The Secrets Between Sisters
Annie Lyons
‘A story about love, betrayal, family’ - Bookaholic ConfessionsIf you could see me now…Lizzie and Bea Harris were always very close. They were sisters and nothing could tear them apart. Until Bea dies, leaving her sister twelve letters, one for every month.Alone for the first time Lizzie is left trying to pull together the pieces of a life she has for so long ignored and find a place for herself…out from under the shadow of her sister.But the letters are revealing a sister Lizzie isn’t sure she recognises, and she’s beginning to wonder if she ever really knew Bea? As Lizzie delves deeper into her sister’s life she begins to uncover secrets that could tear her and her family apart.Perfect for fans of Sue Fortin, Tracy Buchanan and Cecilia Ahern. What readers are saying about The Secrets Between Sisters'A heart-warming tale with a twist' – Book Chick City'For anyone who has a sister – this is an incredible story of love, grief and healing.' – cayocosta72'Such an uplifting tale full of delightful characters, it is definitely my favourite Annie Lyons novel to date so I cannot wait to hear what she has in store for us.' – Shaz's Book Blog'I thoroughly enjoyed this book and struggled to put it down. The chapters were engaging and funny, with characters that seem to bounce straight off the page and into your imagination.' – Book Chick City'Annie Lyons has proven to be a skilled and extremely talented writer with this book, it truly is something special. She hits on so many emotions all at once that you honestly don't know if you are coming or going.' – The Book Geek Wears Pajamas
If you could see me now…
Lizzie and Bea Harris were always close. They were sisters and nothing could tear them apart. Until Bea dies, leaving her sister twelve letters, one letter a month for a year.
Alone for the first time Lizzie is left trying to pull together the pieces of a life she has long ignored and find a place for herself out from under her sister’s shadow.
As Lizzie delves deeper into her sister’s life she uncovers secrets that could tear her and her family apart. The letters are revealing a sister Lizzie isn’t sure she recognises, and she’s beginning to wonder if she ever really knew Bea at all…
Perfect for fans of Sue Fortin, Tracy Buchanan and C L Taylor.
Also by Annie Lyons (#ulink_403d8954-7fc9-5599-ba70-0e1160d9b0a1)
Not Quite Perfect
A Not Quite Perfect Christmas
Life or Something Like It
The Secrets Between Sisters
Annie Lyons
Copyright (#ulink_072c3bd4-012d-5b50-b540-c083ec95ee2e)
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2014
Copyright © Annie Lyons 2014
Annie Lyons asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © July 2014 ISBN: 9781472084033
Version date: 2018-09-19
ANNIE LYONS
decided, after leaving university, that she ‘rather liked books’ and got a job as a bookseller on Charing Cross Road, London. Two years later she left the retail world and continued rather liking books during an eleven-year career in publishing. Following redundancy in 2009 she realised that she would rather like to write books and having undertaken a creative writing course, lots of reading and a bit of practice she produced Not Quite Perfect. She now realises that she loves writing as much as coffee, not as much as her children and a bit more than gardening. She has since written two more novels and is about to start work on her fourth. She lives in a house in south-east London with her husband and two children. The garden is somewhat overgrown. One day she hopes to own a chocolate-brown Labrador named John and have tea with Mary Berry.
Thank you to my brilliant editor Sally Williamson for always being so wise and calm and for the superb editorial advice and guidance that both she and Victoria Oundjian gave me on this book.
Thank you also to Lucy Gilmour and the rest of the brilliant HQ Digital team – you are a marvel.
Heartfelt thanks to Jane Clements for her eagle-eye and unflinching support.
Special thanks to Lily and Alfie for letting me get on with my writing, offering to design covers and for keeping me grounded at all times.
Most important thanks go to Rich, without whom none of this would be possible.
For Mum and Dad with love
Contents
Cover (#u210e4dce-c733-5b25-a98d-0303962abfc7)
Blurb (#ufd5b49f1-7f82-5967-af31-c86ec3ee8268)
Book List (#u2e0410dc-dc36-54d3-8a63-22dcf4e2c657)
Title Page (#ub36fd2d3-8a42-5274-ab53-87da6b2f7665)
Copyright (#u84c16e2d-0b90-5f19-a936-348c335f319c)
Author Bio (#u0dd11d22-b22d-5774-a2c0-285adc63f799)
Acknowledgements (#ud5542e76-e71b-5d26-8f61-20a9622b3ae0)
Dedication (#u4c91023f-6ee3-5364-948f-d963f1fd53a9)
Chapter One (#ue701f7b9-3ce9-5239-9984-51bf790a7526)
Chapter Two (#u956a5c93-9c04-506d-a380-49ce761bed92)
Chapter Three (#u7cc4f482-d0a2-590c-90ce-65ee1c7f80e1)
Chapter Four (#u8d44337c-d451-569a-9a3d-29e980acaa6b)
Chapter Five (#u76cd47c9-0709-59d2-91a4-fdd48204584d)
Chapter Six (#u437b4d8d-a89b-580e-ab04-e593395ef166)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_17e5c272-f0b2-55ba-947b-c670da6f658e)
Late July
The church was chilly. This came as a surprise to Lizzie Harris, walking in out of the summer sunshine, and she pulled her jacket more tightly around her for comfort. She almost hadn’t come today. As she got ready that morning, she had thought about what would happen if she simply didn’t turn up. No one would come to find her. Nothing would change. She would simply be living up to expectations. But she had come. She had come because of one person; the person she cared most about in the world and one of the few who cared about her.
So Lizzie had pulled herself together, put on the purple dress she’d bought especially for the occasion, dragged herself into her car and arrived uncharacteristically early. She had watched as other people arrived, keeping a safe distance, not wanting to attract anyone’s attention. Not yet. She wasn’t quite ready to face it yet. Every time she spotted a recognisable face, she closed her eyes and told herself that she was doing the right thing. She had to see this through, had to be strong. She waited until five minutes before the service was due to start. Only a few stragglers were entering the church now. It wasn’t seemly to be late on such an occasion. Lizzie had to tell her feet to keep walking as she made her way up the path and into the church. Breathe and walk. Her stomach was churning with nerves as she looked around the packed church. She spotted Joe sitting at the front, his arm wrapped around Sam, who looked impossibly small for a boy of ten. They were both staring out towards the front of the church, where the coffin sat draped in a purple silk Pashmina. One mourner, a man of around fifty, approached them, resting a hand on Joe’s shoulder. Joe looked round and smiled weakly at him. Lizzie wondered if he might recognise her and lifted her hand in greeting but he turned to the front again, his face glassy with grief, pulling his son closer to him. The congregation was a riot of colour, the women all dressed in varying shades of purple, the men wearing purple ties or buttonholes as requested. The church was heavy with the scent of lavender and ‘Hopelessly Devoted To You’ was piping through the speakers to the accompanying sound of subdued whispers and the occasional loud sniff.
Lizzie was wondering where to sit when she became aware of someone standing next to her. She turned and looked into the face of a woman worn down by grief.
‘Hello, Mum,’ said Lizzie in a hoarse whisper.
Her mother surveyed her as someone might look at a persistent stain and Lizzie noticed something else behind this, something which she had always seen in her mother’s eyes: disappointment.
‘Well at least you’ve made it to your sister’s funeral,’ she said. ‘But I hope you’re not thinking of embarrassing me by skulking at the back. At least do Bea the final courtesy of sitting at the front with her family.’ And with that she turned, her skirt a flash of purple as she made her way down the nave and took her place to Joe’s right.
Lizzie remained frozen to the spot. She had a sudden urge to rush out of the church, drive home and lock the door on the world. After all, who would really care if she did? It would confirm all her mother’s worst opinions of her and Joe would understand if she put it down to grief. He was hardly a man to challenge anyone; he’d certainly never challenged his wife.
Olivia Newton-John’s plaintive tones were fading and the congregation quietened in readiness for the service to begin. One of the vergers approached Lizzie and touched her gently on the elbow.
‘Lizzie?’ She turned to face a woman she recognised from her childhood; Evelyn Chambers, the vicar’s wife. ‘Do you want to go and take your place at the front?’ she said, ushering her forwards with practised efficiency. ‘The service is about to start.’
Lizzie wasn’t sure what she was doing as she made her way down the nave. She felt numb, almost as if she was watching herself from above, unable to control her own body. She had no choice but to keep going. She noticed the odd nudged elbow and whispered comment as she passed. She reached the front and looked to her mother, who ignored her with stiff-lipped coldness. Joe glanced up and gave her a grateful smile of recognition, gesturing for her to sit to Sam’s left. Lizzie took a deep breath and settled next to her nephew. He looked up at her in surprise and then, frowning at this father, said in a loud whisper, ‘Who is that?’ Lizzie could feel people around her shift at his words but kept her face fixed to the front as the service began.
******
Everyone agreed that it had been a wonderful send-off; a fitting tribute to a much-loved daughter, wife, mother and sister. The vicar had spoken warmly of the woman he’d known through childhood and into her adult life and the choir had sung with reverent fondness. Once Joe had delivered his trembling eulogy and the funeral cortege had carried Bea’s coffin down the central aisle with Sam leading them towards the door, the sobbing had reached a crescendo. Only Lizzie and her mother remained dry-eyed. Lizzie knew that her mother was not one to show her grief in public and Bea had given her sister strict instructions.
‘No wailing like a banshee during my big finale, Lizzie Lou. We’ve done our crying. I don’t want my last exit to be ruined by your mucus-stained face,’ she had grinned. Lizzie had worried whether she would be able to obey these wishes. It was all very well agreeing to these things when Bea was alive. It was the easiest thing in the world to make promises when the person you loved most in the world was still there. It was a different matter when they were no longer there to guide you. Lizzie hadn’t thought she would break down in a fit of hysterical sobbing but she was surprised at how surreal she found the experience of sitting in the church, staring at her sister’s coffin. She felt like a spectator, almost cocooned from the reality of the situation. She had no place here among these people. She was merely watching from the sidelines and she couldn’t connect the sister she had known with the body in the coffin. Lizzie felt numb as if momentarily anaesthetised against the grief of her loss; it was still there but buried deep inside.
The mourners in the pews behind them waited patiently for Lizzie and her mother to walk out together following the coffin. Ignoring her daughter completely, Stella Harris made her way out into the aisle behind the procession. Lizzie felt panicked as all eyes were drawn to her. She could almost hear their thoughts. Surely she should be supporting her mother on today of all days. Mind you, she’s hardly been the supportive one. Not like Bea. Lizzie avoided their critical glances, concentrating instead on her sister’s coffin, taking courage from her presence in death as she had in life. She fell in step behind her mother and followed her out of the church.
Once outside, Lizzie felt the sunshine warm her face and shielded her eyes as she watched Joe and the other attendants slide her sister’s coffin into the waiting hearse. There was to be a cremation but Bea hadn’t wanted anyone to be there. ‘Too bloody sad. When they shut that curtain like the door finally closing on your life? No thanks. I want it to be a celebration. I want it to be like the kind of party I would enjoy. Why does everyone get so hung up and sad about death when it’s actually as natural as life?’ Most people didn’t share Bea’s sentiment. They honoured her wishes; they wore purple and played the music she’d requested, but they were the ones left behind. They were the ones who had to deal with life without her and particularly when they saw Sam, a ten-year-old robbed of his mother, it couldn’t be a celebration. It was a tragedy playing out in front of them.
It was different for Lizzie. She didn’t know their version of Bea’s world. She only knew the world of Lizzie and Bea as sisters. She wasn’t part of Bea’s life in this community, as a successful lawyer, devoted wife and mother, beloved daughter. To Lizzie, she was Bea. Just Bea. The one who had picked her up so many times, who had always been there for her. She was the only reason Lizzie was here now and as she watched the hearse pull away, she could see no other reason to linger.
As the mourners began to disperse, Lizzie decided to escape. She planned to go back home, put on her pyjamas and watch Bea’s and her favourite film, Grease, whilst drinking as much red wine as she could handle or possibly a little more. She wanted to slip away from the helpless feeling that her life was like a ship, cut loose by her sister’s death, with no hope of getting back on course. How would she cope without Bea to guide and protect her? She had known this moment was coming for the past six months. She and Bea had talked about it but still, nothing quite prepared you. In a fight or flight world, Lizzie’s instinct had always been to flee but you couldn’t flee death. You could ignore it, pretend it wouldn’t happen, dismiss it from your mind, but you couldn’t escape its inevitability.
When Joe had phoned Lizzie to tell her that Bea had died, she had greeted his call with quiet resignation. It had felt odd to be receiving news about her sister from a man she hardly knew. She had wanted to end the call as quickly as possible. Joe’s voice had been heavy with grief and Lizzie had no idea what to say to him.
‘Thank you for letting me know,’ she had said, embarrassed by the inadequacy of her response.
‘I’ll call you with the funeral arrangements,’ he had said before ringing off.
Lizzie had stared at the phone after he’d gone wondering how she was supposed to feel. Bea was gone. It was over. Lizzie was alone now. And yet, there she stood, two feet on the ground, the sun shining outside, life continuing without her sister. Part of her was stunned. She had half-expected the walls to start closing in or the ground beneath her feet to shift at the moment of Bea’s death. She had also expected tears – wracking sobs of loss and grief – but none came. Minutes became hours became days. Lizzie thought about Bea during every waking second at her job in the bookshop, on trips to the shops, whilst making dinner but still no tears came. Every night she would fall into bed exhausted from thoughts of her sister but did not cry; she couldn’t and the worst thing was, Lizzie didn’t know why. She had thought that the funeral might be a catalyst for tears but she remained dry-eyed. The grief was still there though. It felt like something heavy and solid at the very centre of her being.
