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Rain drizzled outside, a singularly unpleasant day. Turning away from the window, I tried to remember. Nothing. Screw it. I'd have to shop for more vodka and coffee today. Maybe when I was feeling better. There are a lot of broken souls here and that are not just the patients at the psychiatric hospital. There is a British soldier returning home after escaping from his prisoner of war camp.
Series 5 of the ITV programme Foyle's War was first aired in 2008; comprising three episodes, it is set in the period from April 1944 to May 1945. For the first time I saw Lucy smile. Light spread to her eyes. She transformed in front of me, a young girl emerging; a very pretty girl. It was the first expression I'd seen and it warmed me, making me smile, too.Lucy nodded. "Uh-huh." Secretly, she wanted Noah to exercise. He'd lost most of his gut with the flu and looked better for it but needed to lose more. Not eating junk food and not drinking alcohol helped, too. In a book she'd read on heart health and diabetes, it had talked about weight being critical to health. She wanted Noah to be healthy. While I gathered my clothes, Lucy searched through the dresser for something to wear and, not for the first time, I noticed how all her clothes were threadbare and worn, all carefully cleaned and folded. Given her history, I wondered how she had developed such care for them. Maybe that's what happens when one has so little - cherish what you have, control what you can. Having a broken soul is like being trapped in a world of darkness, where nothing is meaningful, and life has no meaning. It hurts so much you can hardly breathe.
Sipping coffee, I searched. Eventually, in the living room, I saw her curled up on the couch, her red anorak pulled tightly around her. Finally I saw her face; small button nose, lush lips, long light brown eyelashes, and pale yellow blotches on her face; old bruises by the looks of them. Still eating the pear, she wandered out of the kitchen and through the big house, now familiar from her explorations. Entering the study, she noticed the half-filled glass of vodka with satisfaction. It was Noah's first glass of the day. Usually by now he'd have consumed four or five glasses. Many things changed. She woke in my arms and didn't jerk or shy away, but simply smiled and observed "You're better." Sliding the fried eggs out onto two plates, she added toast and took Noah's over to him, returning for her own plate.Glancing at her, she had her face downturned avoiding my eyes. "I'm not complaining, Lucy. I'm just saying you don't have to clean to pay for room and board." In the morning she was still battling a fever. She refused to eat so I fed her cold grapes, shoving one into her mouth every time she opened it to complain. She was a mini furnace next to me, radiating heat through the covers. Weight she couldn't afford to lose seemed to melt off her face. There are no fish in the pond. What type did you have?" "That's strangleweed. It kills flowers. And that," she added pointing, "is purple loosestrife. It's the worst." For the next few days Lucy sat in the study, always reading. I drank. Sometimes I'd ask a question about whatever she was reading and she'd answer. She was a voracious reader. Oddly, I appreciated her silent presence. It’s the feeling of hatred and being alone. It’s talking to yourself because no one else will listen. It’s hoping but expecting failure. Being so alone makes you feel like everyone around you can see your soul floating just outside your skin.
It only occurred to me when I drove up the drive that I was worried. Had she kept the cover on? Was she hurting? And I hadn't felt the gnawing need for alcohol. I cared! I actually cared for her! Snow covered the road. Three days of constant snowfall had accumulated. The sides were piled high from plows, the streets slushy. One thing she did know was that somewhere in the last almost three months, she'd grown to really, really like Noah. He was so different from anyone she'd ever known. Totally addictive and I loved it!! . . . This is a thrill a minute police procedural that just doesn’t let up, so many twists and lots going on it really is unputdownable, but that comes as no surprise as every book in this series has been a 5-star read‘ Goodreads Reviewer, FIVE STARS
Sometimes, you don't recognize a broken soul until it's too late. Here are some signs so you can recognize a broken soul next time you encounter one. 1. They have feelings of inadequacy. The pain of having a broken soul is out of this world. It carries you to the deepest corners of your subconscious and forces you to face things that you never knew were there. You feel like you will never be happy again and want everything to stop. You want a slap on the face so bad that it can wake you up from this nightmare. Having a broken soul is the hardest thing you can experience. You know all this turmoil isn’t like you, but it’s there, and you can’t ignore it anymore.
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