‘And that is your job?’
‘I can’t exactly leave it to Erin.’
He nodded. ‘For me it was the same. With our parents. I was the older one. The one expected to understand the problems and explain them in simple terms to Tommy. It is a big responsibility.’
‘Yes,’ Orla agreed, nodding.
‘And you worry about Erin too. And this guy she is in a shituationship with.’
‘Situationship,’ she said, putting down more feed. ‘Though perhaps your word is better. Yes, I worry about her too.’
‘A lot of worry for one person.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘But that’s what happens when you care about the people in your life.’
It resonated hard. He cared about Tommy. He cared about Delphine. He was beginning to care about Orla. And he had always been someone who had shut down those emotions because, in his line of work, that’s what you had to do. Katie hadn’t understood that. Had called him cold. Maybe that’s what he had needed her to see at the time.
‘You are a caring person,’ he told her.
‘Not as much as I was,’ she responded. ‘Because if you care too much, people take advantage.’
‘People have taken advantage of you?’
‘Yes,’ she answered with a sigh. ‘Because I let them.’
‘In your work?’
He watched her scatter the chicken feed and take a moment before she answered.
‘In my love life.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘Love life. That’s a joke. No one actually has love in their life when they’redating these days. It’s like that four-letter word really is a swear word after all.’
He wanted to say something heartening, something to dismiss her theory. Because how could someone who wrote so emotively about life feel so disheartened about connection? Except he usually had nothing to give in that arena. But he had given last night and both of them seemed to be ignoring that fact today. Perhaps he should be the one to address it now…
‘Orla, about last night. I?—’
‘You don’t need to say anything,’ she interrupted, moving on as more chickens congregated.
‘No?’
‘No, I mean, you telling me about your past and then talking about my writing, that really made me realise what’s important.’
‘And that is?’
‘Our sense of self,’ she answered. ‘Amid every situation we find ourselves in, the most important thing to remember is who is the story and who is the storyteller. I am a storyteller. A narrator for those who don’t have a voice.’ She sighed. ‘And you were a storyteller too. You went undercover and played a part so you could report back the stories.’
He shook his head, gathering the chickens closer. ‘I do not believe it is as straightforward as that.’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked as she crunched over the snow.
‘You cannot always be the narrator,’ Jacques told her. ‘Sometimes you will be the person who is creating the content.’
‘No, that’s just how it is for me,’ Orla said with a shrug. ‘I’m the person backstage making things run smoothly for the lead roles.’
‘But that means you are saying that you will never be the person whoisthe action.’
‘I’m just saying that, for the most part, I know that I’m meant to be the helper of others and that’s OK because I like that and I’m good at that. The minute I put the complete focus on me everything goes wrong.’
‘No,’ Jacques said, shaking his head and finding himself feeling angry. ‘That is not all you should be. That is not all that you are.’