She could see Joe and her mother surrounded by people, all wanting to offer their condolences, as if their words could soothe away the pain of loss. They were all glad it wasn’t one of their loved ones and who could blame them? No one approached her and she felt this gave her the permission she needed to escape. She put on her sunglasses and started to walk to her car without a backward glance. Once inside she exhaled with relief and placed the keys in the ignition. It was at this moment that she heard a light tapping on her window. She glanced over to see Joe’s worried face peering in at her with a frowning Sam at his side. She felt her insides sink with shame as she pressed the button to open the window. How could she let this poor bereaved man and his son follow her as she tried to escape? His opening words made her feel even worse.
‘’llo, Lizzie. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to speak to you in the church. I just wanted to say thank you for coming.’
Lizzie mumbled a response along the lines of, ‘of course’. There was an awkward pause and she wondered if it would be okay to start the car, whilst inwardly praying that she didn’t run over her brother-in-law’s foot as she sped off.
‘We’re having a party for Mum,’ said Sam, his face fierce and suspicious. He was clearly offering her a dare.
‘Oh right, well I’m not sure if –’ stammered Lizzie.
‘You should come,’ said Sam as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
‘Sam, I’m not sure if Lizzie is able to come,’ said Joe, trying to placate the situation and making Lizzie feel both grateful and wretched at the same time.
‘Why not? Mum would want her to be there. She’s her sister,’ declared Sam.
‘Well of course, if you would like to come, we would love you to,’ said Joe.
Lizzie looked at Sam and knew that there was no getting out of this. He had an air of Bea in his frowning face; it was a look that said, ‘Come on sis, do it for me.’ And like everything else her sister had ever asked her to do, Lizzie agreed without question.
‘I’d love to come,’ she said with a small smile.
‘Excellent,’ said Joe. ‘We’ll see you back at the house.’
******
The Goode Family lived just outside Smallchurch very close to where Lizzie and Bea had grown up. When Bea and Joe married, she had made it clear that she wanted to stay near to her parents and give their children the countryside upbringing that she had enjoyed. Joe had been so in love with Bea that he would have lived in a sewer if she’d told him to and so they settled in a rambling old farmhouse surrounded by large fields and impressive views over rural Kent. Bea loved it because its boundary was flanked by cobnut bushes and fruit trees. The house itself needed a great deal of work and they had spent a lot of money and time making it into a comfortable family home.
Lizzie had never been to the house but she wasn’t surprised by its size or decor. Her sister had always had great taste and an eye for style. She felt sick as she parked her car at one corner of the gravel drive and made her way through the open front door. An impressively large staircase sat in the middle of the hall, sweeping up towards a wide landing. Lizzie imagined an exquisitely decorated Christmas tree sitting at the top of the stairs. When Bea and Joe bought the house, she remembered her sister telling her that, ‘it has room for two Christmas trees. I’ve always wanted a house big enough for two Christmas trees!’ Along with a lifelong passion for the musical achievements of John Travolta and Olivia Newton-John, Bea was also hopelessly devoted to all things festive. Lizzie smiled at the memory but the moment was interrupted as she heard voices approaching the door of the room to the right of the staircase. She made a beeline for the left-hand room. She needed to give herself a little more time before speaking to anyone. A buffet was laid out on a long rectangular table, which flanked one wall. Lizzie had been too nervous to eat breakfast that morning and felt queasy at the sight and smell of the food. She turned away and immediately caught sight of Sam. He was standing in front of the fireplace staring up at a large canvas photograph of him with his mother and father. It was an informal shot of the three of them, wide-eyed and laughing. Lizzie noticed Bea’s arms locked protectively around Sam’s body. If it hadn’t been for her sister staring down at her, Lizzie could have been looking at a photograph of any family. She felt as if she were intruding. This place had nothing to do with her. As she hesitated, Sam turned round to face her. It was like an electric shock jolting through her body. His resemblance to Bea was astonishing.
He didn’t smile but he wasn’t frowning any more either. His face was more a picture of curiosity. ‘Do you want a cake?’ he asked, wandering over to the food table and helping himself to a large chocolate muffin. ‘Mum and I made these before she died. We put them in the freezer so that they didn’t go off before the funeral,’ he added.
Lizzie’s stomach groaned with a mixture of nerves and hunger but there was something about Sam’s casual acceptance of her that made her take one. She nibbled the top. ‘They’re delicious,’ she said.
Sam seemed satisfied. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I’ll show you my rope swing.’
She watched him walk towards the door, unsure whether she should follow. She had been on the verge of leaving and yet she was torn. He paused in the doorway and looked her straight in the eye. There it was again. That look. That determination.
‘Come on,’ he repeated.
Lizzie couldn’t refuse him any more than she could refuse his mother. She followed him out into the garden, across the sweeping lawn which led down to a stream. The rope swing hung from the bough of a sturdy-looking apple tree.
‘Can you hold my cake please?’ asked Sam. Lizzie obliged and watched as he took hold of the fat stick which served as a seat and swung across without a sound. He stared at her triumphantly. Lizzie realised that some sort of reaction was required so she said, ‘That’s very clever,’ although it sounded flat to her ears. Sam probably felt this too and swung back to stand next to her and reclaim his cake.
‘You can have a go if you want,’ he said offering her the stick. Lizzie didn’t think her mother would appreciate her estranged daughter making an exhibition of herself at Bea’s wake, although she suspected that Bea would have loved it.
‘It’s all right. I’m enjoying watching you,’ she said, realising that this was true. Sam nodded solemnly and embarked on another swing, cake in hand this time.
‘Why haven’t you ever come here before?’ he asked once he was back at her side. Lizzie admired his candour. For Sam, this was merely a question that needed an answer, whereas for Lizzie, it was a can of worms she’d stuffed in the back of the cupboard a long time ago. Why hadn’t she returned to the place of her childhood for fifteen years? Why had she stayed away so long?
‘Well, I live a little way from here.’
‘Where?’
‘Just outside London,’ said Lizzie hoping Sam’s geography wasn’t up to much.
‘That’s not far,’ he declared. Damn, thought Lizzie, why are kids so clued up these days?
‘Well I work a lot,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ said Sam, seeming to understand this. ‘Mum used to work a lot too before she got sick.’ Lizzie nodded, hoping the subject was closed. It wasn’t. ‘I suppose we could have come to visit you though.’
‘I suppose you could have.’
‘Why didn’t we then?’
Lizzie didn’t know what to say. This was the first time she’d properly met Sam and it was clear that he and Bea shared more than just facial resemblance. There was something in his honest and direct questioning that reminded her so much of her sister. ‘You’re very like your mum,’ she said fondly, hoping to buy a little time.
‘Everyone says that,’ observed Sam, sounding bored. ‘So why didn’t we see you then?’
Lizzie sighed. ‘It’s complicated.’
Sam kicked at a stone. ‘Adults always say that.’
Lizzie didn’t feel qualified to deal with this. Sam needed answers. She just wasn’t sure that she was the one to give them. ‘I used to see your mum.’ She knew how inadequate a response this was even before the words were out of her mouth.
Sam narrowed his eyes. ‘Don’t you like kids?’ It was black and white to Sam. You chose not to see me. You don’t like me.
‘It’s not that.’
‘What then?’ Lizzie was silent. ‘Is it something to do with Granny?’
‘Yes,’ said Lizzie uncertainly.
‘Because she never mentions you. Or rather we’re not supposed to mention you when she’s around.’
‘Oh. Right.’ At least I know where I stand, thought Lizzie. ‘Did your Mum ever talk about me?’
Sam shrugged. ‘Sometimes. She said you’d fallen out with Granny and so didn’t want to come home.’
Lizzie nodded. ‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘Do you miss my mum?’ he asked, eyeing her closely.
‘Very much,’ said Lizzie without hesitation.
Sam nodded, satisfied that he was getting an honest answer. ‘I’m going to get another cake,’ he said, heading back up the lawn without a backward glance.
Part of Lizzie longed for him to stay. It might be odd to confide your innermost feelings to a ten-year-old but Lizzie got the sense that he understood, that he knew Bea like she knew Bea; an uncomplicated relationship based on love and trust. They had both lost the source of their comfort and protection. The difference was that whereas Sam had his father and grandmother and no doubt plenty of friends to envelop and help him through his grief, Lizzie had no one. She was alone. She had deliberately built her life in this way because she’d always had Bea. Now that Bea was gone, she literally had no one to turn to. She felt her stomach twist with panic at the realisation of this truth. She stared at the house, trying to imagine her sister appearing at the back door, waving and wandering down the garden to join her.
‘I miss you Bea,’ she whispered. She considered going back inside to find Sam but then she risked bumping into Joe or, even worse, her mother. It was at that moment that she noticed a male figure make his way out onto the lawn and walk towards her. At first she thought it might be Joe but as she shielded her eyes against the sun, she recognised him. She felt an overwhelming urge to run away but he was striding purposefully towards her, waving and smiling so she stayed rooted to the spot. It was fifteen years since she had seen him and as she watched him stroll down towards her she was immediately transported back in time. She remembered how her heart had surged whenever he had walked into the room, her teenage self filled with longing for his attention. He had made her feel protected and special until it had all turned sour. He must have noticed her guarded expression because at first he looked unsure, studying her face for a clue as to whether he was welcome. She told herself to stay calm. She didn’t need to deal with this now, in fact she was unsure if she ever wanted to deal with the hurt this man had caused her. She wanted to be on her way. She looked into his clear blue eyes and did her best to keep her face neutral. He smiled confidently. He had always been confident. It had been one of the things she had liked most about him. As a teenager he had been boyishly good-looking with the charm of youth to carry him. Age had allowed him to grow into his looks, and his once dark hair was now flecked with a little grey.
‘Hello, Lizzie,’ he said. ‘It’s good to see you.’ His voice was warm and genuine but Lizzie wasn’t about to be drawn in by his easy charm. Too much had happened since the time she had been his girlfriend. He had been one of the reasons she’d left Smallchurch and one of the reasons why she hadn’t come back until now.
‘Hello, Alex,’ she said coldly. He either didn’t pick up on her tone or chose to ignore it.
‘How are you holding up?’ he asked, reaching out to touch her on the arm.
She took a step back. ‘Yes, okay thanks,’ she said. It was a complete lie but she wasn’t about to share confidences with this man. ‘I was just leaving actually.’
He looked surprised but gave a small nod of his head. ‘Of course. I just had to tell you how sorry I am about Bea. I know how close you were.’ His eyes misted with grief and Lizzie felt enraged. How dare he try to hijack her loss? How dare he try to act as if he understood anything? ‘If there’s anything I can do,’ he said.
Such kind words, thought Lizzie, if they were uttered by another person, but from Alex they were like a cheap unwanted gift. She could have reacted in a hundred different ways, said everything she’d practised in her head over the years, but today wasn’t about Alex Chambers. Today was about Bea; her darling lost sister. ‘I’ll be fine thank you,’ she said turning away and walking back towards the house. It was another neat lie. Five reassuring words that meant nothing.
She hurried through the patio door, past a small gathering of people chatting in hushed tones over the strawberry pavlova. They turned as she entered but she ignored them all. She was giving herself permission to flee. Bea wouldn’t want her to stay, not after her encounter with Alex. She had almost made it to the front door when she heard a voice behind her.
‘Oh Lizzie. I didn’t realise you were here.’ From another person, this might have been a declaration of pure joy but from Stella Harris it managed to sound both cold and critical.
Lizzie turned to face her mother. In the gloom of the church, she hadn’t looked at her mother’s features properly. Now, in Bea’s brightly lit hall with the sun streaming into Stella’s face, Lizzie was shocked by how much she had aged in fifteen years. Her mother had been forty-five when she had last seen her. If someone had described Stella as being in her late sixties, Lizzie would have believed it. Her face was a mass of wrinkles, like a map of her life’s experiences. She observed her daughter, unsmiling, unimpressed. Lizzie couldn’t bear that look. ‘I’m going now. Would you say goodbye to Joe for me?’
‘I most certainly shall not,’ snapped Stella.
Her mother wanted a fight. Lizzie saw this now. ‘Goodbye,’ said Lizzie turning away. She couldn’t handle this. Not today. She knew it had been a mistake coming to the house. It was like being smacked in the face by the past over and over again. She might have been able to deal with this if Bea had been here but not on her own.
‘Well I don’t suppose I’ll see you again then,’ said her mother. There was something about the way she said this that was less critical and more regretful.
Lizzie turned back and looked at her, seeing sadness in her face that mirrored her own. She couldn’t bear it. ‘Goodbye, Mum,’ she repeated.
She hurried to her car and flung open the door, flopping down into the driver’s seat and telling herself that it was nearly done. She had almost made it through the day. All she had to do was drive home and she would be safe. Someone tapped on her window and she jumped. It was Joe. He was holding his hands up in apology, a parcel tucked under his arm. She sighed as she wound down the window.
‘Hi, Joe. Sorry, I was going to say goodbye but I couldn’t find you,’ she lied.
‘No worries,’ said Joe ever reasonable. ‘I just have something I need to give you. From Bea.’ He held out the parcel and Lizzie stared at it. As soon as she saw Bea’s writing and the name, ‘Lizzie Lou’, she felt her pulse quicken.
‘Do you know what’s inside?’ asked Lizzie, her voice almost a whisper as he handed the parcel through the open window.
Joe shook his head. ‘No, but Bea was very precise in her instructions. I was to give it to you on the day of her funeral. You know what she was like,’ he said with a fond smile.
Lizzie nodded. She looked down at the writing and ran her hand across it. Joe took a step back as if he were intruding on a private moment. ‘Well, I should let you go,’ he said. ‘Thank you for coming. It meant a lot to Sam and me.’
Lizzie knew that she should have a better response for Joe, something heartfelt and consoling, but she was too caught up with thoughts of Bea’s parcel and the need to be on her way. She laid it carefully on the seat next to her, like a mother placing her newborn in a cot.
