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‘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.
