Dear Lizzie

by Annie Lyons

  ‘Why not?’ he smiled. ‘It could be the start of a beautiful friendship.’

  Lizzie practically skipped back to the bookshop. She kissed Joe and Sam goodbye and said goodnight to Carol before leading a weary Bambi up the stairs to her flat. She kicked off her shoes and poured herself a glass of water. She noticed that her answering machine was flashing with a message. She pressed play.

  ‘Lizzie. It’s Mum. I’ve been thinking and I wondered if you wanted to come for Christmas? Of course it’s going to be chaos with Dad and Lawrence here too but I thought it would be nice for you to be here with Sam and Joe perhaps? Could you let me know so that I know how big a turkey to order please? I hope you’re okay.’

  Lizzie turned to Bambi, who was staying overnight at her flat. Having successfully wrestled the reindeer antlers from his head, he was now chewing them into submission.

  ‘What do you think of that, eh boy?’ said Lizzie. ‘Christmas at home and a date with Ben? Maybe I do deserve to be happy?’

  Bambi gave an appreciative bark and returned to his antlers.

  Chapter Eleven

  Christmas Day

  Lizzie felt five years old again. It wasn’t so much the fact that she was sleeping in her old bedroom; the Victoria Plum curtains and fairy design wallpaper had long since been replaced by a neutral shade of magnolia and plain green silk curtains with tie-backs. It was more the feeling of waking up on Christmas morning in a room where she had woken on so many Christmas mornings, stomach tickled with excitement, eyes straining in the gloom searching for a misshapen stocking stuffed with presents. There was no Christmas stocking today, but as she pulled back the curtains, she felt that same anticipation of snow. It hadn’t snowed of course, although there was a hard frost dusting the grass like a sprinkling of icing sugar and a robin in the ancient oak at the end of the garden, which made her smile.

  It was true what Bea had said in her letter. As children, Christmas had been a special time. Bea would have come running in with her stocking so that they could compare relative size and shape but they wouldn’t open them there and then. Part of the fun was dragging them up to their parents’ room and opening them on the bed, as their Mum and Dad looked on indulgently. Lizzie remembered her mother being more relaxed at Christmas too. Of course, the preparations were completed with military precision and they were never allowed to help decorate the tree but Stella made it all perfect. Lizzie remembered soft white lights, lots of candles and a crackling fire, whatever the weather. It had been extra special if her grandparents were staying. On those Christmas mornings, her granny would shoot out of bed as soon as she heard Bea go down to Lizzie’s room. She would peep round the door, her eyes sparkling and smiling. ‘Merry Christmas, my little ducks,’ she would say. They would all get into Lizzie’s bed. Lizzie could remember being squashed up against the wall but she didn’t care because she was nestled up against her granny with her sister on the other side. Ivy would read them The Night Before Christmas, and Lizzie recalled thinking that life could not get any better than this. She glanced at her bed and wished with a heavy sigh that she could go back, just for a moment.

  She could hear her grandfather already in the bathroom doing a round of morning ablutions, cheerfully whistling ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’. She pulled on her dressing gown, stepped into her slippers and made her way along the corridor to the landing. Her mother was a professional when it came to Christmas decorations and she paused to admire the holly, ivy and fir sprouting out from behind the picture frames. Uncle Lawrence was standing in front of the long rectangular mirror at the top of the stairs, adjusting his bow-tie. ‘Merry Christmas, Lizzie,’ he cried reaching over to kiss her on both cheeks.

  ‘Merry Christmas to you too,’ she smiled. It was good to see him. He reminded her of the fun parts of her childhood. He had been at Bea’s funeral but that day had been a blur and she hadn’t seen him properly until now. ‘Have you seen Mum yet?’

  ‘Oh yes. She’s been up for hours doing something to the turkey. I thought it might be best to stay out of her way,’ he whispered, pulling a comical face.