‘Thank you, Joe. Goodbye,’ was all she could manage before she drove off. She didn’t make it very far before she pulled over at the side of the road and sat with her hands on the steering wheel, staring out at the bright summer sky, her mind racing with thoughts of her sister. She picked up the parcel and hugged it to her chest as the tears fell easily and the sobs overcame her so that she thought they would never stop.
Chapter Two (#ulink_92226dbc-71c5-5576-9913-7fd87137ed5c)
August
‘How please?’
‘The green book. In the window.’
‘Where?’
‘In the window. Last week. You had a green book. I want to look at it please.’
Lizzie glanced over from where she was dusting a shelf of poetry books. The small round elderly lady behind the counter was fixing her customer with a bemused frown. The small round elderly man on the other side of the counter was matching her look with one of his own. Lizzie made her way over to rescue them both.
‘It’s all right, Mrs Nussbaum. I think I know what Mr Hobson is after,’ she said, plucking a paperback from a table display on her way past. ‘Was it the Hessayon, Mr Hobson? The updated Lawn Expert? It was in the window with some other gardening books last week? I’ve got another one I think you might like. On Clematis.’
Mr Hobson’s face was transformed into one of rapture as he allowed Lizzie to lead him over to the display. He left ten minutes later having purchased three new gardening books and told Mrs Nussbaum, ‘That girl is a treasure. An absolute treasure.’
Mrs Nussbaum nodded warmly and waved him off. As the bell above the door signalled his departure, she turned to Lizzie. ‘I have keineIdee what he just said,’ she declared. She perched on the stool behind the counter. ‘Perhaps I am getting to old for all zis,’ she added, gesturing towards the shop.
‘Not at all, Mrs N. You just need to turn up your hearing aid.’
‘Was is’ das?’ frowned Mrs Nussbaum, cocking an ear towards Lizzie.
Lizzie stood in front of her and mouthed, pointing towards her ear. ‘I think the volume on your hearing aid might be turned down.’
Mrs Nussbaum fiddled with the device, still frowning with confusion. ‘Hallo? Ja. That’s better. I think the volume on my hearing aid was turned down.’
Lizzie smiled. It was a blessing working for Mrs Nussbaum at the bookshop. She loved her job and it served as a distraction from thinking about Bea all the time. That’s not to say there weren’t moments when something would suddenly remind her of her sister. Earlier that day, she happened upon a copy of The Bell Jar and immediately felt her chest tighten and tears form in her eyes. It was ridiculous because Bea had hated Sylvia Plath. Whilst trying to write a particularly tricky ‘A’ Level essay, she had thrown an entire set of Plath volumes out of the window, hitting the postman in the process with a hardback copy of The Bell Jar. Luckily, their mother had been out at the time and their father had successfully placated the poor postman with a cup of tea and a plate of digestives. Lizzie and Bea had laughed about it for days afterwards. Lizzie supposed that it had upset her so much because if Bea had still been alive, she would have taken a picture and texted it to her with the words, ‘Watch out Postman Pat!’ Instead, she had to hide in the unpacking room and let the tears fall for a while. In a way, she was relieved that she had rediscovered the ability to cry but it didn’t make it any less painful or alarming. Lizzie had found that grief didn’t follow a pattern or process as some people claimed. It crept up on you, jumped out at you and made you want to howl at the sky.
Lizzie felt that she had the space to grieve here, in her own way and her own time. No one here knew Bea; she had just told them that there had been a death in the family. It wasn’t questioned and she never offered other details. She also felt reassured by the presence of Bea’s parcel. She had been putting off opening it but knew that she couldn’t continue like this forever. It had been two weeks since the funeral and every day she spied it, she felt comforted as if her sister were still with her somehow. However, the Bell Jar episode had reminded her that she owed it to Bea to open the parcel and discover its contents, which was why she had decided that tonight would be the night. Mrs Nussbaum was foraging in the till. She fished out a bank note and held it up to Lizzie. ‘Why don’t you fetch us some Käsekuchen from next door? My treat,’ she said with a smile.
‘All right,’ said Lizzie, though she was reluctant to go to the cafe next door. They had only opened in the last couple of weeks and their cakes were delicious and dangerously tempting; fatal if you wanted to maintain any kind of waistline. The other problem was the owner of the cafe. On first inspection he had, what Bea might have described admiringly as ‘all the bits in the right places’, which was true. However, his customer service left a lot to be desired. He never smiled at customers, grunted a response when they had the audacity to order anything and transactions were completed with barely audible thanks. If his cakes and coffee hadn’t been so delectable, he probably would have achieved a record for the shortest-lived business in history.
Lizzie could imagine what Bea would have made of him. She had been with her sister on countless occasions when an ill-mannered shop assistant had forgotten their manners. ‘Now what do we say?’ Bea would coo as if addressing a four-year-old. She usually received a frown for her troubles but generally improved customer service. Lizzie was not like her sister. She avoided conflict wherever possible and didn’t have the confidence to set people straight, which is why she always left the coffee shop feeling hot and distinctly bothered. Maybe she had the spirit of her sister in her today, because something made her decide that she was ready for him. She breezed in through the cafe door with a look of what she hoped was calm indifference on her face. She stopped in her tracks as she was confronted with a woman; tall, slender and beautiful, her caramel-coloured hair piled casually in a loose bun secured with a pen. Obviously this was the cafe owner’s other half. She smiled warmly at Lizzie, who was so shocked by both her presence and the fact that she was friendly, she forgot how to speak.
‘What can I get you?’ asked the woman with beaming encouragement.
‘Erm, cheesecake. I would like cheesecake please,’ said Lizzie sounding like a robot.
The woman nodded and peered into the chiller-cabinet, frowning when she spotted the empty plate covered only with the last sad few biscuit-base crumbs. She smiled up at Lizzie. ‘Hang on, I’ll just see if Ben’s made any more.’ Ben. So that was his name. The woman disappeared into the kitchen. Lizzie could hear her asking him questions and getting mainly grunts in return. She heard her say, ‘Okay, thank you Ben, no need to be such a grumpy bugger,’ before reappearing out front.
‘I’m so sorry. We’ve run out for today. Can I recommend the Millionaire’s Shortbread? It’s very good.’
Lizzie nodded in agreement. ‘Two pieces please.’
The woman smiled and gestured back towards the kitchen. ‘He’s like a bear with a sore wotsit that one. So I’ve been drafted in to help because he was scaring off the customers.’
Lizzie gave a shy smile. She held out her money, keen to finish the transaction.
‘You work in the bookshop, don’t you?’ said the woman as she handed over the cakes and change.
Lizzie nodded. There was something very warm and open about this woman, something that Lizzie liked. ‘I’m Lizzie,’ she replied.
The woman grinned. ‘Lovely to meet you, Lizzie. I’m Susie.’
‘Susie!’ bellowed a voice from the kitchen. The voice’s owner appeared at the door seconds later, a sharp frown clouding his face.
‘The bear’s woken up,’ she whispered to Lizzie with a wink. ‘Ben, this is Lizzie from the bookshop.’
Ben glanced over at Lizzie, his face still fixed in a frown. He gave her a curt nod. ‘All right?’ he said before turning back to Susie. ‘Where did you put the flour?’ he demanded.
Susie shook her head. ‘Sorry about him. He’s had a personality transplant and has sadly been replaced by THE RUDEST MAN IN BRITAIN,’ she declared, emphasising her words and looking at Ben with meaning.
Ben was unmoved. ‘The flour, Susie?’
Susie gave him a murderous look before smiling warmly at Lizzie. ‘I’m sorry, I have to go but it was lovely to meet you, Lizzie. See you around?’
‘Okay. Bye,’ said Lizzie. She glanced at Ben before she turned to leave and made a mental note only to come in here when Susie was serving. That man had issues.
As she walked back through the door of the bookshop, she noticed that Mrs Nussbaum wasn’t sitting in her usual spot on the stool behind the till. She could hear voices coming from the children’s section. She smiled as she spotted Mrs Nussbaum sitting on a red plastic child’s chair next to a little boy of about five years.
‘Do you like being old?’ the boy was asking.
Mrs Nussbaum chuckled at his directness. ‘I don’t mind. I wish my body worked better sometimes.’
‘You could get a new one,’ he suggested earnestly.
‘Wouldn’t that be nice?’ she smiled.
‘I could make you one out of Lego.’
‘That would be kind, er, what did you say your name was?’
‘Harry.’
‘Danke, Harry.’
‘What does “danke” mean?’
‘Thank you. In German.’
‘Are you scared of dying?’ asked Harry, ready to move on to a different topic.
Lizzie held her breath but Mrs Nussbaum wasn’t fazed. ‘Not really. I think it will be nice to be with my Leonard again.’
‘Who’s Leonard?’
‘My husband. He died.’
‘Oh. So do you believe in heaven?’
‘Yes Harry, I do.’
‘My dad doesn’t,’ he said pursing his lips.
‘Oh, well what do you think?’
‘I think I want there to be heaven.’
‘Then believe it,’ said Mrs Nussbaum. Lizzie appeared before them and Mrs Nussbaum smiled up at her. ‘Now this lady was sent to me by my Leonard.’
Harry stared up at Lizzie, impressed. ‘Whoa. Is she like an angel then?’
‘I like to think so,’ said Mrs Nussbaum with a grin.
Lizzie remembered the circumstances of her arrival as slightly less celestial. She came here after yet another failed relationship, which made her throw her belongings into a bag and jump on the first train that pulled into the station. As she reached the end of the line, the dawning realisation that she was now barely an hour away from where she had grown up made her sick with anxiety. Her first instinct was to get straight back on the train and head somewhere else. But something in her brain wouldn’t allow her. She had spoken to Bea the previous week and was concerned that her sister didn’t sound as upbeat as usual.
‘Is everything all right?’ she had asked.
Bea had sighed. ‘I’ve got to go and have some tests. I’m sure everything is fine.’
‘What kind of tests?’
‘Just tests. Anyway, how are things with you and that useless boyfriend of yours?’
‘He’s not useless.’
‘He’s lazy. Do you need any money?’
It was the thought of living closer to her sister that made her walk up to the high street and it was the sudden rain shower which made her shelter in the bookshop. And it was her choice of Brave New World which made a frowning Mrs Nussbaum approach her.
‘That book,’ said the woman.
‘Yes?’ replied Lizzie patiently.
‘Why did you choose that book?’ she demanded.
Lizzie wondered if the woman might be a little mad but she was intrigued by her question. ‘Erm, well it’s one of my favourites and I haven’t read it for a while so I was just having a look?’
The woman gazed deeply into Lizzie’s eyes, almost as if she was trying to read her thoughts. Yep, thought Lizzie, definitely batty.
The woman stood back, a bright smile transforming her face. ‘Would you like to come and work for me?’ she asked.
That had been two years ago. It turned out that she had got the job because of her choice of book which also turned out to be the favourite novel of Mrs Nussbaum’s recently deceased husband, Leonard. Mrs Nussbaum was also keen to employ someone who would live in the flat-come-storage area above the shop and Lizzie was happy to oblige. The only person who knew of Lizzie’s whereabouts had been Bea.
‘I’m proud of you, sis,’ said Bea shortly afterwards as they caught up over a glass of wine in town. ‘Sounds as if things are starting to look up. Cheers.’
‘Cheers,’ said Lizzie beaming with pride. She noticed that her sister looked tired. ‘Did you have those tests you mentioned?’
Bea gave a dismissive flap of her hand. ‘I’m sure it’s nothing. I get the results next week. Now finish that and I’ll get you another,’ she added gesturing towards her glass.
Of course, it wasn’t nothing. It had been the beginning of the end for both of them.
Lizzie became aware of the small boy by her side. She looked down at him. He was pacing around her and stopped to peer up at her back. ‘I can’t see any wings,’ he told Mrs Nussbaum.
Their philosophical discussion was interrupted by a woman hurrying in through the door, out of breath.
‘Thank you so much for keeping an eye on him,’ she gushed, smiling at them both.
‘It was my pleasure,’ said the old lady.
‘Come on, Harry. We’ve got to go and pick up your sister.’
‘’kay. Bye,’ said Harry. ‘I hope you get to see Leonard again.’
‘Thank you, Schatz,’ smiled Mrs Nussbaum. After they had gone she looked up at Lizzie and gestured at the plastic chair on which she was still seated. ‘Bitte, help me up, Lizzie. I’m never going to get up on my own.’
The rest of the afternoon seemed to drag. Lizzie kept glancing at her watch, eager for closing time to come so that she could retreat upstairs and open Bea’s parcel. She was excited but also nervous as if she were about to open Pandora’s Box. She trusted her sister like no one else but fear of the unknown and worse still, the unknown without her sister, frightened her.
‘Home time now, Lizzie,’ said Mrs Nussbaum, hobbling from the back room. Lizzie glanced at her watch with relief.
‘Okay, Mrs N. I’ll lock up. You go.’
‘Danke. See you tomorrow.’
Lizzie locked the door behind her. ‘Right then,’ she said, turning to face the image of Virginia Woolf, which gazed down at her from above the bookshelves. ‘Best get on with it.’
Lizzie opened the door to her flat and was hit by a gust of warm air. She pushed up the windows which opened onto the street, letting in the sounds of early evening; some people on their way home, others already out for the evening. She plumped up the cushions on the sofa and smoothed the covers, irritated by her own prevarication. Fetching a wine glass from the cupboard in the kitchen, she poured a generous helping from a bottle of red wine on the side and perched on one of the stools alongside the kitchen counter before staring at the parcel. She took a sip of wine and a deep breath before reaching over and sliding it in front of her. She ran a hand over her sister’s writing and took another sip.
