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,
