Aunt Daisy's Letter

by S J Crabb

  Heidi grins. “He was the one until I discovered I was one of two, or was it three? You see my darling Lily; men are not to be trusted. They spin a tale they think you want to hear and reel you in. Then, when they’ve had their wicked way with you, they move onto the next one. No ties, no obligations, no worries. You, on the other hand, you could have it all if you wanted it but you don’t even realise the power you have. You are so weighed down with your issues you can’t see the wood for the trees.”

  The waiter returns with our drinks and I almost can’t make eye contact with him. When I do, I feel a little faint as he stares at me with a kind of hunger in his eyes and for a little longer than necessary. Heidi is actually gloating as the smirk on her face reveals her point and I am so flustered I revert to the idiot inside me and say quickly, “Thank you,” and grasp the glass so quickly the contents splash all over the tablecloth and the stem of the glass breaks in my hand. The glass drops to the table and I’m so surprised I rock back on my seat and it gives out beneath me and ricochets across the room, leaving me lying on my back staring up into the horrified eyes of the waiter, while Heidi bursts out laughing.

  Just for a moment, there is silence all around and then he appears to shake himself and spring to attention, offering me his hand to pull me to my feet. As I take hold, his hand closes around mine and I swear he rubs my thumb with his and gives it an extra squeeze. As soon as I’m on my feet, I snatch my hand away and glare at Heidi, who is filming the whole thing on her phone. “Stop that Heidi, I don’t want to see one frame of that on Facebook.”

  I hear the gentle sound of laughter like a whisper in the breeze all around me and the waiter says with concern, “Are you ok? Would you like me to call an ambulance?”

  Feeling my cheeks flame, I say weakly, “No thanks, I’m fine. Just the chair please, oh and maybe a screen, you know, the sort that will hide me away from the rest of civilisation while I work out how I got to be so clumsy.”

  His lips twitch as he tries to disguise the laughter, and I shake my head. “I’m sorry about the wine glass, please add it to my bill.”

  I watch as his eyes soften and he says, “I won’t hear of it. In fact, I will refresh your drink on the house, call it a birthday present from me to you.”

  Once again, I feel uncomfortable as he throws me that look and I say quickly, “You are very kind. Anyway, the chair would be good when you’re ready.”

  As he turns away, I say loudly, “Thank goodness that didn’t happen when I was out with um… Kevin, Heidi. I would never live it down.”

  She shakes her head as I waffle on about the imaginary Kevin. “Yes, it’s our anniversary you know and I think he’s going to propose. Could you imagine if we lost the ring because of my clumsiness?”

  Heidi shakes her head as the waiter retrieves my chair, looking a little disheartened. He makes sure I’m sitting and then heads off looking dejected and Heidi says crossly, “Why did you do that, he was nice?”

  “Do what?”

  “Do everything you could to put him off with imaginary Kevin. You know, Lily, one day you will actually have to leave your imaginary boyfriend in the past and grab yourself a real one. It won’t be difficult, as I said, you appear to be some kind of man magnet.”

  Gloomily, I reach for the water and as I take a sip of the cool liquid, it brings me to my senses. I’m such an idiot. I don’t know what I’m so scared of, really. Maybe it’s because my last boyfriend turned out to be married with children. Maybe it’s because the one before him had a possessive streak and used to turn up at the office and stand across the road until I came out, then insisted on walking me to the station even though he was going in the opposite direction. I’ve never been lucky in love, which is why I’m happy to concentrate on my career, it’s for the best, for me, anyway.

  More red wine arrives, and this time the waiter is silent. Once he’s gone, Heidi draws out a brightly wrapped package and thrusts it towards me. “Happy birthday, I’ve got you a present.”

  I stare at her in surprise and feel a lump in my throat. “A present – for me. That’s so kind of you.”

  Taking the small package in my hand, I feel like a kid again as she says softly, “What else did you get?”

  “Nothing.”

  “What do you mean, nothing? Surely your mum and dad bought you something, what about your grandparents, they always buy you things?”

  As I start to unwrap the parcel, I shrug with indifference. “Mum and dad deposited fifty pounds into my account and sent a text tag. Nan and Grandpa Forest sent me a gift voucher for Costa and Nan and Granddad Adams sent me ten pounds in a card. Mark always forgets and Aunt Daisy… well…”

  I blink away the tears and Heidi looks concerned. “So, this is the first actual gift you’re unwrapping? I feel a little pressure now.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s rubbish.”

  “Thanks, you bought me rubbish.”