‘Sod it,’ she declared, turning the parcel over, ripping it open and shaking out its contents. There was a folded sheet of A5 which Lizzie could see was a letter and a bundle of twelve envelopes marked with months of the year. Lizzie pushed them to one side and unfolded the letter. She felt a shiver of sorrow when she saw her sister’s handwriting. Bea had such a distinctive way of writing: elegant curves, neat and well-ordered but friendly and inviting somehow. As soon as she started to read, Lizzie could hear her sister’s voice in her head. It both unnerved and comforted her; she was compelled to keep reading but reminded of how much she missed Bea too.
Dear Lizzie,
Well I guess you’re probably surprised to hear from me, eh sis? Obviously if I get the chance to come back and haunt you I shall, but there are no guarantees so pen and paper it is. I’ve been thinking for a long time about how I can help you, Lizzie Lou, and to be honest I think my dying is going to be the best thing that ever happens to you.
That probably sounds harsh so I shall do my best to explain. When you were born, I hated you – absolutely loathed the sight, sound and smell of you (particularly the smell). I know that’s normal for siblings and I was only four at the time so don’t feel the need to apologise. You were very annoying and turned my world upside down. I had gone from being, ‘Honey Bea’, the apple of everyone’s eye to, ‘Busy Lizzie’s’ sister and I was not impressed.
I remember one particular day when I had set up my dolls ready for a tea party. I’d written tiny invitations and laid out my dinky porcelain tea set with its pink polka dot design and matching satin napkins. You know me – I like everything just-so. It looked perfect until you bowled in, all chubby legs and cute dimples and upset the whole thing onto the floor. I don’t think I’ve ever been so angry before or since, particularly as you were oblivious to the carnage around you. When Mum came in, all she was most worried about was the mess (you know what she’s like) and she didn’t even tell you off. I know you were a baby but I felt as if a great injustice had been done that day and I hated you with every fibre of my being.
It was also the day that Uncle Lawrence came to visit and I was very excited. Do you remember when he did his Donald Duck impressions? We loved him, although I know Mum was always irritated by the way he drifted in and out of our lives. Anyway, I loathed having to share him with you and I got into trouble because I tried to push in front of you when he came to the door. I got smacked for that and so by lunchtime, you were enemy number one.
After lunch, Mum took you upstairs for a change and I was going to have some precious time on my own with Uncle Lawrence. I went to fetch a book so that I could read to him and as I looked up from the hall, I could see you standing at the top of the stairs. I also noticed that Mum had left the stair-gate open. In that split second I could have cried out to warn you but something inside – my anger at having to share the world with you – prevented me I guess. I walked away. I found my book just as I heard the sound of you falling down the stairs. It was a strange sound, almost rhythmical and oddly unalarming. I can remember it so clearly, even now. The drama started when Mum screamed at the sight of you lying at the bottom of the stairs. I walked out of the playroom ready with my innocent face but as soon as I noticed that you weren’t moving, I felt sick. I hadn’t realised what might happen if you fell. I think I’d been watching too many Tom and Jerry cartoons, so I thought you’d bounce. I still remember it as one of the most frightening moments of my life and I can picture Uncle Lawrence and Mum standing over your motionless body, frozen with fear for a split second before they called an ambulance. As for me, it wasn’t so much the thought that I’d killed you (I thought I had) but more that at that second, seeing your tiny body lying still, I knew I had to take care of you until the day I died. I remember kneeling down next to you and vowing. ‘It’s okay, Lizzie. Bea is here. She will look after you forever.’
That’s what I tried to do throughout my life but my biggest regret is that I know you’re not happy, Lizzie, and I want, more than anything, for you to be as happy as I have been. And so, my dying wish is to try and show you how to be happy. You will find twelve letters in the envelope with this one. These contain the things I probably should have told you to do when I was alive but never quite had the courage. Yes, I know that sounds strange coming from me, fearless Bea. In truth Lizzie, I’m as scared as everyone else. I just chose not to show it but I really believe that I’m doing the right thing in leaving you these letters. I think it’s time to be honest and for you to face a past that has been locked away for too long.
But, and this is an important but, I don’t want you ripping them all open like presents on Christmas morning. You won’t be surprised to know that as soon as I knew I was dying, I decided to put all my affairs in order. Once I knew there was no hope, I didn’t see any point in hanging around upsetting everyone. I’ve put a month on each letter so that you can read them once a month for the next year. Everything I’m asking should be possible in that time. I like to think of them as my final wishes, my final wishes for you, lovely Lizzie.
You should know that it’s not going to be easy but I think it’s important for both of us. So this is your older sister bossing you from beyond the grave. Do as I ask or I will come and haunt you (and not in a good way – I’ll make sure I’m carrying my head under my arm or something).
There you have it, my darling sister. Do these things for me and I think you’ll find the real Lizzie Harris and learn to love her as I do.
All my love,
Bea xxx
Lizzie read the letter again and again, hearing her sister’s voice in her head and the painful truth in her words. She realised that she had finished her wine and, pouring herself another glass, made her way over to the sofa. She sat down and clutched the letter to her chest as great heaving sobs washed over her. ‘I miss you, Bea,’ she whispered. ‘I miss you so much.’
It was at this point that the enormity of her situation hit Lizzie. She had thought that the parcel would offer some sort of comfort, that it would be like having her sister back, but she saw now how naive she had been. Bea was gone. Her letters remained but that was all. Lizzie had to face her future alone and she wasn’t sure if she had the strength. She lay down on the sofa and closed her eyes. She felt so very tired.
It was dark when she woke a few hours later, roused by late-night revellers shouting in the street. She rolled to a seated position and rubbed her eyes before standing and moving towards the window. The letter, which she had been holding as she fell asleep, slipped to the floor and Lizzie snatched it up as she remembered its contents. She walked to the window and, clutching it to her chest, let out a deep sigh. On the one hand she felt that the letters might offer her guidance and comfort, as if Bea were still there helping her, showing her the way. On the other hand, she dreaded where they might lead her. She scanned the words again: ‘… it’s time to be honest and for you to face a past that has been locked away for too long.’ The mere mention of the past sent a chill through her. Surely the past was best left where it was? Lizzie was fine. Fine was good. Fine could last a lifetime. Then she thought about her sister’s other concern: ‘…my biggest regret is that I know you’re not happy, Lizzie.’ Lizzie thought about this. Was she happy? Was she truly happy? She brushed away the tears as she thought about the answer. She was lonely, she knew that, and now that Bea was gone, she was alone.
Closing the window Lizzie pulled the curtains before making her way over to the kitchen counter. She sifted through the pile of envelopes and found the first one. She carried it with her to the bedroom and placed it on her bedside table, ready for the morning. For the love of her sister and for the sake of herself, she would do her best to fulfil Bea’s wishes.
Chapter Three (#ulink_8c346ec4-5d9f-5b89-bd0c-7492ab4c38dc)
The Next Day
Lizzie slept fitfully that night. She had a troubling dream, in which she could hear Bea calling, but for some reason she couldn’t reach her. It was dark and foggy and she was alone on a heath. She could barely see her hand in front of her face but she kept walking towards Bea’s voice.
‘Lizzie? Can you hear me? Lizzie?’
Bea didn’t sound panicked or in distress but try as Lizzie might, she couldn’t find her sister. She woke at around six feeling clammy and exhausted. Sitting up in bed, her mind already buzzing with purpose, she took a sip of water and picked up the envelope. Turning it over she smiled at the tiny ‘SWALK (a big sloppy one)’ that Bea had inscribed on the back. Inside was another letter, shorter than the last.
Dear Lizzie Lou,
I’m guessing that as you’re reading this you’ve decided to carry out my wishes and I’m glad. I want you to think of me holding your hand every step of the way with these letters. I know you trust me and I hope you know that I want what’s best for you.
My first wish is a selfish one. As you know, I’ve always faced life full on but it’s different when you’re facing death. Sometimes I feel oddly calm about it. We’re all going to die anyway. I’m just going a bit sooner than I planned. At other times I experience blind panic and heartbreak at all the things I’m going to miss. The thought that you might get married and have children that I’ll never see; the idea of dear, brave Joe having to carry on alone, and most of all the fact that my beautiful, wonderful, funny boy Sam will grow up without me. I know that he will grow into a fine young man and it feels as if my heart is breaking into a million pieces as I realise that I won’t be there to see it. I know you understand love and loss, Lizzie, but this feels like the ultimate cruelty of life. Sometimes I wonder what the point is of loving so much when it will just be ripped away from you.
So really these letters are also a way of helping me through the panic; a way of reassuring myself that someone will make sure that the people I love most are cared for now that I’m gone.
Therefore my first wish is for you to spend a day with Sam and Joe. Just one day to start with. I want you to get to know them both properly. I know you met Joe when we were first together and I know my moving in with him caused you to run away again but I think you could be friends. He is a kind, sweet man and a wonderful Dad. As for my Sammy; he is my proudest achievement. Yeah, yeah, all Mums say that right? But I think as we go on this journey together you will realise how true that is.
I know this is a big ask, Lizzie, and I can imagine the dread you’re feeling as you read these words. You’ve endured more hurt than most people feel in a lifetime and I know you feel let down by so many people who should have been there for you but Sam and Joe were never really part of that time. I think you will grow to love each other as much I love you all.
Time to stop writing as I’m blubbing like a big girl now. Dying is so tediously full of tearful moments when really you should be concentrating on living while you still have time. Remember that.
Love you,
Bea x
Lizzie brushed away her own tears and put the letter down on the bedspread. She rubbed her eyes and considered what her sister was asking her. It sounded like the easiest thing in the world in lots of ways. Just one day with Joe and Sam; how difficult could that be?
It was true about Joe. In the early days when he and Bea had got together, her eighteen-year-old self had felt jealous and squeezed out. When Joe and Bea had moved into their first flat, Bea had offered her a place to stay but it soon became clear that it wouldn’t work. She could remember nights sleeping on the sofa-bed, stuffing a pillow over her head to blot out the sound of the love-birds having noisy sex. She had left a month later having found a job at a pub, where the landlord was happy to let a room to her for a very agreeable rate. The problem was that he seemed to think it gave him certain other rights, and she often slept with a chair against the door. It was following the unfortunate occasion when the landlord’s wife caught him trying to grope her whilst she was changing a barrel in the cellar that she lost her job. The woman seemed to think that it was Lizzie’s fault.
As Lizzie stood outside the pub sifting through her change wondering whether to call Bea on a payphone, one of the regulars approached her and asked if she was okay. When she explained what had happened, he told her that his brother was opening a restaurant in North London and might be able to sort out digs too. Lizzie considered the offer. She didn’t want to go back to Bea and she thought her sister would be impressed if she sorted things out herself so she accepted.
It was the beginning of a cycle of similar jobs and digs and untrustworthy people and every time, Lizzie had thought: this might be the one, these people are kind and will help me. However, she learned pretty quickly that everyone was just out for themselves. It was better to keep yourself to yourself and trust no one. Bea was always there of course but Lizzie didn’t want to run to her for help all the time. It was only when she found Mrs Nussbaum and the bookshop that she started to feel safe. She still kept herself to herself though with Bea at the end of the phone as her friend and counsel.
So the thought of opening up to other people, to people with links to her past, was a confusing one. She had to admit that there was something about Sam that she liked when she met him at the funeral. It might have been his startling resemblance to Bea or the way he seemed to mirror her spirit. But the main reason why she found herself reaching for her phone to dial Bea’s home number was because Sam, Joe and she all shared the same grief and pain at the fact that Bea was gone. She had thought that she could cope with this pain on her own as she had coped with so much before, but then she’d always had Bea. Now, she was starting to wonder if she actually needed someone to talk to.
As she found the number and dialled, her mind raced. They would have to meet away from the shop, somewhere neutral in central London. She wasn’t ready to let people into her world just yet. The phone rang a number of times before a sleepy voice answered.
‘’llo?’
‘Joe?’
‘Nnnng?’
‘It’s Lizzie. How are you?’ It was at that moment that Lizzie glanced at the clock. It was only 6.30. ‘Oh Joe, I’m sorry. You were asleep weren’t you?’
‘Well yes but it’s all right. How are you?’ he asked without a hint of irritation.
‘I’m fine,’ lied Lizzie. ‘How about you?’
‘Fine,’ lied Joe.
There was a short pause which threatened to lengthen towards awkwardness. Lizzie took a deep breath. ‘So, I wondered if you and Sam fancied meeting up some time?’ she asked casually as if this were an everyday occurrence.
‘Oh. Really?’ said Joe sounding surprised. Lizzie realised that she didn’t have a good reason for phoning out of the blue but she had deliberately decided not to mention the letters. They were her letters from Bea and she wasn’t ready to share them. ‘Well that would be great. If you’re sure?’
Lizzie hesitated. This could be the moment when she just gave up on it all, when she made an excuse, hung up and went back to her life, such as it was. She glanced at the letter again and Bea’s heartfelt words. She had no choice. ‘Of course. I think it would be really good for all of us. I’m free this Sunday if you are?’
‘We are actually. Shall we come to you or would you like to come here?’ asked Joe.
Lizzie felt panic rise in her chest and did her best to keep her voice calm. ‘Actually, I was thinking that Sam might like a day-trip somewhere in London? To the zoo or the aquarium perhaps?’
‘Okay. Great idea. Why don’t I ask him and I’ll text you to confirm later?’
‘Great, that sounds really great,’ said Lizzie aware that she was starting to sound a little crazy. ‘I’ll see you then,’ she added. ‘I should go. Sorry for waking you.’
‘No worries. It’s good to hear from you,’ said Joe before hanging up.
Lizzie pressed the phone to her forehead and closed her eyes. She felt as if she were sitting in a rollercoaster as it climbed to the top of the track. She was dreading the moment when she reached the top but part of her, a tiny part, wanted to see what happened when she came down the other side.
