Lizzie's List

by Melling, Diane

  Kate and I both grew up in Chipham Green and, apart from travelling to the nearest town of Avington for school and college, have never left, as many of our school friends have. This leads me back to my list. Although I don’t feel the need to travel to wild and wondrous places, I do feel I have (so far) led a quiet and safe life. I am certainly not ashamed of this, but the impending arrival of my 30th birthday, has made me want to do a few things that I would not usually contemplate. Kate, being far more adventurous and outgoing than I, feels no need to join me in compiling a list and finds the whole thing rather amusing, but I think she is secretly proud of me.

  On arriving back at The Tea Cosy, I notice Ruth, my neighbour, one of the few people who would also be up at this early hour in the morning. Ruth is a quirky lady in her 50s, who makes no apologies for her eccentric dress sense and personality to match. For this, she has my admiration. After her husband died unexpectedly twelve years ago, she moved to our village before training as a landscape gardener. When her only son (Russ) moved to the city, she took the risk of leaving her job to start her own gardening business and has never looked back since. Despite the gap in our ages, I see Ruth as a wise friend, whose company I often seek, especially on cold winter nights when the cafe is less hectic. We often share a bottle of wine and put the world to rights – or so we think!

  As I approach Ruth, who’s still in her Cath Kidston dressing gown, she glances up from the daily watering of her colourful flower-filled pots that surround her front door. “Are you okay Lizzie – you seem a little flushed and isn’t this rather early for you to be up and about?” asks Ruth as I walk towards her quickly.

  “No Ruth I am not alright, may I come in for a cup of tea?” I reply somewhat sternly.

  “Of course,” answers Ruth looking a little alarmed at the unaccustomed force in my voice.

  I watch Ruth in her kitchen making my tea and glancing curiously at me when she thinks I’m not looking. Ruth’s kitchen is as quirky as her dress sense, with lots of clutter and nothing matching, but this makes it even more appealing. The effect of this has a designer look, whereas when I have tried this approach in my kitchen, it just looks untidy. Ruth hands over my strong tea – just the way I like it. Why does a cup of tea always make me feel more relaxed?

  After I explain to Ruth about my embarrassing actions in the woods, my tension evaporates and slowly I start to see the funny side of the event. Ruth’s laughter is infectious and I can’t help but giggle at my predicament with her once I hear her booming laugh.

  “I don’t know why you’re worried. If I had a figure like yours, I’d be quite happy to strip off and be seen by everybody. I wouldn’t be hiding that body behind a tree!” Ruth replies.

  “Ruth you seriously don’t mean that. What gets to me more is that he had the most annoying look of triumph in his face as he walked off. What’s more irritating is that he knows my name. I have no idea how he knows me or who he is.”

  “Lizzie it probably brightened his day more than the sunshine itself. What young man will take offense from a pretty, naked lady hiding behind a tree? Of course, he may have questions about why you were hiding naked behind a tree, but I’m sure he enjoyed every moment of it. And I certainly don’t understand this modern obsession with bodily hair trimming – don’t young people know about insulation and warmth? I still can’t work out why a girl like you is still single and not snapped up by some handsome, cake-loving farmer. You’re just like my Russ; he’s always single and so handsome that I wonder why.”

  “He’s only 25 Ruth – maybe he’s enjoying himself too much,” I answer.

  “True. Anyway, tell me what else is on this list of yours,” Ruth demands, still laughing at my expense as she pours out another cup of builders’ strength tea.

  Feeling much better after speaking to Ruth, as I always do, I spend the next thirty minutes discussing the other tasks on my list with her. We decide that after the shock I had with my number one, I should select a more sedate item from my list to do next.

  Note to self

  Cross number 1 off my list.

  Choose number 2 from my list

  Find out who he is.

  Chapter 3

  Don’t stop me now!

  Task 2–Read a classic novel

  You may well ask why this is so important to me, so let me explain. I have never, ever read a classic novel. I am talking about Charlotte Bronte’s Jayne Eyre; Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles; and Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Of course like most women, I have seen the TV version of Pride and Prejudice and regularly replay the lake scene when Darcy (AKA Colin Firth) emerges from the water, dripping wet, whilst Elizabeth can only watch in wonder...

  All my life I have been quite happy with easy-reading and am not ashamed to admit that I am partial to a Mills and Boon now and again, but as I approach 30, I feel that I should attempt classic literature, if only to feed my curiosity. Well okay, I’ve got to be totally honest with you–my Mum was always harping on about them when I was a teenager, and insisting I read one, so I have always rebelled against this. Now that I no longer live with her and haven’t for several years, perhaps I am overcoming my rebellion against this. I will turn my thoughts towards choosing a novel and reluctantly ask my literature loving mother for advice with this task.

  Later that morning, as I start to prepare The Tea Cosy for opening, Kate arrives with her usual enthusiastic demeanour and I tell her about my progress with my list. Kate also finds my exposed, naked frolic hilarious. “I can’t believe somebody actually saw you naked in Bluebell Woods, although I’m still a little confused about why you wanted to run through the woods without any clothes on – each to their own. Why haven’t we heard who he is since we pride ourselves on being the keepers of all local news?” asks Kate.

