by S J Crabb
♥
Aunt Daisy’s
Letter
by
S J Crabb
♥
Copyrighted Material
Copyright © S J Crabb 2020
S J Crabb has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the Author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.
NB: This book uses UK spelling.
Contents
More books by S J Crabb
Quotes
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Epilogue
Note from the Author
Social Links
More Books
♥
More books by S J Crabb
The Diary of Madison Brown
My Perfect Life at Cornish Cottage
My Christmas Boyfriend
Jetsetters
More from Life
A Special Kind of Advent
Fooling in love
Will You
Holly Island
Aunt Daisy’s Letter
sjcrabb.com
Quotes
“It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” – J.K. Rowling
Enjoy the little things in life, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.
~Robert Breault
Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the things you did. ~ Mark Twain
Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day. Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many tomorrows. ~ Pope Paul VI
Prologue
“Lily, are you in here?”
“Yes.”
I look up as Aunt Daisy heads into the room. “There you are, what’s going on?”
She looks around in surprise as I smile with satisfaction.
“Do you like it?”
She shakes her head slowly and then laughs. “You’ve done a good job; I certainly don’t recognise the place.”
Her praise is music to my ears because of all the members of my family, her words of encouragement mean the most because she is the successful one among us.
She sits and pats the space beside her. “Come and join me, darling, it’s been ages since we caught up.”
I do as she says with an eagerness to please, and as her arm curls around my shoulders, I settle into her side as I have many times before.
“You know, Lily, I see a lot of me in you.”
I smile pleased with the comparison because if I had to be like anyone it would be her, you see, Aunt Daisy is beautiful, immaculately dressed and rich beyond our wildest dreams. She may be my father’s sister, but somehow, she raced ahead in life and started a business designing the homes of the rich and famous. She is good at it too and reaps the rewards, which is why I want to be just like her.
“I like what you’ve done, Lily, because it shows you have a creative flair. Develop it and let it take you further than most people dream exists. Take no prisoners and fly high above your peers because successful people don’t let ordinary life get in the way. Fix your goals in place and when you reach them, set some more. Never stop striving for perfection because ultimately it will bring you great rewards. Don’t let anyone drag you down to their level and run free with a spirit that cannot be contained.”
She looks at me lovingly and her voice shakes a little as she says sadly, “If you find happiness, let it be on your own terms. Sometimes life throws a curved ball that only an expert can dodge. Be that expert, Lily, because it could knock you to the ground.”
“What do you mean?” It all sounds a little confusing if I’m honest, and I’m not sure I understand the look in her eyes as she shakes her head and laughs softly. “Just be the best, darling, don’t settle for anything less and don’t compromise your dreams for something you have no control over.”
Looking around, she laughs. “I can see you have all the makings of a great designer yourself. I would never have thought of drawing such an intricate design on that wall over there and the colours you have used are bang on trend.”
I look at the Art that I applied to the wall in her rather large bedroom proudly as she ruffles my hair and giggles. “Maybe save it for the classroom though, I don’t think your mum and dad would be quite as understanding if you decorated their walls in the same manner.”
I look at her a little guiltily as she takes a tissue from the box by her bed and lightly wipes away the red lipstick I have smeared on my face.
“Let’s get you cleaned up before they see your efforts.” She winks and says in a whisper, “Let this be our little secret, darling. I won’t tell if you won’t.”
As she leads me to the bathroom, I feel a surge of love for my pretty aunt.
Yes, when I grow up, I want to be just like Aunt Daisy. I am keen to start school on Monday just so I can finish it and be like her in every way.
Successful and rich. What more is there in life?
♥1
Twenty-five years later.
Thirty arrived like an unwelcome guest at my birthday party. I always knew it was coming and thought I had prepared myself mentally for the dawn of a new age, but when the dreaded day arrived, it brought with it a sinking feeling. So, that’s it then. I’ve arrived at a turning point in my life and everything feels exactly the same.
The same wake-up call at 6am and the same sinking feeling as I contemplate the day ahead filled with nothing but work. Followed by a microwave meal for one in front of the television when I return to my bachelorette pad in the evening.
The same insecurities and panic attacks over the hoped-for promotion and the same lack of romance in my life. The same yearning for something better than I have already and the same face looking back at me in the mirror telling me, ‘you should have done better.’