***
Lizzie felt an unusual sense of purpose as she went downstairs to open up the bookshop that day. It was as if taking the decision to do what Bea had asked was making her feel a little less burdened. She knew she’d be a mess of nerves on the day she went to meet Sam and Joe but somehow, simply making the decision to do this was having a positive effect on her mood.
Her thoughts were interrupted by something of a kerfuffle at the back of the shop. There was the sound of paws skidding on lino and Mrs Nussbaum telling something or someone to ‘Halt!’
Lizzie made her way towards the back room and drew aside the curtain to reveal Mrs Nussbaum being pulled through the door by an excitable, square-faced dog.
‘Morning, Lizzie!’ trilled Mrs Nussbaum, barely managing to stay on her feet. ‘Meet our newest member of staff, Bambi!’ Bambi barked a greeting.
‘Goodness!’ cried Lizzie, holding a hand out for the dog, who sniffed at his new friend with enthusiasm. ‘He’s lovely but are you sure about having a dog in the shop? It might scare people off.’
‘Ach, he’s an absolute süsse Maus,’ declared Mrs Nussbaum, ruffling the top of Bambi’s head. ‘My neighbour is moving to Australia to be nearer to her children so I suggest that he come and work for us. We can take him for a walk at lunchtime and he will keep me company at night. He is a Boxer, so he will be an excellent guard dog but I think that he will be a great hit with the customers too.’
Just as long as he doesn’t decide to take a chunk out of any of them, thought Lizzie. Bambi, obviously keen to get started in his new job, was straining at the lead so Lizzie took it from Mrs Nussbaum and led him down the shop. She spotted a mother with a pushchair about to enter the shop and then bid a hasty retreat once she saw Bambi. ‘Doggy!’ shouted the child as her mother ushered her away.
Lizzie sighed. ‘Come on, you,’ she said, pulling Bambi back. ‘I think we’re going to have to find you somewhere to sit where you won’t get into trouble.’ The dog whimpered agreement and settled down in an empty unpacking box next to Lizzie.
Mrs Nussbaum appeared a short time later with two mugs of tea. ‘Shall we have a try at the crossword?’ she asked.
Lizzie smiled and accepted the tea. ‘Good idea. We can do it while I’m placing the orders and then I’ll head to the bank.’
Lizzie appreciated this routine with Mrs Nussbaum. It was part of the reason why she felt safe here and had never contemplated going elsewhere. They worked companionably together but rarely discussed life beyond the day to day. Mrs Nussbaum sometimes mentioned Leonard but only in passing. Lizzie suspected that the old lady was as lonely as she was and she knew that they both found comfort in each other’s company. Today she considered telling her about Bea but she worried that Mrs Nussbaum might think her odd for not mentioning it before so she kept quiet. She didn’t want to do anything to upset her life here. She needed something constant in a world without Bea.
As the day progressed, Bambi settled very well into his new role. He seemed to understand instinctively the difference between friend and foe. He accompanied Lizzie to the bank like a professional security guard, barking at a charity collector who tried to stop them in the street. Back at the shop, he followed a mother towards the door when her toddler dropped its cuddly rabbit.
‘You might want to wash that,’ Lizzie remarked, fishing it out of Bambi’s mouth and handing it back to her.
The woman was startled but her face soon softened into a smile. ‘Oh thank you,’ she said. ‘There would have been hell to pay if we’d lost that. Aren’t you a lovely dog?’
‘Eeee!’ cried her child, pulling Bambi’s ear in appreciation. Lizzie held her breath, but Bambi turned towards the little girl and nuzzled her gently in the ribs. She began to giggle and hug the dog’s bony head.
‘Ahhhh, you’re a treasure aren’t you?’ said the mother, rubbing Bambi’s head. ‘I think it’s a great idea to have him around. The kids will love him.’
By the end of the day, Bambi’s celebrity status was assured. ‘Congratulations, Bambi. You’ve passed your probation and the job is yours if you want it,’ Lizzie said, feeling relieved as she locked the front door. Bambi barked an affirmative and followed her down the shop to where Mrs Nussbaum was counting the takings in the back room.
‘We’ve had a good day,’ said the old lady, glancing up from the piles of coins and notes.
‘Must be something to do with our new member of staff,’ said Lizzie patting Bambi on the head.
There was a knock at the front door and Bambi immediately turned on his tail to greet whoever it was. Lizzie followed behind and was surprised to see Susie and Ben from the coffee shop. Susie was peering through the glass eagerly whilst Ben stood behind her, arms folded, an impatient scowl on his face. They looked like comical opposites. Bambi reached the door first, barking as if to say, ‘What do you want? Friend or foe?’ Lizzie noticed Ben’s face dissolve into a smile at the sight of the dog. She unlocked the door and stood back to let them in. Bambi sniffed around them and, deciding they were friends, sat obediently at Ben’s feet ready to have a fuss made of him. Ben knelt down to stroke the dog, talking to him in a low, reassuring voice.
‘Hi, Lizzie,’ grinned Susie. ‘We thought it was high time we came and introduced ourselves properly to our landlady, didn’t we, Ben?’ Ben didn’t look up or speak.
‘Ben!’ hissed Susie.
‘What?’ said Ben, glancing up with the look of a petulant teenager.
Susie rolled her eyes at Lizzie. ‘I’m very sorry about him. He’s basically feral so I have to do all the talking for him.’ Lizzie smiled. She liked this woman. She was certainly a lot more engaging than her other half. Everyone knew that opposites attract but these two seemed so different, Lizzie couldn’t imagine what they might have in common. ‘Anyway, we also thought if there’s any way to join forces, you know, coffee and books go really well together so –.’
Lizzie nodded. ‘That’s a great idea but maybe you should speak to Mrs Nussbaum about it? She’s just out the back.’ Susie looked blank and Lizzie realised her confusion. ‘Oh, did you think I was the landlady? Heavens no, I just work for Mrs Nussbaum.’
‘Oh right, sorry,’ laughed Susie. ‘I’ll pop down and say hello then shall I?’ She looked down at Ben who was still communing with his new friend. Susie shook her head. ‘Don’t let my brother overwhelm you with his charm, will you?’
‘Oh, you’re brother and sister,’ said Lizzie with genuine surprise.
Susie looked appalled. ‘You thought we were an item didn’t you? Euw!’ She laughed. ‘Looks like we both got our wires crossed! Back in a sec,’ she said, walking towards the back room.
Lizzie glanced over at Ben, feeling awkward and unsure of what to say. As he got up from his kneeling position, she was immediately struck by his height. He was at least six feet tall and thick-set like a rugby player. Ben was frowning at his surroundings now. He ran a hand over his stubbly chin and looked unimpressed at having to do this at the end of a long day. It was obvious that Susie had dragged him here and the way he sighed and glanced at his watch made it equally obvious that he didn’t want to stay any longer than necessary. Lizzie was beginning to feel uncomfortable. The silence was awkward and she didn’t understand why he was being so offhand with her. It was at moments like this that she wondered what Bea would do. ‘Don’t let people make you feel small, Lizzie Lou. You have as much right to be there as they do,’ she would say. It didn’t really work for Lizzie. She didn’t have the confidence that surrounded her sister like a magic cloak. Still, maybe it was time to find her inner Bea. She cleared her throat. Ben glanced over expectantly and Lizzie realised she had to say something.
‘Sorry about confusing Susie for your girlfriend,’ she said. Brilliant. Well done, Lizzie. Start with an apology. That always gets people on side. Ben shrugged but said nothing. Lizzie swallowed. She couldn’t work out if he had a problem with her or the whole world. She was panicking now so the words came thick and fast. ‘Although obviously I don’t mean that having Susie as a girlfriend would be a bad thing. She’s very attractive and lovely, absolutely lovely. I mean I don’t really know her but she seems lovely. She’s certainly been very friendly to me. I’m sure she would make a lovely girlfriend for someone but obviously that’s not you because you’re her brother.’ Ben was staring at her now. Lizzie couldn’t blame him. She was rambling like a crazy woman, making no apparent sense, just filling the air with words. ‘Sorry,’ she said again.
He gave the merest shake of his head as if he couldn’t quite believe this individual standing in front of him. He glanced down at the dog and then back at Lizzie. ‘You know they need a lot of exercise,’ he said.
‘I’m sorry?’ There it was again. Another apology.
‘Boxers,’ he said with barely masked impatience. ‘They need a lot of exercise. My family had a couple when we were growing up.’
‘Oh. Right,’ she smiled as if they were having a cheerful exchange of dog facts.
‘So you can’t keep him cooped up in a bookshop all day. He’ll go potty.’
Lizzie did her best to ignore the implied criticism. ‘Well I do take him for walks.’
‘How many times a day?’
She didn’t like the way he was interrogating her. It was making her feel uncomfortable. She glanced towards the back room but Susie was obviously deep in conversation with Mrs Nussbaum. ‘Er, once?’
Ben looked almost triumphant. ‘He needs to go out at least twice a day.’
‘Okay,’ said Lizzie feeling anything but.
‘I’m serious. This is a very energetic dog. Anything less than that is just cruel.’ He folded his arms and looked at her as if he’d just thrown down a challenge.
‘Well I’ll do my best,’ said Lizzie feeling cornered.
Ben shook his head in exasperation. ‘It just infuriates me that people take on dogs without any thought for what they need. It’s all about the humans - selfish, lazy humans.’
‘Well I’m sorry that you feel like that but Bambi is actually very well loved and happy,’ said Lizzie in a small voice. She wanted this rude, judgemental man to go away so that she could go home and re-read Bea’s letter and have a good cry. She didn’t understand why he was being so unkind to her. She’d only just met him.
Ben put out a hand to pat the dog and his face softened. He looked back at Lizzie with a flicker of regret and was about to say something when Susie came bustling from the back of the shop. ‘What a lovely lady,’ she declared. Glancing at Lizzie and Ben, she immediately picked up on the mood. ‘What did he say?’ she demanded. Ben rolled his eyes.
‘Nothing. It’s fine,’ lied Lizzie. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got somewhere I need to be.’
Susie shot a scowl at her brother before turning to Lizzie and touching her on the arm. ‘Ignore him. He’s still getting over a very messy divorce and it’s turning him into a sociopath.’
‘Why don’t you take out an ad in the paper and tell everyone my business?’ cried Ben, throwing up his arms.
‘Good idea,’ said Susie, winking at Lizzie.
‘Oh I’ve had enough. I’ll see you later,’ said Ben disappearing out of the door.
Susie grimaced. ‘Sorry about that. I said too much. It’s one of my failings. He’s a good guy really, just had a tough time and I’m doing my best to look out for him, you know?’
‘I do,’ said Lizzie, thinking that she really did know about sisters looking out for their siblings. ‘And don’t worry. It’s really none of my business.’ And it’s never likely to be, she thought.
‘Well I’ll see you around. Pop in any time. I could do with some light relief from my brother’s erratic moods,’ smiled Susie.
‘Okay,’ said Lizzie. ‘See you.’ She locked the door behind her and breathed a sigh of relief. Susie was lovely but Lizzie decided to steer clear of Ben. She might give the coffee shop a miss for a while.
Arriving home a little later to find Bea’s letters where she had left them that morning made Lizzie smile. She wondered what her sister would have thought of Ben. Bea would have given him a piece of her mind. She wouldn’t have let him speak to her as Lizzie had. Her phone buzzed with a text. It was from Joe.
‘How about London Zoo at 11 on Sunday? Looking forward to seeing you.’
After her encounter with Ben, she found his words reassuring. There were people who wanted to see her, who were looking forward to seeing her and they were people who probably loved Bea as much as she did. She experienced a tingle of excited anticipation as she texted back.
‘Great. Looking forward to it too.’
She realised that this was true and it was a strange and new sensation. It was as if there were two versions of Lizzie now; the lonely one that lived in her safe, protected world here with her books and eccentric customers, and the other Lizzie, who was about to embark on a journey into the unknown. Lizzie wasn’t sure which version she wanted to be but knew that she had to find out.
Chapter Four (#ulink_df279dd1-9f1c-53ad-a245-649789c5638f)
The Following Sunday
Lizzie had forgotten how long the walk was from Camden Town to the zoo and arrived out of breath, late and with a new blister on her heel. It had been drizzly and overcast when she left home but now the cloud was lifting and the early autumn sun was doing its best to warm the day. She spotted Joe and Sam waiting at the entrance wearing cagoules and rucksacks. She smiled and waved, hurrying across the road to greet them with a breathless, ‘Sorry! Have you been here long?’ Joe dismissed her concern with a smiling shake of his head but Sam was less forgiving.
‘Over half an hour,’ he said with a frown.
Joe raised his eyebrows. ‘It’s fine, Lizzie. Don’t worry,’ he said, giving Sam a warning nudge.
‘Okay. Sorry. Shall we go in?’ said Lizzie, feeling as if she’d fallen at the first hurdle and needed to keep them moving. The queue was long and slow and as they waited, Sam started to fidget.
‘How much longer?’ he moaned to his father.
‘It takes as long as it takes, Sammy,’ said Joe giving Lizzie a conspiratorial smile.
‘I need the loo,’ declared Sam.
Joe rolled his eyes. ‘Really? Right now?’ Sam shrugged.
‘You two go. I’ll wait in line,’ said Lizzie, already feeling out of her depth. Joe smiled gratefully and led Sam away. It took Lizzie another twenty minutes to buy the tickets. By the time she met them just inside the entrance, the sun was beating down and she felt sticky and hot.
‘Phew! I could do with an ice cream. How about I treat us all to one?’ she said trying to break the ice.
‘But we haven’t seen anything yet,’ said Sam.