  I grin and she shakes her head. “No, it’s just something I made. It’s not worth anything, and I feel bad that it’s the only thing you’ll get. You know, that’s another reason to look for a man. They give good presents if you throw enough hints in their general direction.”

  As I unwrap the gift, it could be a chocolate bar for all I care. The fact she took time to actually make me something is worth far more than any present costing actual money.

  Inside the packaging is a cardboard box with Pritt Stick written on the side, and she smiles guiltily. “I begged that from the stationery shop next door. They are very obliging when it comes to recycling their waste. Probably because it costs a small fortune to get it collected.”

  Looking at the small box, I don’t think it would save them much, but as I pull the contents out, I smile happily as Heidi says somewhat apologetically. “I hope you don’t mind but I made you happy socks.”

  “Happy socks? Why are they happy?”

  “Because they’re bright and loud and guaranteed to bring a smile to the face of anyone who sees you wearing them.”

  As I pull out the odd, multi-striped, rather long socks, I can see that any sane person would laugh if they saw someone actually wearing these. However, in my eyes, they couldn’t be more perfect.

  Feeling quite emotional, I say with tears in my eyes, “Thank you, they’re astonishing.”

  Heidi laughs. “You can say that again. I was experimenting with designs and decided they were a little too ‘out there’ for normal consumption. So, who better than my bestie to wear them with pride? You will wear them – won’t you?”

  She looks a little anxious and I smile. “Maybe not in public but I will love wearing them around my flat. Is that ok, you won’t be offended if I don’t wear them to work or anything?”

  Laughing, she shakes her head. “As if. No, I’m extremely aware of my design limitations. Anyway, what’s next then in this amazing life you’ve got stretching before you?”

  “I suppose I’ll be training with Sable for the majority of the next three months and we have Aunt Daisy’s funeral, of course. After that, I suppose it’s all systems go.”

  Raising her glass to mine, she says with determination. “Happy birthday, Lily Rose Adams. May the year ahead deliver your dreams.”

  As we clink glasses, I can’t help feeling that it already has.

  ♥5

  Aunt Daisy’s house is as impressive as the lady herself. As we park the car outside, there’s a brief moment of silence as we look at the modern structure of a home with not a blade of grass out of place. Dad sighs and says somewhat wistfully, “Such a waste.”

  “What, the house or her life?”

  Mum is straight to the point as always and dad just shakes his head. “Both I suppose. I mean, Daisy worked so hard to get this and put everything into it. She had no life outside of her business and what was the point of it all in the end?”

  Mum nods and reaching out, rubs his arm in sympathy. “I suppose it made her happy. She thrived on this life she led. It was a
ll she ever wanted and she got there by hard work and determination.”

  “Yes, but what did it really get her in the end? Dying alone with nobody to carry on her legacy. She never had children and after the dust settles, she will just be that woman who did well for herself and then died.”

  “Honestly David, what a way to speak of your sister. She will be remembered by all of us, for starters. Then there are her friends and business associates. I’m pretty sure she will go down in history among the interior design circles and, after all, it was what she wanted. All of this.”

  Mum waves her hand around and dad shrugs. “Maybe you’re right but I’d trade all of this for the life I have with you and the kids.”

  For a moment mum appears lost for words, and as they look at each other, I see the love of a shared life pass between them. Yes, in many ways they are richer than Aunt Daisy because they have each other and two children who will always be there for them. That is, when Mark comes back from his gap year in Australia, but I’m always here.

  As we head towards the house, I wonder if Aunt Daisy ever wanted to meet anyone and have children. She always said she didn’t and I can see her now, rolling her eyes and laughing, saying, “Why would I want all that baggage weighing me down, when all I want to do is fly and see how high I can go?”

  Yes, Aunt Daisy wanted to scale the heights of success, not roll around on the ground with the rest of us as we try to dig ourselves out of the rut that normal people always appear to fall into despite their best efforts.

  As dad inserts the spare key into the lock, we wait for him to do the mad dash to the security control panel before the alarm goes off. As soon as the coast is clear, we make our way inside and I look around feeling an overwhelming sadness that I will never see her again.

  Mum shakes her head and says sadly, “This house never seemed lived in to me.”

  Dad grins. “If you mean because there are no shoes cluttering up the hallway and the floors are clean and swept, then I’m all for ‘not’ lived in. You know, maybe we could learn a trick or two from Daisy and go minimalist.

  “Minimalist, David! Are you joking with me? Who drops his shoes on the floor as soon as he steps foot inside the door? Who chucks his coat over the bannisters and his briefcase on the mat? Who, may I ask, leaves the toilet seat up and the towel scrunched on the side and who apparently hasn’t yet grasped the concept of actually closing cupboards and drawers when he opens them? Oh, and who…”

  “Enough, I get the picture.”

