Everything is Beautiful by Eleanor Ray (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

wouldn’t waste it. She’d forgive them and at the very least have her friends again.

At least she hoped that was what she’d do.

‘Amy!’ Charles bounded up to her, nearly knocking her off her feet. ‘There you are.’

‘I’m sorry, Charles,’ said Amy, feeling exhausted. ‘I can’t talk today. I just want to go home.’

‘But that’s it,’ said Charles. ‘Your home. Something’s happened. Come see.’

Amy felt the fatigue pushed from her body by adrenaline. And dread. She started to run after him and her mind ran too. A gas leak. An explosion. A fire. A burst pipe. A flood. A burglary. Her treasures burnt. Sodden. Stolen. Ruined.

‘Amy!’ said Richard, running up to her just like his son had done moments before. ‘Don’t panic,’ he said, his words futile. ‘But something happened last night.’

Amy pushed past him. She had to see for herself.

The building still stood. She couldn’t see smoke, or water.

Then she saw.

Her hand clapped over her mouth so hard it hurt. She felt Richard’s hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I heard noises in the night, but I just thought it was foxes. I should have done something, I didn’t realise you were . . . ’ he paused. ‘Staying elsewhere last night.’

Her pots.

Amy could barely take in the damage. She put her hand on her gate, unwilling to go inside. Richard’s hand was still on her shoulder.

‘We didn’t know whether to clear up,’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘So we’ve left it. Do you want the police?’

Amy shook her head, in a daze. ‘I expect it was just kids,’ he continued, as if that made it better. ‘Vandals. Your house hasn’t been broken into, we’ve checked.’

‘I’m sorry, Amy,’ said Charles, close to tears himself. ‘The pots were awesome. And the flowers. Almost as awesome as diggers.’

‘Can I call someone for you?’ asked Richard, as if she’d had a bereavement. She felt as though she had. ‘Your boyfriend, perhaps? Liam, is it?’

‘What? No.’ Amy found that a small sticky hand had intertwined itself with her own. She looked down. It was Daniel. His other hand was to his face and he was sucking his thumb. ‘Ice cream for Amy,’ he said, the words barely intelligible through his hand.

‘Good idea,’ said Richard. ‘Come to our house and I’ll make you a cup of tea.’ He looked at her again. ‘Maybe something stronger is needed,’ he said.

‘I just need to . . . ’ Her voice trailed off.

‘Of course,’ said Richard. He shepherded his kids away from her gate and Amy felt the little hand release her own. ‘We’ll be right over here,’ said Richard. ‘When you’re ready.’

Amy opened her gate and heard it swing shut behind her. She stood and looked at her garden.

All of her pots. Smashed. She bent down to the nearest one. It had a green glaze, but she could see the terracotta orange within, its true colour exposed. She traced the break line with her finger and more soil fell from the broken pot to the ground. The rose bush that had sat within it was draped on the ground. Its thorns had offered no protection.

She moved to the next. A family of crimson pots. The geraniums had been turning brown for a while, but the pots kept their colour. Brighter than blood.

Things were worse further in. Shards of colours were scattered around until it was unclear which piece came from what pot. The plants were strewn about the garden like fallen soldiers after a battle. Roots exposed, leaves wilted, petals scattered.

Amy started to collect the pieces. She gathered as many as she could carry and clutched them to her chest, pressing them into her. She hurried, unable to abide seeing them so disparate. So broken. There were too many; shards started falling to the floor as she gathered more. She felt panic flood through her. She had to get them inside. To safety.

A hand on her back. ‘Come on, Amy,’ said Richard. ‘This can wait. You’ve had a shock.’ He took the shards from her and placed them gently down. ‘We’ll help you,’ he said. ‘But you need a moment to recover first. I’ll get you a brandy.’

Amy allowed herself to be led from her garden to the house next door and placed on a sofa. A boy sat each side of her and Amy found herself being hugged by them both. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth from their little bodies.

Her pots.

What had she been thinking, keeping them in the front garden? She’d enjoyed looking at them as she arrived home each evening, but it had been selfish. She knew the terrible things people could do, and she’d just abandoned them to whoever was walking past.

Walking past. Or walking to her house. She remembered DCI Jack Hooper’s warning. Could this be connected to the questions she’d been asking?

‘Here you go,’ said Richard. He handed her a brandy in a heavy cut-crystal glass. She took a sip and felt the alcohol burn a path down her throat. She clutched the glass, feeling its solidity against her hand. She sipped again.

Richard scooted Daniel on to his lap and sat down next to Amy. ‘I mean it,’ said Richard. ‘We’ll help. I thought I could pop to the garden centre and get some plastic pots and a few bags of soil and we’ll replant everything. The plants will be fine. And then when you’re ready, maybe you can put them inside some of those spare pots from your back garden. We can even pass them across the fence and bring them through our house, if that would be easier.’

‘Thank you,’ she managed eventually. ‘That’s very generous.’ She put the glass down, wondering why Richard was being so kind to her. Then she heard Charles whisper to his brother and Daniel wriggled off his father’s lap. Both boys slipped away.

‘I can’t believe anyone would do something like this,’ said Richard. His hand had reached around her shoulders. Amy allowed herself to nestle her head in