‘Oh. No. Well maybe we could have one in a bit,’ said Lizzie. She noticed that Sam was addressing all his comments to his father and realised that this wasn’t going to be easy.
‘Well I’d love one,’ said Joe. ‘Thank you, Lizzie,’ he added, giving Sam a meaningful look.
‘Oh all right then,’ said Sam rolling his eyes and when his father raised his eyebrows at him, ‘Thank you.’
Lizzie returned with their ice creams and Joe opened the map. ‘So what do we want to see first?’
Sam shrugged. ‘Whatever.’
‘Well I vote for the penguins. Come on, follow me!’ Joe led them along the path past the birds of prey and some rather frightening-looking vultures. ‘Don’t like the look of those!’ he declared cheerfully. Sam ambled along in silence, licking his ice-cream. They reached the penguins just as a zookeeper was about to feed them. ‘Oh brilliant,’ said Joe, ‘perfect timing. Look Sam.’ They watched as the penguins lined up in comical anticipation, shuffling for best position to win a fishy treat. Lizzie looked at Sam’s face which was lost in wonder, listening to the keeper deliver her speech. As the first fish was thrown and one of the penguins darted forwards to catch it, she saw the ghost of a smile cross his face.
Joe moved to stand next to Lizzie. ‘He’s a good kid,’ he said.
‘I’m sure,’ she said.
‘It’s been really hard for him.’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s hard for all of us, but Sam’s just a child. He talks like a teenager, he’s got attitude like a teenager, but he’s still a child who’s lost his mother.’ Lizzie nodded. She hadn’t expected Joe to be this open and was starting to realise how little she really knew him. She had only met him a handful of times and if she was honest, had always dismissed him as Bea’s other half and no match for her perfect sister. ‘I’m glad you called, Lizzie. I think it will help, and Sam never stays grumpy for long. I was surprised to hear from you though.’
Lizzie was ready for this. ‘I decided it was time I got to know you properly.’ She didn’t want to mention the letters. She was still working them out in her own head.
‘Well I’m glad you did. You must miss her terribly.’
Lizzie looked at him. He was a washed-out version of the Joe she remembered from years ago. He had always been tall and thin but he looked as if he’d lost more weight than he needed to. He also seemed stooped as if grief was pushing him into the ground and his face was bristly with accidental stubble; the kind that sprouted due to lack of care.
She felt an unexpected wave of fondness. ‘I do. Probably just as much as you.’
He nodded. Lizzie could see how he was struggling to keep everything together. She surprised herself by reaching out a hand to touch him on the arm. ‘It’s okay. I understand.’
He smiled at her gratefully and it was as if those two words were the permission he needed to confide. ‘I still say good morning to her,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ve got her photograph beside the bed and every morning I say, Morning you, still not here then.’ He gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘I’ve never told anyone that.’ Lizzie smiled. ‘You know how she used to look at people with those cat-like eyes?’ Lizzie nodded. ‘It was like you were the only person in the room. She had such presence didn’t she? And energy. And enthusiasm for life. Sometimes I feel as if Sam and I are rattling around the house like the last two balls on a snooker table. She gave us direction, you know?’ Lizzie nodded again. She knew this only too well. ‘I mean I’ve always looked after Sam, played the house-husband and all that, but she always came back. I keep expecting her to come back. Like in the mornings when I wake up, I forget she’s gone. I half expect to hear the shower hissing like in the days when she went out to work. I can almost imagine her bursting back through the bedroom door, bustling round the room, getting ready. Sam would usually have got into bed next to me and nestled into Bea’s space. Bea would often stalk towards him, fingers ready for tickling and growl, Who’s been sleeping in my bed?’ He grinned at the memory and it seemed to Lizzie as if he were lost, almost forgetting where he was. She noticed him bite his lip in an attempt to suppress the emotion. ‘Hark at me going on. Sorry, Lizzie. It’s just good to talk to someone who knew her,’ he said.
‘Don’t give it a second thought. It is good to have someone to talk to,’ said Lizzie. As soon as the words were out of her mouth Lizzie realised the truth behind them. Bea had been the only person Lizzie had ever confided in. She was the only one who really understood and yet here was Joe, opening up to her as if they’d been friends all their lives. She admired the way he could reveal the details of his grief to her and she understood what he was saying. She felt it too. She wouldn’t necessarily reciprocate but she found it comforting to be talking about her sister and gave him an encouraging smile.
Sam appeared between them now, his face a picture of delight. ‘Did you see them, Dad? They were so cool, like funny little men. They’re called Humboldt penguins and they can swim at 20 miles an hour!’
Joe grinned at Lizzie and wrapped an arm round his son. ‘I did, Sammy. They’re hilarious!’
‘Come on,’ said Sam. ‘Let’s go and see the monkeys!’
By lunchtime, Lizzie was still in two minds as to whether meeting Sam and Joe had been the right thing to do. It had been easier with Joe than she expected and she liked him more than she thought she would. Sam was a tougher nut to crack. She’d had little experience of kids but she’d presumed them to be straightforward beings with simple needs. She’d presumed wrong. It wasn’t that she’d expected him to collapse into her arms with a cry of, ‘I love you, Auntie Lizzie.’ She had played no real part in Sam’s life and was a relative stranger. Why would he be impressed or friendly towards her just because she was related to his mother? Still, she thought she’d seen a spark of something at the funeral but it was yet to ignite today. Once, Joe had suggested that he and Lizzie pose for a photograph in the butterfly house but Sam had shaken his head angrily and wandered off. Joe had given Lizzie a sheepish look of apology, which she had dismissed with a wave of her hand. She did enjoy watching Joe and Sam together though. They had a straightforward relationship, which she didn’t recognise from her own childhood. Parents seemed to form friendship-like relationships with their kids these days. She remembered her relationship with her parents as always being stilted and off-centre, like a badly hung picture. It was as if they had never quite understood each other.
They went to the cafe for lunch, Joe waving away Lizzie’s protestations by insisting on paying. Sam had opted for pizza whilst Lizzie asked for a sandwich and a coffee. Joe had told them to find a table while he went in search of food. Lizzie saw Sam hesitate as his father walked away so decided to lead the way towards a recently vacated table by the window. Lizzie cleared away the empty cartons and drinks containers whilst Sam plonked himself down, staring out towards the flamingos and pelicans. He didn’t speak or look at her when she sat next to him. She looked over to where Joe was queuing, hoping that he might be on his way over but she could see him waving from the end of a very long queue. She wracked her brains for an easy topic but Sam beat her to it.
‘Did you ever come to see me when I was little?’ he asked.
It was a fair question. ‘Once,’ she admitted.
‘When? I don’t remember.’
‘Your mum brought you over to see me when you were a baby.’
Sam nodded. ‘Why only once?’
Lizzie bit her lip. ‘Erm, it’s a bit complicated.’
Sam rolled his eyes. ‘That’s what people say when they don’t want to tell you the truth.’
‘Is that right?’ she replied, amused once again by her nephew’s frankness.
‘Yep.’
‘Well have you ever considered that people sometimes don’t tell the truth in order to protect themselves?’ She surprised herself with this comment but there was something about Sam that gave her permission to speak plainly.
Sam thought about this. ‘Is that what you’ve done?’
Lizzie looked at his earnest face. It was like looking at a little boy version of Bea and she had to glance out of the window in order to compose herself. ‘Yes. I think it is.’
‘Is that why you don’t come over to see Granny and you didn’t see Grandpa before he died?’
Lizzie knew there was no wriggling out of this. ‘Partly because of that and partly because I was angry. Do you understand?’
‘Not really,’ admitted Sam.
Lizzie was relieved when Joe appeared with their food. ‘Here we are then. They only had pizza with olives, Sammy, so you’ll have to flick them at me or Auntie Lizzie,’ he grinned.
Sam and Lizzie ate in silence with Joe adding comments from time to time. Lizzie noticed he did this, probably to keep things moving and stop them dwelling on recent events. It must have been exhausting for him. After lunch, Sam wanted to look in the gift shop. Joe and Lizzie stood back whilst Sam browsed the shelves.
‘Did he give you the third degree while I was in the queue?’ asked Joe.
Lizzie nodded. ‘You could say that. He wanted to know why we hadn’t met before.’
Joe grimaced. ‘Sorry, Lizzie.’
She shrugged. ‘It’s fine. It’s inevitable I guess.’
‘He’s got a lot of questions and he’s been quite angry with Bea lately.’
Sam appeared looking victorious, carrying a gorilla that was nearly as big as him. Lizzie almost gasped because he looked so like Bea before she was ill; so bright and full of energy. ‘Can I have this, Dad? Pleeease?’
Joe shook his head. ‘Honestly Sammy, not another cuddly toy?’
‘Can I buy it for you?’ asked Lizzie. Joe looked unsure. ‘I’d really like to.’
‘Well if you’re sure. Sam, what do you say?’
Sam looked at Lizzie. ‘You don’t have to buy me something to make me like you.’
‘Sam!’ warned Joe.
‘No Joe, it’s fine,’ said Lizzie. She drew nearer to Sam. ‘I know we’ve only just met and I’ve missed out on a lot of you growing up. I’m sorry for that. There are lots of things that happened to me in the past but none of them are your fault. One day you might understand what happened but for now, I would really like to get to know you a little better. The truth is I’m missing your mum so much and I know you are too.’ Lizzie was amazed how easy it was to admit this to Sam. It was almost like talking to Bea. Joe gave her an encouraging smile so she continued. ‘I just think we could be friends if we tried but I’d like to buy you something, not in order to buy your friendship, but just because I’d like to buy you something. I guess it could be a way of me saying sorry for not being around before. You can call it Lizzie if you like and punch it on the nose if you feel mad at me. Would that be okay?’
The corner of Sam’s mouth twitched with a smile. He paused before holding out the gorilla. ‘Okay. Thank you,’ he said. She nodded.
Once outside Sam, Lizzie and Joe walked side by side in companionable silence.
‘Oh damn, I left my jacket in the cafe,’ said Joe after a few steps.
‘It’s okay. You go back. I’ll walk with Sam, if that’s okay, Sam?’
Sam gave a shrug. ‘Sure. Let’s take Lizzie to see the other gorillas,’ he grinned, holding up the toy.
Lizzie laughed. She could tell that Sam shared the same sense of humour as his mother; teasing and cheeky. ‘Right, that’s it, you’re for it!’ she cried, making a move towards him. He chuckled and neatly side-stepped her advances, darting off towards the gorillas.
‘I’ll catch you up then,’ called Joe. Lizzie waved him away and hurried after Sam. He was an athletic ten-year-old and disappeared quickly into the crowd. She panicked as she lost sight of him. It was busy and she had to apologise and edge her way through the crowds, imagining what Bea would say if she could see her now. ‘One day, that was all I asked for and you go and lose my boy!’ Luckily, the crowd dispersed and she spotted him as she reached the enclosure, hot and out of breath. She could see him standing very still in front of the glass barrier, holding up the toy as if showing it to the animal on the other side. When Lizzie was close by she could see the gorilla through the glass and it took her breath away because it was as if he and Sam were mirroring one another. This majestic giant was looking at Sam with such sad tenderness and Sam was staring back with a similar gaze of melancholy and longing. He reached out his hand to touch the glass and the animal looked at it for a second before turning away. Sam remained rooted to the spot and as Lizzie reached his side, she realised that he was crying; huge silent tears rolling down his face. Like a reflex in her brain, Lizzie reached out and pulled him close, feeling comfort in his small, warm body.
‘I hate her,’ whispered Sam. Lizzie didn’t say anything but just pulled him tighter to her, blinking back her own tears.
By the time Joe caught up with them, they had both calmed down and were sitting on a bench watching the gorillas.
‘Magnificent, aren’t they?’ said Joe.
‘Can we go home now please, Dad?’ asked Sam.
Joe looked at them both. ‘I think that’s a good idea. It’s been an exciting but tiring day.’ They made their way towards the exit. Lizzie felt someone tap her on the shoulder. She turned to see a smiling woman of about the same age as her. ‘Excuse me, your son left this behind,’ she said holding up the gorilla toy.
‘Oh he’s not my –’ began Lizzie but the woman had gone before she had a chance to get her words out. She followed Sam and Joe to the exit and held up the gorilla. ‘You dropped Lizzie,’ she said smiling.
‘I think we should call him Guy,’ said Sam with a shy smile.
Lizzie felt something tug at her heart. It was like a door opening. ‘Guy it is,’ she said handing him over.
‘Come on then, Dad,’ said Sam, tugging at his father’s sleeve.
‘I think I’m off now, Lizzie,’ laughed Joe yielding to his son. He leant over to kiss her on the cheek. ‘Thanks for suggesting today. It was really good to see you. I think it’s done us both the world of good,’ he said, glancing over at Sam. ‘Maybe we can do it again some time?’
She nodded and waved them goodbye before making her way back towards the Tube. Once on the train, Lizzie slumped into a seat, feeling exhausted. Joe’s question rang in her ears. Bea’s letter had asked her to spend one day with them. She had done that but of course, Bea knew Lizzie better than she knew herself. It hadn’t been easy with Sam but there was something about his earnest questioning, his fierce search for the truth, that Lizzie loved. There was so much of Bea about him that Lizzie was almost hungry for more. Plus she liked Joe and she enjoyed talking to him about Bea. She was starting to realise that they were the only connection she still had to her sister and now that she’d found that, she couldn’t let it go.