  “I asked myself the same thing and believe me -I’m going to find out more about him and how he knows my name. It’s driving me mad!” I reply.

  Following some more chat, we begin our daily routine. You see–when Kate and I are getting ready to open the cafe, we like to continue our tradition of pretending we are famous singers. As adults, we have progressed, from using hairbrush microphones as we did in our bedrooms as children. I personally prefer my mop as my dance partner and a spoon as my microphone. We start with our favourite song to rev ourselves up for the day ahead – Don’t Stop Me Now, by Queen. Since we sing this song so often, we have our own unique dance routine and our own individual solo parts to sing. Kate finishes her solo part with a gyrating of her hips and then heads back into the kitchen. This is my big moment – my chorus part. “Don’t stop me now, I’m having a good time, I’m having a ball. Don’t stop me noooooowwwwww...” I complete my spin with the mop and sing the final note of my solo part at the top of my voice. Moving into my air guitar section, involving much head banging, I glance upwards noticing a figure in the doorway. In alarm, I drop my microphone (AKA spoon) with a clatter and become a little tangled with my mop. He stands there, solid, with his arms folded and yet another gratified smirk on his face that my idiocy has once again supplied. Having lost the ability to speak, I also stand and stare in stunned silence, mute and unable to throw in some witty remark that would have surely lightened the situation and avoided even further embarrassment. How much can one person take in one day before they shrivel up?

  “I’m sorry to have to stop you now, since you’re having a good time and having a ball,” he says theatrically and gesturing towards my mop. Oh my goodness, he heard everything, all of my strangled cat sounding notes. Why Him again, to see my further embarrassment all within the space of three hours and now I would be happily swallowed up by a hungry killer whale. Had he arrived just one minute later, thirty seconds even, then Kate would have danced out of the kitchen to sing her lines and I would have been safely hidden in the kitchen taking the role of a subtle, backing singer. Gosh, I hadn’t noticed how tall he is; even though I’m f
airly tall, he towers over me. Finding his height attractive, I am again annoyed with myself for fancying him.

  “Hi, erm ... we’re just getting ready for customers,” I reply glancing at my watch. We are not open yet, but Kate frequently leaves the latch off the door once she arrives, and now I hate her for that. “Can I help you?”

  “Well you already have. It’s not often you get to see an attractive naked lady attempting ballet at 6.00 in the morning whilst walking your dog. Then this to be followed by a personal dance and song show, although I do have to say, you need to work on that top note a little. Actually, the ballet could do with some work as well if I’m being honest,” he says, again with that amused look in his eyes. “Anyway, my purpose for visiting your lovely cafe, is to see if you cater externally for groups of up to fifty people–buffets I mean ... erm not the stripping or singing.”

  At this point my mind is not able to comprehend a word that he says as I realise he saw the ballet. Luckily Kate arrives to my rescue – about time! “Yes we can organise that; I have some sample menus you can take if you’d like and do call us if there are any questions because we can be very flexible,” announces Kate with her usual vigour and care free persona.

  “Yes I’ve seen how flexible Lizzie can be! Thanks for the menus and the entertainment, I may well pop in for a scone some time, if this is the sort of merriment you get whilst you nibble,” he says bemusedly as he walks out of the door. I can’t help but admire his rear as he departs, and then chastise myself quickly as he glances back and catches me staring at it.

  Eventually when my speech returns, I notice Kate bent double in hysterics, which only increases further when I tell her that not only has he witnessed my poor singing and dancing, but he was the same man who saw me starkers and hairy in the woods this morning. And the ballet – he saw that too – it’s cringe worthy!

  “Oh poor you Lizzie, but at least things can’t get any worse and if he ever fancies you after that singing, then you’ll know it’s true love. Why on earth were you doing ballet?”

  “Just don’t ask – I can’t even think about it!” I was about to bite back with the argument that I don’t care if he ever fancies me, but Kate knows the phrase, the lady doth protest too much, so I keep shut. The thing is, I do find him attractive, but at the same time his over-confident attitude grates at me. The fact that I turn into a bumbling wreck when I see him, due to his over powering aura, means that I can’t say I like him. But he does have a perfect rear!

  Note to self

  Make sure the cafe door is always locked until opening.

  Find a better dancing partner than a mop.

  Still need to trim bodily hair, before it gets down to my knees.

  Chapter 4

  What is happiness?

  After a busy Sunday in The Tea Cosy, Kate and I close the door and relax with a flop onto one of our squashy sofas. Sunday is one of our busiest days and to us the end of our working week since we do not open on Mondays. We use this opportunity to enjoy eating up left over cakes whilst we sip hot, steaming tea. Chatting about the village gossip and discussing the menus and upcoming events, with our tired feet propped up, I sigh and sink into what is my favourite times of the week. You may be thinking, what possible events could we need to discuss for a small cafe, but we do cater externally on a small scale and are introducing Craft and Cake nights as well as our reading night. The interest in Kate’s crafts has grown so much so that we decided to start this once a month. People come and Kate teaches them various craft elements, such as knitting or sewing for a small fee and I make refreshments.

