style="font-size:15px;"> ‘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,
