The Secrets Between Sisters

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

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 keine Idee 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.