woman she’d become.

  Amy threw her arms around my shoulders and pulled me into a hug. “Oh my God, it’s so good to see you,” I exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “Didn’t Dylan tell you? I helped with footage for the ad,” she replied.

  I remembered Dylan briefly telling me how Amy lived in London with her husband and two kids, and that she worked in film. It made sense given her obsession with recording everything when we were younger.

  I shook my head. “No, he’s actually been keeping pretty schtum about the whole thing. I think he wants it to be a surprise.”

  Some sort of understanding dawned on her when she replied, “Ah yes, I can understand why.”

  I didn’t question her further, because it wasn’t long before the ad would be revealed to everyone at the launch. We drank wine and chatted about her life in London, her husband and kids. When we first met, Amy and I had been chalk and cheese, but once Dylan became my boyfriend, I found a new friend in her. Even though our lives hadn’t crossed for years, there was no awkwardness. We could talk comfortably just that same as we used to. And I was glad she’d left the Villas behind. Just like Dylan and Conor, she was never meant for that place. I was delighted everything had worked out so well for her.

  I only caught flashes of Dylan flitting about the room, mingling with guests and charming everyone. Our eyes met once or twice, his expression promising he’d get to me soon. But then there was an announcement over the speakers, instructing everyone to gather in front of the projector screen. The lights were dimmed, and a sense of eager anticipation filled the room. My pulse thrummed as I finished my wine, set my glass on a table, and waited to see what my husband had been keeping secret from me these last few weeks.

  The screen lit up and I instantly recognised the scene, even though I’d never seen the video before. It showed grainy black-and-white footage of Sam and me sitting side by side on the staircase at the Villas. My breath caught as piano music filled my ears.

  When Dylan asked what was Sam’s favourite song, I told him there was a certain part of Rachmaninov’s piano concerto No. 2 that always made him well up. Yvonne used to have it playing while she pottered around the flat.

  A little over two minutes into the piece, there was a part where Sam always clutched his chest and said it was most romantic bit of music he’d ever heard. I’d slag him about being so sloppy and sentimental, but he’d just stick his tongue out at me, not giving a care to my teasing.

  Somehow, the music fit perfectly with the footage. It laced together the images of the five of us: Sam, Dylan, Conor, Amy and me. We all looked so young, so baby-faced and full of hope. Unbidden, tears filled my eyes, but I didn’t care about ruining my mascara right then. I couldn’t believe what Dylan had created. I’d never seen any of this footage, had always brushed off Amy’s little obsession as silliness. But now, now it was everything my heart needed to see.

  The screen zoomed in on Sam’s smiling face after I said something to him. I’d never forget that smile, but it still felt so good to see it again. The black and white switched to colour, the camera focusing in on each of us on the roof of the Villas. Someone grabbed Amy’s camera and faced it on her. She scowled, but you could see her amusement as she snatched it back. I knew it was Sam when she held it up again and he wore a cheeky grin.

  The ad ended with a simple statement scrawled across the screen.

  The best memories live on forever in our hearts. Samuel, a new fragrance from Dylan.

  I wiped at my tears, but it was no use. They just kept falling. Dylan appeared in front of me and took each of my hands in his.

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” I whispered.

  “You’re crying,” he said, taking me in.

  “They’re happy tears,” I replied. “Dylan, that was beautiful.”

  He pulled me into a hug. “I hope we did him justice.”

  “You did that and more. That’s the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

  He held me for a long moment, and then people descended, telling Dylan how much they loved the ad, how touching and unique it was, how kind he was being by donating half of the profits to charity.

  I stood next to him the entire time, his hand in mine, smiling while we met person after person. For the first time in forever, I didn’t think of Sam and feel sad. I thought of him and felt happy for all the good times we’d shared. The happiness and the laughter. He’d been the best friend a girl could ask for, and though he was taken too soon, I was glad to have known him.

  For a brief time, his sunshine and cheerfulness, his brazenness and sass, had lit up my world.

  Somehow, the short video purged all my lingering, hidden sadness, but I sensed it was cathartic for Dylan, too. For years, he’d felt guilty for Sam’s death. This was his way of getting it all out, of paying tribute. His way of healing. Of understanding that his heart was pure.

  I glanced at the man beside me and fell in love even deeper, because he’d flicked the switch. He’d turned on the light bulb in my mind, shown me a new way of thinking just like he did when we were teenagers.

  Only this time, I didn’t hate the world. I didn’t see the cracks.

  I saw all the beautiful, flawed and wonderful parts that held them all together.

  End.

  Thank you for reading The Cracks Duet. Please consider supporting an indie author and leaving a review
  About the Author

  L.H. Cosway lives in Dublin, Ireland. Her inspiration to write comes from music. Her favourite things in life include writing stories, vintage clothing, dark cabaret music, food, musical comedy, and of course, books. She thinks that imperfect people are the most interesting kind. They tell
the best stories.

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  L.H. Cosway’s Hearts Series

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