  Lizzie laughed. ‘I’ll be brave and see if she wants a hand.’ She made her way down the stairs, pausing to look at the Christmas tree in the living room. This had always been the most exciting moment for Bea and Lizzie; coming downstairs to look at the tree, wreathed in tinsel and bathed in light, surrounded by all manner of interesting-looking parcels. It looked smaller than she remembered but no less magnificent. She could hear her mother clanging pans and opening and closing cupboards. Stella had seemed pleased to see her but Lizzie realised that this wasn’t going to be an easy day for anyone. It was the first Christmas without Bea and Lizzie’s first Christmas at home in fifteen years. Every aspect of this visit was forcing her to revisit the past and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  She had reluctantly attended Midnight Mass with her mother and uncle the night before, forgetting that she would inevitably bump into Alex. He had seemed delighted to see her.

  ‘You look so well,’ he smiled, grasping her hand and kissing her on the cheek. She had been polite but didn’t linger. She dismissed Alex from her mind immediately and replaced him with happier thoughts of Ben. Part of her wished he could be here with her but of course that would have been a little premature. They weren’t even a couple. Yet.

  Above all else, Bea’s absence was keenly felt by everyone, not least of all Lizzie. She couldn’t just fill the gap where Bea had been. No one could do that. She was relieved that Sam and Joe were coming over today. Everyone doted on Sam and children never allowed you to dwell on your sadness for long.

  Lizzie took a deep breath and entered the kitchen. Her mother was sitting at the table, tailing a large pile of sprouts with a concentrated frown on her face. Lizzie almost reeled in shock. It was like being transported back twenty-five years, except that her granny and Bea should have been there, peeling and slicing the carrots. Stella glanced up when her daughter walked in and Lizzie noticed how worn down she looked. She smiled at her daughter briefly before going back to her vegetables.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Lizzie,’ she said. ‘Excuse me getting on with this. There’s lots to do,’ she added. She sounded almost relieved. Lizzie could see that she was keeping herself busy and knew that it was her way of coping; keep calm and carry on, idle hands lead to idle minds. ‘There’s tea in the pot. Would you mind getting your own breakfast?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Lizzie. ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’ she added, gesturing at her mother’s porcelain mug.

  ‘Please,’ said Stella.

  Lizzie poured them both a cup and rummaged in the bread bin. Her grandfather appeared in the doorway wearing a red and green waistcoat which Lizzie vaguely recalled from childhood Christmases.

  ‘Merry Christmas, Grandpa. You look very festive,’ she smiled, pecking him on the cheek.

  ‘Thank you, Bea,’ he said. Lizzie exchanged glances with her mother.

  ‘It’s Lizzie, Dad,’ explained Stella.

  He frowned at his daughter. ‘I know who it is! Do you think I don’t know my own granddaughter? Honestly Stella, stop fussing. Now what’s for breakfast?’

  Lizzie held up her hands as if to call a truce. ‘It’s all right, Mum. I’ll do it. What would you like, Grandpa?’ Stella gave her daughter a small, grateful smile and went back to her sprouts. Lizzie made some toast and tea and sat next to her grandfather at the kitchen table whilst they munched their breakfast. Minutes later Lawrence breezed in.

  ‘Merry Christmas one and all!’ he boomed.

  ‘Ah Lawrence my boy!’ cried Ernest. ‘When did you arrive?’

  Lawrence glanced at Stella who gave him a look that said, I told you so. Lawrence shrugged and rested an arm on his father’s shoulder. ‘Yesterday, Pa. Do you remember? We had lunch at the pub. I had the lamb shank and you had the gammon.’

  Ernest nodded. ‘Of course, of course and it was very kind of you to pay for us, wasn’t it, Stella?
’

  ‘Very kind,’ muttered Stella.

  Lawrence was moving round the kitchen now, helping himself to breakfast. ‘It’s too quiet in here,’ he declared, switching on the radio until he found some Christmas tunes. ‘Ahh, I love this one,’ he said, doing a few dance steps with a pretend partner.

  ‘You always were a good mover, just like your mother, God rest her soul. Whereas Stella had no rhythm at all and she was tone deaf,’ chuckled Ernest. Stella rolled her eyes. ‘I remember her teacher asking her to leave the choir because she was putting off the other sopranos! ’ Lizzie noticed her mother purse her lips as she started to chop the carrots with some force.

  ‘Now don’t tease my big sister,’ grinned Lawrence. ‘We all have our talents. I’m the performer of the family. Whereas Stella – ’

  ‘Looks out for everyone when you can’t be bothered?’ said Stella so quietly that only Lizzie heard.