Then again, what did I expect? That suddenly the meaning of life would hit me and everything make sense. That I would see the glorious path of enlightenment lighting my way to a glittering new world, or maybe I would wake to the dawn of a brand-new era when everything that went before it made sense and the choices I made proved to be the right ones.
No, the only difference between
waking up this morning and yesterday is the heavy heart that sits inside me because yesterday Aunt Daisy passed away.
As I make my usual cup of wake-me-up coffee, I think about the woman I aspired to be like in every way. My dad’s sister and my godmother. She was beautiful, rich and successful. A woman of means as my father always described her with just a hint of envy in his voice. Where he had always struggled financially, she did not. Her house was the biggest our family had ever seen; her car was always new every three years and her holidays were to the most exotic locations, doing things the rest of us could only dream about. Yes, Aunt Daisy had it all, and the rest of us could just admire her for it.
When I heard she had died, I was in total shock. Apparently, she had a heart attack at home one night – in her sleep, and nobody knew until her cleaner found her two days later. You see, Aunt Daisy - like me - lived alone. She never married and that was how she wanted it – she told us often enough, and I never really thought much about it. She appeared to be happy with her life and who wouldn’t?
I used to love going to visit. Unlike our rather dated semi-detached, her detached house was on a private road set among trees overlooking the golf course. Not that she ever played, of course. No, she was always too busy for hobbies. You see, she was a designer and her taste was bang on trend. Her company was successful as she designed the homes of the rich and famous and got paid extremely well for her trouble. Her staff was small but efficient, and her client base consisted of a few minor celebrities and people with way more money than sense. As expected, her own home was the stuff of dreams and any visit we made was spent coveting a lifestyle that set the bar high and made everyone wish they were her.
Now she’s dead at fifty-five, and to say we are shocked is an understatement. She’s gone and nobody saw it coming.
Sighing, I grab my coffee and set about getting ready for the daily commute to the office. Like Aunt Daisy, I was relentless in my pursuit of a career worth having. After university, I was lucky enough to land a job with the magazine of my dream and I worked my way up to become the impressive sounding junior editor of Designer Homes – on a budget.
I love my job and even my editor Sable Evans doesn’t scare me half as much as she did when I started. Much like Aunt Daisy, Sable has life worked out and reaps the rewards. She is cold, calculating and professional, with none of the weaknesses the rest of us have to deal with on a daily basis. Sable power walks in every morning from the station instead of joining the queue for the underground. She exists on green tea and dubious looking smoothies, with only a rice cake for lunch. She dresses with an effortless chic and wears scarves that make her look stylish and elegant, unlike me who can’t appear to tie them the right way and just gets flustered from dealing with the problems they bring. Like the time it got caught in the tube door and I spent the whole of the journey from Victoria to Green Park trying to free myself with my face pressed against the germ infested plasti-glass of the door. To add to my trauma, my fellow passengers took photos and videos and uploaded them to social media. I expect I’m still trending on Lad’s Bible to this very day.
There was the time I decided to copy Sable and borrow one of Boris’s bikes and cycle in through the rush hour traffic. After struggling to work out how to actually pay for the thing, I was extremely flustered and late when I set off, only for my scarf to get caught up in the spinning wheels and make me fall over sideways in the cycle lane in Piccadilly. I think that one made it onto the travel news as the congestion took all of two seconds to snarl up the West End, while I struggled to tear my chiffon fashion statement from the spokes of misery.
No, I haven’t quite worked out the secret that Aunt Daisy and Sable were apparently born knowing, and I had kind of hoped that turning thirty would answer all those questions on auto pilot.
Sighing, I realise I’m just the same girl I always was. Lily Rose Adams. Named after two flowers because if one flower made Aunt Daisy successful, two would propel me to super success – or so they thought. Yes, I have spent the last thirty years being moulded into a carbon copy of the successful one in our family. Aunt Daisy was the perfect role model and I based every choice I made in life on what she would do.
To be fair, I’ve done the right thing, so far, anyway. I am nearly successful and, in my friend’s eyes, have the perfect life. I’m sure it was like this for Aunt Daisy at the beginning and so, with a sigh, I dress for the day and start the first day of my thirties the same as the last day of my twenties. On a train bound for London and Designer Homes – on a budget.
♥2
Most of the journey is spent updating my social media. Various selfies are posted on Instagram, Facebook and Snapchat and witty comments and tips for a better life are posted on Twitter. I reply to my comments and generally weave the impression into my virtual world that I’m living my best life.
