The Special Ones by Em Bailey Page B

destroy it,’ says Harry, laughing too. ‘I just removed some of the galvanised iron. It’ll be easy enough to put it back on later.’
    What Harry’s done is crazy, and here crazy usually means dangerous – but that just makes it more beautiful. A gesture like this could easily make a person cry. But I manage, somehow, to keep myself together. ‘Thank you,’ I whisper.
    ‘My pleasure,’ he whispers back. ‘Now, look up and enjoy the view.’
    It sounds boring, I know – lying on hard, rough, splintering floorboards, staring up into blackness. I’m sure the me from out there would’ve thought so. But I could have stayed there all night, watching only the tiny flickering and pulses of light from the stars.
    Harry doesn’t try to talk to me, and at first I’m silent also. Then I discover that my face is wet, and I’m crying.
    ‘Esther?’ Harry says in a low voice. ‘Are you okay?’
    I close my eyes, willing the right words to come. ‘I’m just so happy for you and the journey you’re about to take,’ I manage to whisper. There are tears spilling into my hair. ‘The process of renewal strengthens the soul. I’m … looking forward to meeting you again.’
    I’ve never been able to speak freely with Harry. And soon he’ll be gone, without even knowing my real name. But I hope, harder than I’ve ever hoped for anything, that right now he understands how much he’s meant to me. How I’ll never forget him.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I see Harry open his mouth, like there’s so much he wants to say. Then he closes it again. ‘Me too, Esther,’ he says finally. ‘Me too.’

    I’m not sure how long we lie there – maybe a couple of hours, maybe more – but finally Harry sits up. ‘You’d better go to bed,’ he says, regretfully.
    ‘Yes, probably.’ I sit up too, but neither of us stands. Out in the darkness, I hear a bird begin to sing. Dawn must be near.
    ‘Harry?’ I say. ‘Thanks.’
    He turns and looks at me for the count of three, and I’m startled by how strong the expression is in his eyes. He seems frustrated and angry – things I’ve never seen in him before. Finally, he looks away. ‘It’s nothing,’ he mutters. ‘You deserve way more.’
    When I go out onto the verandah the next morning, the galvanised iron is back in place on the roof, with no sign of the hole.
    It crosses my mind that it didn’t really happen. But then Harry emerges, humming ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’, and I know it was real.

    I feel stronger after the star-gazing night. More able to cope. And there’s plenty of work to distract me from my darker thoughts, too. Lucille has to make Harry’s renewal outfit but as she is still remembering how to do it, Esther is allowed to help. I end up doing a lot of it myself.
    There is a drawing in my remembering book of how everyone’s renewal outfits should be, and Harry’s consists of dark trousers, a waistcoat and a white shirt. I draft the pattern from this and, sitting in the changing room together, Lucille and I cut material and begin to sew.
    It’s strangely soothing to work on these clothes, despite what they represent. I linger over the details and take extra care that the seams won’t irritate or rub, that everything is perfect. Lucille clearly finds my involvement a challenge to her skills, and makes a big show of checking everything I sew, pouncing delightedly on any tiny mistake.
    But her behaviour can’t touch me. My head is full of other things, like my increasing obsession with trying to decide what it was that Harry did to trigger this renewal. Was it because he encouraged Felicity to jump around in the rain the night of the storm? Was it because of the chicken he slaughtered after he finally found the new Lucille? Or was there something else that happened that I don’t know about? Maybe something happened that he never told me about. Exhausted, I try to block the thoughts, but they creep in anyway.
    Finally, the news I’ve been