  ‘Well Stella, is the real home-maker. Like the glue that binds us all together,’ said Lawrence with a smile. Stella caught Lizzie’s eye and shook her head.

  ‘So how is life in California then, Uncle Lawrence?’

  ‘It’s fantastic! You should come visit some time. Bring your boyfriend. Do you have a boyfriend?’

  ‘No,’ laughed Lizzie. She thought of Ben. But I’m working on it.

  ‘Well get one and come visit!’ grinned Lawrence. ‘You should come too, Stella. Bring Pa. It would do you the world of good.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  Lawrence shrugged. ‘I’m just saying. You’ve had a lot to deal with. Maybe a break would help you?’

  ‘Help me with what exactly?’

  Lawrence sighed. ‘Loosen up a little, I guess. It’s just a suggestion. No one’s gonna make you.’

  Stella bristled. ‘Thank you for the offer, Lawrence, but I’m fine,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t look fine,’ said Ernest accusingly.

  Stella looked hurt. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You look bloody miserable to me,’ he declared.

  Stella rose abruptly to her feet, pushing back her chair and knocking the table so that a scattering of sprouts fell onto the floor. ‘Well excuse me if the death of my husband and daughter has made me a little unhappy. I’ll try to cheer up, shall I?’ she cried, hurrying from the room.

  Lawrence winced. ‘Oh dear, do you think we should go after her?’

  Ernest shook his head. ‘No, best leave her. Tell you what, why don’t we nip over to the pub for a festive snifter before lunch?’

  Lawrence looked unsure. ‘I don’t know. Do you think that’s wise?’

  Ernest nodded. ‘It’ll be fine. Stella hates having people under her feet. Come on, I’m buying.’

  Lawrence looked at Lizzie. ‘Treat you to a pre-lunch Snowball, Lizzie?’

  Lizzie shook her head. ‘I’ll stay and help Mum,’ she said. After they’d gone, Lizzie picked up the fallen sprouts and set about preparing the rest of the carrots. Once the front door had banged shut, she heard her mother come downstairs and return to the kitchen.

  Lizzie waited for a criticism of her technique. ‘Thank you for doing those,’ said Stella.

  Lizzie smiled. ‘Are you all right?’

  Her mother sighed. ‘Nothing a small sherry won’t cure,’ she sniffed. ‘Would you like one?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I suppose they’ve gone to the pub,’ said Stella, fetching the bottle and two glasses.

  Lizzie nodded. ‘Probably for the best. Shall I do the parsnips next?’ she said, gesturing at the unopened bag.

  ‘That would be most helpful,’ said Stella, handing her a glass. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Cheers,’ smiled Lizzie, clinking her glass against her mother’s. They worked together side by side without speaking, listening to the Christmas songs on the radio. After a time, ‘All I Want For Christmas is My Two Front Teeth’ came on. Lizzie and Stella glanced at one another. It was a silly little Christmas song but one that Bea and Lizzie used to sing every year, whistling through their teeth and laughing at one another. Lizzie could see her mother recalling the memory, her eyes glassy with sadness. Lizzie reached out a hand and placed it over her mother’s. It was a gesture that said, I’m here and I understand. Stella gave her a grateful smile before going back to the carrots.

  ‘Do you remember the Christmases we spent in Suffolk?’ asked her mother after a pause.

  Lizzie nodded. ‘I do. I remember laying the table for Granny, polishing and setting out her best cutlery and being allowed to put out the crackers – that was the best bit.’

  ‘I miss her every day,’ said Stella wistfully. It was as if she had forgotten that Lizzie was there and was momentarily lost in a memory. ‘She was such a good mother, she was born to it. Not everyone is you see.’ She glanced at her daughter with meaning. It was a startling revelation, almost an apology but not quite. Lizzie sensed that Stella wanted to open up to her but wasn’t quite sure how to. ‘Bea was a wonderful mother too,’ said Stella. ‘It was different from Mum but she doted on Sam.’

  ‘He’s a lovely boy.’

  ‘Yes he is,’ said Stella. ‘He keeps me going. He’s like part of Bea still alive in the world and I take great comfort from that.’

  ‘So do I,’ admitted Lizzie. They stared at one another, recognising a new bond between them.

  Stella smiled before turning back to the cooker. She picked up a saucepan and carried it over to the sink. ‘What did you used to do at Christmas?’ she asked as she strained the potatoes. It was the first time her mother had asked anything about where she had been for all those years.

