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