Chapter Five (#ulink_c530d2bb-bdf6-57b9-870b-77a5689f267c)
September
Lizzie cradled her tea mug in both hands and looked out of the window, blinking in the warm sunlight. The leaves were starting to turn now; red and orange mingled with fading green. The wind was whipping wisps of cloud across the surface of the sky, shaking the trees in the churchyard opposite the shop with some force. Lizzie noticed a few conkers drop to the ground like tiny, spiky bombs. It made her think of being a child when she and Bea would rush from tree to tree, collecting as many as they could carry, stuffing their pockets so that they could barely walk. Some people hated autumn as the trees lost their leaves and the inevitability of winter crept in, but Lizzie had loved autumn as a child. Living in the countryside, they were much more in touch with the changing seasons. She could remember days outside, scrumping for the last remaining apples, watching as the pumpkins her father planted snaked around the garden like something from Cinderella and most of all just being with her sister. As a small child, everything had been about Bea; playing with her, running after her as she ran through piles of leaves, following her instructions whilst they built dens and hide-outs. She had loved every second.
Her thoughts turned to Sam as they often seemed to when she thought of Bea these days. She had phoned once since their trip to the zoo and spoken to Joe. Lizzie could tell from his tone that he was pleased to hear from her but they hadn’t discussed meeting again. In truth, once Lizzie had returned to the relative security of the bookshop, she had let herself off the hook a little. She wanted to maintain contact with Sam and Joe but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face Sam’s bald questioning again. It churned up too many things that she’d rather keep buried. However, Lizzie was starting to realise that the past couldn’t be ignored forever. Truths were going to be faced. Bea had made sure of that.
The second letter was sitting on her kitchen counter like a dare. She couldn’t believe how quickly a month had passed since she had read the first letter.
She felt a shiver of excitement as she moved towards the counter and picked up the envelope. These final words from her sister were precious morsels to be savoured, even if she was nervous of their contents. She glanced up at the clock. She still had time before work. She held up the envelope and breathed in. There was a definite scent of Bea; it was faint but it was still there. Lizzie smiled as she carefully sliced it open and took out the letter.
Dear Lizzie,
So now I know that if you’re reading this you will have spent a day with Joe and Sam. Thank you for doing that. It means the world to me that you have made that connection. I know you didn’t know Joe properly so I hope you can see what a good man he is. As for Sam, I can only imagine that he had a lot of questions for you. I hope he didn’t give you too hard a time and that you were able to see past all that to the lovely boy inside. I just wish I could have been there to see it.
So you might breathe a sigh of relief when I tell you that my next wish is not about the family. It’s about you – all about you, lovely Lizzie.
Do you remember how important your friends were, when you were a teenager? I do. I remember you all hanging out at Fernando’s drinking milkshakes and eating cheesecake because you wanted to be like American teenagers. I remember the first time we saw Grease together and I watched your face as you absorbed every detail, loving every second. The week after, you and your friends had decided to become the Pink Ladies and you told me that you wanted to be like Rizzo because she was the coolest. You were such a close group, although you sometimes got a little out of hand (following that dare to tell the woman on the bus that her baby looked like a monkey was not perhaps your best move – I never thought Mum was going to let you out of the house after that). So you were naughty but you weren’t mean and you’ve got to admit they were happy times.
After the fall-out with Mum and Alex, I guess you felt let down. I know your friends’ mothers wouldn’t allow them to stay in touch with you and I know you felt so wounded by that and what went on afterwards that you found it hard to trust anyone apart from me.
Well here’s the thing, my lovely sister. I think it’s time you made a new friend. I mean obviously, no one could ever replace me because I’m bloody brilliant but seriously, Lizzie Lou, I think you need to find someone to talk to, someone outside the family, preferably who knows nothing about us.
So that’s my next wish. Make a new friend, Lizzie. Find someone who will be kind and who you can trust and tell them everything that’s in your heart. It will help. I promise.
Love you,
Bea x
Lizzie smiled and put the letter down on the counter, smoothing her hand over the paper as if by touching Bea’s words, she could somehow bring back the essence of her sister. She was touched by this wish. It felt so personal, as if her sister was looking after her by making it. And it was true. She had lived without a proper friend, excepting Bea, for so many years. It had been deliberate really; a way of protecting herself from what she saw as inevitable disappointment. If you didn’t let people get too close, they couldn’t let you down and so you would never get hurt. It had suited her because she had always had Bea. Now, of course, that was no longer the case.
The thought of making a new friend, of having someone to talk to, sort of excited her but it frightened her too. What if it went wrong? What if they let her down or rejected her? Bea wasn’t there to help her pick up the pieces so what would she do then?
On the other hand, she could see the value of having someone to talk to, someone with whom to share your thoughts and feelings. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to share everything though. There were events from her past that she wanted to leave in the past but she had enjoyed talking to Joe and maybe it was time to open up a little, even if she just talked about Bea. There was comfort in sharing tales of her sister and joy too. Maybe it was time to allow herself that.
She noticed that her heart was beating a little faster as she made her way downstairs to open the shop and she recognised a tiny knot of excitement in the pit of her stomach. There was anticipation too but it was as if this latest wish made sense. It felt right somehow even if it scared the hell out of her.
Of course the question was, who to choose. When Lizzie heard the back door open and a flurry of paws as Mrs Nussbaum arrived with Bambi, she realised that the old lady was probably the closest thing to a friend that she had. However, they had never really opened up to one another. It was partly a generational issue. Mrs Nussbaum belonged to an age when feelings were not readily shared. Lizzie knew that she missed her husband but she never really talked about it on a day to day basis. Life at the bookshop was a reassuring mix of crosswords, orders and helping people to choose books. Lizzie wondered if she could be anything other than an acquaintance; a good one but an acquaintance nonetheless. She smiled at them both as they appeared at the back of the shop.
‘Guten Morgen, Lizzie,’ beamed Mrs Nussbaum.
‘Ro ro,’ echoed Bambi in greeting.
‘Morning, both,’ smiled Lizzie. ‘And how are we today?’
‘Ja, still very old but still above ground,’ said Mrs Nussbaum with a wry smile. ‘Shall I put on the kettle?’
‘Lovely,’ said Lizzie.
The morning passed like so many mornings. They drank tea, Mrs Nussbaum read out the crossword clues and they completed it in record time. ‘We might have to move on to something more tricky,’ she observed.
All the while, Lizzie was working round the shop, restocking, phoning through orders and helping customers. When there was a lull, she would glance over at Mrs Nussbaum and wonder about trying to talk to her. She didn’t want to launch straight into discussing Bea. She couldn’t really. It would be an odd conversation starter. ‘By the way, my sister died about six weeks ago. Sorry, forgot to mention it. Oh and she was my whole life and now I really need someone to talk to. How about it?’ Lizzie imagined that Mrs Nussbaum would either question her mental health or sack her or both. She tried a couple of conversation starters, just to gauge her reaction.
‘So how are you feeling today, Mrs N?’
Mrs Nussbaum peered at her over her half-moon spectacles which she wore on a gold chain around her neck. ‘Ja. My hip is playing up a little but I think it’s this verdammtes English weather.’
Lizzie had nodded, wondering if she could bring the conversation round to matters of the heart. ‘I’ve never really asked you how long it’s been since you lost your Leonard.’
Mrs Nussbaum looked a little surprised by the change of conversation from joint ache to death but answered nonetheless. ‘Ach, it will be five years next February.’
‘Gosh,’ said Lizzie. She realised how out of practice she was at this. ‘That must be hard.’
Mrs Nussbaum shrugged. ‘It is what it is. I cannot be weinen and weeping all the time. And he was a pain in the Arsch sometimes. Now have you seen Mrs Fothergill’s poetry order?’
Lizzie sighed inwardly. She was very fond of Mrs Nussbaum but she could see that she wasn’t the ideal candidate for her BFF and she probably wasn’t exactly what Bea had in mind. In fact, she could almost hear Bea telling her now, ‘I didn’t mean a slightly deaf eighty-year-old lady even if you do share a love of Aldous Huxley and cheesecake. I meant someone you can drink Cosmopolitans with and laugh until you wee yourselves.’ And it was then that it hit Lizzie squarely between the eyes like a Cupid’s arrow for friends. Susie. She was just the kind of friend Bea would pick for Lizzie. She was friendly and funny; she might talk too much but that could be a good thing as Lizzie got used to opening up to someone other than Bea. She had asked Lizzie out for a drink on more than one occasion and she seemed like fun. Fun. That felt like an alien word to Lizzie these days but she sensed that Bea wanted her to embrace it. ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’. ‘All I Wanna Do Is Have Some Fun.’ The more Lizzie thought about it, the more the bubble of excitement from the morning started to grow. She should do this. It would be fine because it came from Bea and Lizzie knew that she would never make her do anything that would hurt her.
Lizzie was resolved. She was going to march into the coffee shop and casually suggest that she and Susie go for a drink some time. And that was when the other thought hit her. Ben. She didn’t like him. There was something sour and draining about his demeanour that Lizzie didn’t need at the moment. She needed positive, upbeat people. Lizzie needed someone like Susie but she didn’t want to have to deal with her disagreeable brother as well.
When mid-afternoon arrived, Mrs Nussbaum’s thoughts turned to cake and Lizzie was despatched to fetch some tea-time treats. This was her golden opportunity. Still, she felt sick with nerves as she pushed the door of the coffee shop but flooded with relief when she spotted Susie alone behind the counter.
‘Hi, Lizzie!’ she cried as if greeting her oldest and dearest friend.
Lizzie was about to open her mouth when Ben appeared from the kitchen. His face was set, as ever, in an irritated frown. He ignored Lizzie and spoke to his sister. ‘I’m going to the bank and then I need to pop to the shops.’
Susie folded her arms and glared at him. ‘Well I hope you’re going to buy some manners because you haven’t shown any to Lizzie,’ she said, glancing at her.
Ben rolled his eyes and muttered. ‘What are you, my mother?’
Susie wasn’t about to let this go. ‘We’ve talked about this. You’ve got to stop taking your crap out on the rest of the world! Sorry Lizzie,’ she said, holding up a hand to her friend, who was now wishing that the ground would open up and swallow her. This wasn’t how she had hoped the scene would play out.
‘It’s none of my business. Really,’ she said in a small voice.
‘No, I’m sorry but I’m not having this,’ said Susie fiercely. ‘Ben, you need to apologise to Lizzie.’
Ben sighed and shook his head in disbelief. ‘No wonder I cut the head off your Barbie,’ he muttered.
Susie smacked him on the arm. Ben glared at her before composing himself. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, glancing at Lizzie.
She gave a small smile. ‘It’s fine. Really.’
He nodded before turning to his sister. ‘Can I go now?’ This was uttered more like a child asking its mother a question than with any attitude.
‘Go on, be off with you,’ smiled Susie, giving him a playful shove. After he’d left, she turned to Lizzie. ‘He is sorry. He’s not usually such a horror and I am a bossy cow but I think it’s what he needs at the moment. Anyway, what can I get you?’
Lizzie cleared her throat and stared at her hands. Go on, ask her you fool. ‘I just wondered – ’ she began, ‘if you – ’ Susie was smiling at her with encouragement. ‘– had any more of that delicious Millionaire’s Shortbread left?’
‘Sure,’ she grinned at Lizzie. ‘Two pieces is it?’ Lizzie nodded, feeling a sense of encroaching disappointment. She was going to fail on her mission. ‘Actually,’ continued Susie,’ I was going to ask you if you fancied coming out for a drink some time. I know you were busy when I asked before so do you fancy it? I could do with getting out of the flat away from mopey Ben if I’m being brutally honest, but I reckon we should get to know each other, seeing as we’re shop neighbours.’
Lizzie almost stuttered over her words. ‘That would be great. I would love that. Really.’ Her heart surged with joy. She had done what Bea had asked or rather she was on her way to achieving it. She would go home tonight feeling rather proud of herself.
‘Great. How about this evening?’ suggested Susie.
Lizzie faltered. She hadn’t expected this. Of course she had realised that becoming friends with someone would involve actually spending time with that person but she had assumed that she might have a little more time to get used to the idea. Susie was looking at her expectantly now and Lizzie knew that if she hesitated, all would be lost. ‘Lovely,’ she found herself saying in a voice that didn’t really sound like her own.
‘Brilliant. How about The Coach and Horses around eight? It’s a bit less spit and sawdust than some of the other pubs around here.’
‘Lovely,’ repeated Lizzie because she couldn’t think of anything else to say. She had to do this now. She had no choice.
‘Perfect. Looking forward to it,’ said Susie. ‘See you later.’
Lizzie nodded and made her way back to the bookshop.
‘Ach Lizzie, I thought you had been abducted by aliens,’ smiled Mrs Nussbaum as she entered the shop. ‘And did you forget something?’ she added. Lizzie looked down at her hands and realised that they were empty. Mrs Nussbaum patted Lizzie on the arm on the way past. ‘I will go, my dear. You do not quite seem yourself today. You seem a little different. Are you all right?’
‘Sorry. Yes I’m fine,’ she said. Mrs Nussbaum nodded and disappeared next door. Lizzie smiled to herself. She was feeling different, as if the ground beneath her feet was starting to shift. They were only tiny movements; small tremors in the grand scheme of things, but still the ripples could have a profound effect. They might even change her life forever.
Chapter Six (#ulink_79ae7709-2b89-52e9-943f-ec988a462a44)
Early October
Lizzie had a new friend and her name was Susie. Their first evening out had been a success and Lizzie had found herself enjoying Susie’s company in a way that she hadn’t enjoyed a person’s company for a long time. It was different to spending time with Bea. She had enthusiasm and warmth like Bea, but none of that shared history of course. At first, Lizzie thought she might find this a problem but in many ways it was liberating. She didn’t need to be Lizzie with the troubled past and emotional baggage. She didn’t have to be anyone really. She could almost start from scratch; be whoever she wanted to be. Susie wasn’t to know. And Lizzie’s hunch had been correct. Susie liked to talk but she listened too. She was more the instigator of topics but she always wanted to know what Lizzie thought. This also felt a little different to conversations with Bea. In the inevitable family hierarchy, Bea was Queen Bea (their father had even given her this nickname). Lizzie never minded. She idolised her sister and Bea never used her position to lord it over her. However, it meant that over the years her conversations with Bea had usually involved Lizzie going to her with a problem and Bea offering a solution. Lizzie was pretty sure she could go to Susie for advice if she needed to but their emerging friendship was about more than that. It was more even somehow and that felt surprisingly good.