  Lizzie shrugged. ‘Friends’ houses mostly or sometimes on my own.’

  Her mother nodded and was silent for a while. ‘I’m glad you’re here today,’ she said without taking her eyes off the potatoes.

  ‘Me too,’ said Lizzie quietly. It was the truth. She still had issues with her mother but she was starting to understand her a little better. For today, it was enough just to be here. She would never have imagined this to be possible twelve months ago.

  There was a knock at the door. Stella smiled. ‘That will be Joe and Sam.’

  They both went to the front door to greet them. Joe was wearing the kind of jumper that people only wore on Christmas Day. It was emblazoned with a large smiling Santa. ‘Bea bought it for me,’ he explained proudly.

  ‘I think it’s lovely,’ grinned Lizzie.

  ‘It’s embarrassing,’ declared Sam.

  ‘So what did you get from Father Christmas?’ asked Lizzie putting an arm around her nephew.

  ‘Purlease, I’m not five,’ said Sam unimpressed. ‘I wanted to come and stay over here last night but Dad said Santa wouldn’t know where I was.’ He cupped his hand into a whisper. ‘I went along with it to keep him happy.’

  Lizzie laughed and hugged him. ‘Well do you want to see what I’ve bought you?’

  Sam’s face lit up. ‘Ooh yeah!’ Lizzie led him to the living room and fished out two parcels. Sam ripped them open. It was a selection of books, some modern, some from Lizzie’s childhood.

  ‘This was my favourite,’ said Lizzie pointing out the copy of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

  The second parcel contained the Harry Potter version of Uno. ‘Awesome! Thanks, Auntie Lizzie,’ he said surprising her with a kiss on the cheek. ‘Can we play it now?’

  ‘In a minute. First I need to give you this,’ said Lizzie, pulling out the envelope from Bea and handing it to him.

  Sam stopped and stared at the writing. His face clouded over. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s from your mum. She asked me to give it to you. I wondered if you wanted to open it now so that we can talk about it if you need to,’ said Lizzie placing an arm on his shoulder.

  Sam shrugged her off. ‘No thanks,’ he replied, shoving the envelope into his jeans pocket. He started to walk towards the door.

  ‘Sam,’ she said following him. ‘Sam. It’s okay. I know how
you feel. It’s your first Christmas without your mum. I understand. I miss her too.’

  As he turned to face her, she was shocked by how angry he looked. ‘You don’t know or understand anything, okay? Just leave me alone!’ he shouted, running out of the room and up the stairs.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Joe appearing from the kitchen.

  ‘It’s Sam,’ explained Lizzie. ‘I tried to give him a card from Bea and he got really angry. I’m sorry, Joe. I should have spoken to you first.’

  ‘It’s okay, Lizzie. Don’t worry. He gets angry sometimes. I’ll let him calm down and go up in a minute. Is this something to do with the parcel I gave you?’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘The parcel contained twelve letters detailing her final wishes for me. The card was in with the Christmas letter. I didn’t mention it before because I didn’t want to upset you and they were things she wanted me to do. I’m sorry. I probably should have said something.’ She could see from Joe’s face that he was wondering if there was something for him. ‘She only sent a card for Sam. Sorry.’

  Joe waved away her concerns with a smiling shake of his head. ‘Of course. I didn’t think there would be anything. Sam’s the most important one here. I take it he doesn’t want to read it?’ Lizzie shook her head. ‘I’ll talk to him,’ he said. Joe disappeared upstairs leaving Lizzie feeling helpless. Her thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell and her uncle and grandfather striking up a chorus of, ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas’. Lizzie went to let them in.

  ‘Festive greetings, beloved niece!’ cried Lawrence, crushing her in a warm embrace. Lizzie could smell whisky. Her grandfather staggered in behind him, almost tripping over so that Lizzie had to catch him.

  ‘Oh thank you, Lizzie. So good to see you and where is your lovely sister?’ he slurred, patting her on the arm.

  Lizzie thought the comment best ignored. ‘Come on, Grandpa, let’s go into the living room,’ she said.

  ‘I tell you what we need!’ cried Lawrence as he entered the living room. ‘We need a fire and some music!’