As the junior editor of Designer Homes - on a budget, I have an impressive social media presence. My words are seized upon and devoured as gospel and along with Sable, we enjoy a mini celebrity style lifestyle. I am always snapping random pictures of ways to get that designer look on a pauper’s budget. I’ve actually become quite good at it and enjoy nothing more than finding a quick fix solution that transforms a room in an afternoon.
Yes, I love my job, but when it comes to my life, the jury’s out.
Sometimes I wish I could be more like Sable. Totally committed and unwavering in her pursuit of success. I know how ambitious she is and she won’t rest until she’s editor-in-chief of Country Living or Elle Decoration. She wants the glass ceiling and knowing her she’ll shatter it into a million pieces as she punches her way through. I want it too, or at least that’s what I tell myself, but do I – really?
My thoughts are interrupted as a text flashes up on my phone.
Heidi
Happy Birthday, babe. Thirty means flirty, so it’s time to reach for your A game. Fancy some drinks after work at the cocacabana rooms? xoxo
I dash off a quick reply.
Lily
Thanks honey, what about 6.30, usual place? xoxo
Heidi
See you then beautiful lady and don’t work too hard. xoxo
Smiling, I lean back and think about my friend, Heidi Monroe. Besties since university and poles apart in nearly every way possible. Heidi graduated and ditched her degree almost immediately to open a knitting shop on the outskirts of Tooting. She’s a little bohemian and loves the vibrant atmosphere living in a multicultural paradise brings. Her shop is doing well, largely because she’s tapped into the yummy mummy brigade who think nouveau knitting is cool. She’s great fun though and I couldn’t think of anyone I would rather spend my birthday with than her.
Another text pops up from my mum.
Mum
Happy Birthday lovely Lily. I can’t believe it’s been thirty years since I was in the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in my life. Who can believe that my body recovered after the copious amounts of blood loss I suffered when I haemorrhaged during the longest labour Nuffield ward had ever seen? Goodness, how time flies when the agonising memory still brings me out in cold sweats in the middle of the night as I deal with nightmares your birth sentenced me to for the rest of my life. Anyway, have a lovely day darling and don’t forget to eat a hearty lunch. Soup would be the best option because your metabolic rate slows down when you reach a certain age. Love you - xoxo.
I don’t even have time to be annoyed before another message flashes on the screen from my dad.
Dad
Happy Birthday Lily flower. Love you, dad xx.
Short, but infinitely sweeter than my mums. Despite her dubious birthday wishes, I love my mum so much it hurts. She is scatty, forgetful, funny and kind. The only drawback is she has no filter and says things nobody in their right mind would ever voice out loud. Her message was meant to be funny, not unkind and I roll my eyes and giggle at the force of nature who calls herself my mother.
By the time we reach Victoria, I have receive
d eight texts, twenty likes on Facebook, a follow on Instagram and a notification reminding me to book a dentist’s appointment. Not bad for an hours commute and as I join the crowd surging toward the underground, I try to raise my spirits and push away the knot in my stomach that sits there as a dull reminder that everything is definitely not ok. Aunt Daisy is dead and life will never be the same again.
Designer homes - on a budget, is near Warren Street. Trying not to look at the designer windows of the shops that will be my downfall, I head purposefully toward the place I’ll call home until 6pm on the dot. I arrive at 8.30 and leave at 6. Sometimes I have lunch and sometimes I don’t; it depends on what’s happening. If I’m office bound, I try to get out for some fresh air. If I’m ‘out in the field’ as they call it at a photo shoot or researching one of our features, I grab something as I go.
Today the only thing of importance is a meeting scheduled with Sable for 9am and my stomach churns as I think about it. She is always ‘on it’ and if my head is not screwed on 100%, she tears me to shreds inside a minute of being there.
As I make my way to my desk set behind a partition in the open plan office, I can see that Sable is here already. Her office sits at the end of the rather large room behind glass doors and always appears to be a hive of industry. Her assistant Sybil is already in place and I see her tapping away furiously on her computer. Sable herself appears to be doing stretching exercises as her leg is planted firmly on the desk and she is crouched over it limbering up for the gruelling day ahead.
Despite everything, I like my ferocious boss. She is a woman to admire and aspire to be like. She has a sixth sense when it comes to home improvements and her ideas are what made us the number one homes magazine among the budget offerings. Yes, Sable Evans is a power house, much like Aunt Daisy, and I feel a new resolve to be just like them in every way, or die trying.