  “Well you’re still none-the wiser after your enquires today,” mumbles Kate with her mouth full of millionaire short bread, which I bake when I can’t decide how I feel – a brittle, stiff short bread base, covered with a gooey, soft caramel, topped with chocolate, which quite frankly universally suits all of my moods. “Sorry – mouthful.” Kate is referring to my questioning of locals about my man (well not my – you know what I mean).

  “Nobody seems to know anything about him, and surely in Chipham Green that’s a first. I am beginning to think I imagined it, as it all seems so surreal.”

  “Nope, you definitely did not imagine him and I saw the effect you seem to have upon him with my own eyes. I’d say he has a thing for you!”

  “A thing – you mean sympathy or amusement? Now we’d better start mopping this floor, but this time, we can leave out the dancing,” I groan.

  As I slowly rise to my feet and reflect upon the next task from my list, reading a classic novel, I ask Kate for her opinion, since she is an avid reader. “Which classic novel do you think I should read? I mean, I may never read another, so if I was to read just one, which would you suggest?”

  “Oh it’s got to be Jane Eyre; tragic in many ways, but with a happy ending,” gushes Kate, “but you should ask your mum, you know she is the expert in that department. She’s been trying to get you to read classic literature for years.”

  “She may finally be proud of me if I do read one, which makes my stubborn side want to decide on my own. I think I’ll go to the bookshop in town tomorrow when I visit my mum and dad.”

  After cleaning and closing up, I pop into Ruth’s for a glass of red wine as I do most Sunday evenings. Ruth already has the wine open and is sitting at the wooden table in her small, but beautiful, back garden overlooking the village green. I often think this is one of the best places in the world to sit and relax. Ruth shows me her new plants with pride, whilst I try to express enthusiasm, but as long as they look pretty I don’t care what plants are growing. Ruth is very technical about getting just the right type of plant, shade of colour and height. This is why her garden seems to effortlessly enchant its visitors into some sort of tranquil spell.

  I spend the next ten minutes informing Ruth about village news and also my second encounter with the mystery man. She makes a small attempt to hide her amusement at my embarrassment, but fails. “Well I did better than you Lizzie and found out a little about him myself,” Ruth explains as I sit eagerly waiting to hear any information about who he might be. The thing about Ruth is that you can’t rush her when she has something to tell. Being fairly impatient, I have tried this several times, but it seems to delay her even more, so now I have learned to sit patiently through the waiting torture. “Well, he is new in the area and originally from north England, but I’m not sure where exactly. Apparently he’s opening some sort of business in the area,” she explains. I wait for more, and wait some more, but nothing.

  “What–that’s it?” I ask somewhat disappointed.

  “I didn’t say I had lots of news and that’s more than you have found out,” Ruth responds defensively.

  “Well there’s one thing for it, I will have to resign myself to the fact that I will see him around, so need to learn about composure and finesse.”

  Ruth and I chat well into the evening, drinking several glasses of wine along the way. Ruth doesn’t do classical literature, but does inform me of a little shop she has spotted in the local town – Avington–which may help me in another more risqué task on my list, but I’ll tell you much more about that later.

  The following morning, my head is a lead ball, as I try to raise it from my pillow. Realising that I had one too many wines last night, I let it drop back down with a thump. I also notice that I am sleeping naked, an indication that I must have drank far too much. When I have had several glasses of wine, I often get to the point where taking my clothes off and putting my pyjamas on is too much effort. I often use my state of dress or undress in bed as a measure of how bad my hangover might be. Pyjama top with knickers means that things aren’t too bad; however naked, means that I will need to reach for painkillers pretty quickly.

  Deciding that my slumber must end, I resign myself to the fact that I need to get to my parent’s house with a stinking hangover as my company. Visiting my mum and dad�
��s when my brother, Mark, is there is bad enough, but with this hangover, I dread the prospect even more. Nevertheless, I only have myself to blame – and Ruth of course. After all, it was her idea to open the second bottle, but then she can drink like a fish and still be spritely the following day. This is something I have never mastered myself.

  Perhaps I am being slightly unfair to my brother Mark, but let me tell you a little more about my family, so that you can make up your own mind. Mark works in finance, in The City and earns huge amounts of money, which he seems to enjoy everybody knowing about. Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother, but I often wonder if we were actually born from the same set of parents because we are so very different and don’t completely understand each other’s views on life. Mark uses every opportunity he can to discuss money and ensure we all know about his latest gadgets. For me, this is less interesting than watching paint dry on a cold day. May be it’s me who is strange, but I have never been focused on money or impressed by so-called status. This leads Mark and I to clash on several topics, so I tend to avoid visiting my parents when Mark is there. As children we were close, but seem to have drifted apart in more recent years.

  Mum adores her first born, successful, clever son, where as I have always clicked better with my dad and often feel like a disappointment to my mum. She loves The Tea Cosy and often pops in, but seems to view it as a little hobby, not an actual job that earns me an income and if I’m honest, this grates on me, especially since I am fiercely proud of it.