During the first evening in the pub, Lizzie had been relieved that the conversation hadn’t veered towards questions of the past or her family. They talked about the day to day, about the bookshop, Mrs Nussbaum and then the coffee shop. Susie had talked about Ben, about how responsible she felt for him, about how angry she had been when his ex-wife had cheated on him and finally left him. Lizzie found herself liking Susie even more for her sibling loyalty but she also found her own attitude towards Ben softening somewhat. She could see that perhaps she’d been an easy target for his anger. Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about. Lizzie understood this more than most.
They had left the pub late and to Lizzie’s surprise, she felt a little tipsy as the evening air filled her lungs. She had wobbled on her feet and Susie had put out an arm to steady her and then linked her arm through Lizzie’s as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Lizzie felt a moment of pure happiness right then, partly induced by the alcohol, but partly because there was someone who cared about her; someone other than Bea.
They had made these excursions a weekly event after that and Lizzie found herself looking forward to the evening, to enjoying the ritual of picking out something to wear and applying a little make-up before she went to meet Susie. It was just an evening in the pub and she knew she didn’t need to make an effort. When she wondered who she was doing it for, she realised that she was doing it for herself and that felt right and long overdue.
On their third night out, Susie had arrived late as usual (Lizzie even relished this novelty as she had usually been the one to arrive late to meet her religiously punctual sister). As she burst through the door with customary vim, she spotted Lizzie and waved. Lizzie smiled and waved back at her friend. Her friend. Just the thought of it cheered her.
‘I’ve had an idea!’ cried Susie, rushing over and placing a hand on Lizzie’s shoulder. Lizzie had discovered that Susie was a very tactile person. It had taken her a while to get used to her easy affection but it was another thing she was starting to like. Lizzie raised her eyebrows ready for her friend’s announcement. Susie gave the coy look of a person with a secret. ‘You should start a book group!’ she cried triumphantly.
‘A book group?’ said Lizzie uncertainly.
‘Yesss! And you should hold it at the coffee shop.’
Lizzie looked even less certain. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh yes. I’ve told Ben and he thinks it’s a great idea.’
‘Did he use those exact words?’
Susie grimaced and swayed her head from side to side as if trying to think of the best response. ‘Not those exact words.’
‘I don’t think we should do it if he’s not keen.’
Susie batted her protestations away with a flick of her hand. ‘Pfff! He’s not keen on anything at the moment. Don’t worry. I’ll make him see sense. It could work so well. A big space for the group. Free publicity for us. It’s just what this community needs!’
‘But who’s going to run it?’
Susie looked at her in astonishment. ‘Why you, dear Lizzie!’
Lizzie shook her head. ‘I couldn’t. I wouldn’t know what to say.’
Susie gave her a look of mock sternness. ‘Now we’re having none of that self-doubt nonsense. You know everything about books. You’ll be brilliant.’ Susie uttered this with such finality and Lizzie was suddenly struck by how like Bea she sounded. She had always done her best to banish Lizzie’s cloud of self-doubt. It hadn’t worked that well but she had tried. Susie was staring at her now, energy and enthusiasm radiating from every pore. ‘I’ll be there. I’ll help you. We’ll put up posters in the coffee shop and bookshop, maybe a small ad in the local newspaper. Then we’ll get in some wine and nibbles. It will be great.’ Her face was so open and sincere.
‘Do you really think I could do it?’
Susie gave her a reassuring smile. ‘Of course. I’m your friend. I wouldn’t tell you to do something you couldn’t.’
Lizzie looked at her and felt overwhelmed by her simple words. They reached out to her and she couldn’t ignore them. She took a deep breath. ‘Why not?’
‘That’s the spirit. Right, now I need a drink. Is that the Rioja?’ Lizzie nodded. ‘I’ll just get a bottle shall I? Oh and by the way, Ben has actually shown himself to be quite useful by suggesting a book.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Lizzie intrigued.
‘Yes. It’s Toast by Nigel Slater. Do you know it?’
‘Er, yes,’ said Lizzie feeling wrong-footed all of a sudden.
‘Back in a sec,’ said Susie, heading to the bar.
Lizzie couldn’t believe that Ben, of all people, had actually chosen one of Bea’s favourite books. It took her a second to compute this fact and it made her think about one of the rare occasions when Bea had visited Lizzie at her flat. It had been during the middle stages of Bea’s illness when she was still able to drive. Bea had phoned out of the blue and said that she needed to escape for the night. It was one of the few times when Lizzie had felt that she was caring for her sister and it also made her realise just how sick she actually was.
Lizzie had cooked spaghetti Bolognese, which had been a childhood favourite and they had sat on the sofa watching Nigel Slater on the television.
‘Sit down, Nigel!’ Bea had cried as he ate another dish standing up. ‘I love that man,’ she declared. ‘I know we’d be best friends if we met.’ Lizzie noticed that her sister hardly ate anything. She had always been slim but she was starting to lose weight around her face now too.
By nine o’clock Bea was looking tired and Lizzie had suggested that they turn in. ‘I’ll sleep on the sofa,’ she said.
Bea shook her head. ‘No. We can share your bed, like old times at Granny’s.’
Lizzie had smiled. They had snuggled down together and Lizzie could see Bea’s eyes starting to close. ‘No kicking or stealing the duvet,’ said Bea sleepily. ‘I remember what you were like.’ Lizzie had watched her sister as she fell asleep and felt utterly helpless. It was the first time she had realised that she might not always be there for her. She had moved down the bed and nestled alongside Bea feeling the warmth of her sister’s body beside her and wishing that she could hold onto this moment forever.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Susie as she returned with the wine and another glass.
Lizzie looked up at her and realised that there were fat tears rolling down her cheeks onto the beer-stained table. There were too many tears to blame it on hay-fever. Susie was staring at her with such concern that before Lizzie could stop herself, she said, ‘I was just thinking about my sister. Toast was one of her favourite books.’
Lizzie stared down at her hands and Susie reached out and took hold of one of them. ‘What happened, Lizzie?’ She said it so gently and softly that Lizzie didn’t want to hold back the truth any longer. And so she told her new friend all about Bea; about how funny, wonderful and clever she was. Lizzie told her how much she loved her sister and how, since the day Bea died, it had felt as if a significant part of her heart was missing.
Susie listened in rapt silence and when Lizzie had finished she had said simply, ‘I wish I could have met her. She sounds amazing.’
Lizzie nodded. ‘She was. You would have got on very well, I think.’
Susie gave her a searching look. ‘I thought you were carrying around something sad. I’m touched that you’ve talked to me about it.’
Lizzie realised how good it felt to be talking about her sister. She liked remembering her. It felt important. ‘I’m glad to have you to talk to,’ she said.
Susie smiled and lifted her glass. ‘To Bea,’ she said.
Lizzie tapped her glass against Susie’s. ‘To Bea.’
After that evening, something in Lizzie changed. It was a small change, nothing major but a change nonetheless. She felt lighter in her being somehow, as if someone was there to support her. She had someone to turn to.
So the plans for the book group moved on apace. Lizzie realised that when Susie said she would do something, she meant it. Lizzie found this reassuring too. She wasn’t given the chance to let self-doubt take hold. They put up posters inviting people to pop into the bookshop to buy a copy of the book and receive a voucher for a discounted coffee. It worked a treat and Lizzie had one or two interested customers calling in every day.
One of them was a blousy fifty-something lady with an impressive bosom and a penchant for leopard print. She introduced herself as Carol and confided that, ‘I’m more of a Jackie Collins sort of girl but if it gets me out of the house away from my couch-potato husband, I’ll give anything a go!’ she had declared, slapping the book on the counter.
Her declaration was met with wrinkled-nosed disdain by the serious, moley looking man behind her in the queue. After Carol had gone, he made his way forwards to pay and addressed Lizzie as one might address the UN.
‘I hope that we’ll be able to explore some more heavyweight material?’ he said sniffily. ‘The Russian novels perhaps?’
Lizzie felt a little out of her depth but did her best to reassure him. ‘We’re going to let each member have a chance to choose.’
The man nodded and seemed satisfied. ‘I’m Brian by the way.’
By the day of the first book group meeting, Lizzie was experiencing a mixture of nerves and excitement. She had read the book again, done some research, made some notes, and felt as ready as she could be. Susie had sorted the refreshments and there promised to be eight people attending that evening. Susie had told her that Ben was planning to come along and Lizzie had been surprised. She hadn’t thought it would be his scene. Susie had obviously picked up on her reaction.
‘He loves that book. I think he sort of thinks he owns it really so he probably wants to come along to make sure no one’s disrespectful,’ Susie joked.
Lizzie couldn’t say she was delighted at the prospect but he couldn’t be all bad if he shared favourites with her sister.
Lizzie was feeling upbeat as she moved around her flat that morning. She had decided to open Bea’s next letter before she went to work. She had to admit that she was looking forward to it. It had started to become a sacred ritual, almost as if she was being allowed the chance to spend time with Bea again. She also had to admit that despite her initial reservations, the first two letters had brought her nothing but positive experiences. She was enjoying this journey with Bea as her guide. As she unfolded the next letter and read her sister’s words, her mood began to change.
Dear Lizzie,
I really hope that you have succeeded in finding a new friend. I hope he or she will give you the support you need and help you to open your world up to other people. You are such a lovely person but you don’t always see it. I hope you are starting to understand this now.
So now you have someone other than me to talk to, I have to confess that this next wish is going to be a challenge. To be honest, I considered postponing this until later on but sometimes, a truth has to be faced and putting it off doesn’t help.
So I’m just going to say it. I want you to go and see Mum. I know. It’s not going to be easy. I know why you left and I know the hurt never really went away. I can still remember that day. I had come home for the weekend and as I let myself into the house on that Friday night, I could hear voices. Actually it was Mum’s voice. You were silent but I knew you were there. She was ranting and raving. I don’t think I’d ever heard her so angry. As I came up the stairs and walked into your room, I could see her standing over you as you sat on the floor by your bed, hugging your knees and crying. Mum didn’t even notice me. She was lost in her anger and her words flew out like machine gun fire. I know every word was like a poisonous dart of unspoken truths to you, Lizzie. I know you took every word to your heart and stored them there for the next fifteen years. I know you thought she meant every word and I know that’s why you had to leave. When you both noticed me standing there, Mum stopped ranting. She seemed to get control of herself then but she walked out and left me to comfort you. I know you felt you had no alternative but to go then, that you felt unwanted and unloved. I suppose I did my best by taking you back to London with me but part of me has always wished that you could have resolved what happened that day. It was a moment’s madness that lasted a lifetime.
So I know how hard this is going to be. If I’m brutally honest, I don’t know if I would do it if I were you but I think that you should try. I am hoping that you now have people you can call on for support to help you face this.
So, go and see Mum, Lizzie. Talk to her, really talk to her. Tell her about the hurt you’ve been holding onto for so long. Listen to what she has to say and make her listen to you too. The thing is, you two are probably more similar than you realise or want to admit.
I don’t think I helped your relationship either but as I’m not around to get in the way any more, (see how I help you out by dying?) I think you can start to be honest with one another. There will be anger and there will be tears but I love you both very much and if you trust me, you will give it a try.
You need each other. You just don’t realise it yet.
Love you,
Bea x
Lizzie put down the letter. Her hands were shaking and she realised that this was due to a furious surge of anger which was coursing through her body like a volcano erupting having lain dormant for so many years. Her mind was racing. She wasn’t angry with Bea so much although she dearly wished that she could talk to her and question if this really had to be done. Lizzie wasn’t a fool though. She had guessed that Bea’s wishes might take her in this direction at some stage; however she also knew that Bea had understood her hurt and deep-rooted disappointment. On the few occasions that Bea had suggested Lizzie return to Smallchurch, she had been treated to a rare flash of anger from her sister. Bea had never pushed it and Lizzie always thought that this was because she understood there were barriers that could not be crossed. Even when their father was dying, Bea hadn’t pushed her; quite the opposite in fact.
So Lizzie was surprised and a little hurt by this wish. There was too much history, too much time past, too much ill feeling for any good to come of it. She had no great desire to talk to her mother and she was pretty sure Stella would feel the same; in fact her reaction at Bea’s funeral was proof of this fact. She threw the letter to one side. She couldn’t deal with this now. She went downstairs to open the shop, her good mood dissolved and a weight of expectation sitting heavily on her shoulders.
***
The day passed slowly. Lizzie was quiet as she wondered what to do. Bea probably meant for her to discuss this with her new friend but Lizzie wasn’t sure if she was ready to delve into that area of her past. Opening up to discuss memories of someone you loved was one thing but when it related to someone you hated. Hate. Such a strong word. So definitive and final. I hate you. Nothing more to say. That’s how Lizzie felt; as if there was nothing more to say. Later that afternoon, her mobile rang. She fished it out of her back pocket and was surprised to see Joe’s caller ID. She considered letting him leave a message but this felt mean.
‘Hi, Joe,’ she said breezily.
‘It’s Sam,’ said Sam.
This threw Lizzie momentarily and she walked towards the office, glancing over at Mrs Nussbaum, who was restocking the greetings cards. ‘Hey Sam,’ she said adopting a friendly tone. ‘How are you?’
‘Don’t you want to see us again?’ he demanded.
Lizzie felt cornered. ‘Of course I do, Sam. I really enjoyed meeting you at the zoo.’
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/annie-lyons/the-secrets-between-sisters/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.