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.
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