Читать книгу The Secrets Between Sisters - Annie Lyons, Annie Lyons - Страница 15

Chapter Six

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.’