  Dad grins and mum shakes her head, looking slightly annoyed. “It was all well and good for Daisy, she only had to deal with her own mess. Not pick up after an ungrateful bunch of humans who think the fairies do it. I’m thinking Daisy had the right idea and made the right choice in life because I’m guessing she never had to scrub the toothpaste off the sink and rearrange the cushions every time somebody…” She frowns at my father. “Leaves them all over the place. You know, David, you have a very messy sitting habit, has anyone ever told you that?”

  “Messy sitting habit, what’s that when it’s at home?”

  “I just told you. Your bottom appears to churn up every throw, cushion and seat pad on the settee that you never feel the need to straighten. If I had one pound for…”

  I tune out and wander off, leaving them to their daily argument of what annoys them most about each other. It’s the usual conversation, and as I pass through the polished rooms of perfection, I feel as if Aunt Daisy had it all worked out.

  Surely everyone wants what she had? The trappings of success to greet you when you come home at night, reminding you that it was all worth it. The air smells clean and fragrant and almost pure, and if the house seems a little soulless, then it’s because that’s what made Aunt Daisy happy. Yes, she would have a very clear mind living here where she could relax in comfort after a hard day making even more money and not have anyone moaning to disrupt her inner calm.

  Mum comes up behind me and says softly, “Shall we all take a room each?”

  Nodding, I think about the reason we’re here at all. Dad decided that we should remove any items of value or personal interest while the house is standing empty. Until the Will is read, we don’t know who benefits from Aunt Daisy’s passing and he is concerned thieves may be aware she has died and break in one night. I agreed to help, but now I’m here, I wish I hadn’t. It doesn’t feel right to be looking through her private possessions, when she isn’t even buried yet.

  Mum puts her arm around me. “It’s what she would have wanted, love. Don’t feel bad. Surely she would want us to keep her valuables safe for whoever she left them to. Now, I’ll take the kitchen, dad’s doing the study and you can start upstairs if you like? Maybe her bedroom is the best place to begin.”

  As she walks away, I wish I had the kitchen. It wouldn’t feel as personal as delving through her drawers and rifling through her clothes. Some may still have the lingering trace of Chanel number 5 on them, which I will always associate with her. She adored it and sprayed it liberally whenever she could.

  Then, I realise the real reason I’m so reluctant is because she died in her bedroom. Just the thought of her lying in bed alone and hopefully asleep when it happened, gives me the shivers. What if her spirit still lingers between Heaven and Earth? What if she’s watching me now and is angry that we’re invading her personal space like this?

  It's almost too much to bear, and I can feel a panic attack coming on and almost give up before I even start. However, there’s also the part of me that relishes some form of contact with the woman I admired so much. Just the smell of her perfume, or seeing a familiar outfit, will bring her back to me. I wasn’t prepared to never see her again when she left after lunch two Sundays ago. Maybe I would have said things that mattered, instead of whining on about being single at thirty. Aunt Daisy never whined. She never complained and approached life with a can-do attitude. She was amazing in every way, and I can’t believe I’ll never see her again.

  As I venture into her freakishly large bedroom, the scent hits me as I knew it would. Tears spring to my eyes and as I brush them away, I can almost hear her saying in the gentle tone she always used around me, “No need to cry, honey, what’s done is done. Don’t dwell on things you can’t change and concentrate instead on the ones you can.”

  Ok, she was talking at the time about that creep I was dating who turned out to be married with kids, but the principle is the same.

  Moving across to her dressing table, I decide to start there because I just can’t face the prospect of feeling the fabric of her clothes. Taking each of the drawers in turn, I empty the contents and go through them, checking for items of jewellery or anything of value. The rest I place back where it was because whoever gets this place can deal with it when it happens.

  I almost feel like one of the thieves they fear as I place items of jewellery into the soft bag I found inside one of the drawers. It appears that Aunt Daisy had a keen eye because the items she bought are exquisite. Beautiful rings, bracelets and necklaces glitter in their velvet-lined drawers. Designer watches nestle proudly inside a watch winder as they wait to be selected to match a certain outfit. There is none of the rubbish, bits of fluff, or sweet wrappers that sit inside my drawers at home. These are kept immaculate and I feel ashamed at my own dirty ways.

  It doesn’t take long before I move to the walk-in wardrobe and gasp with pleasure at the array of clothing hanging in colour matched blocks, looking as if they have never been worn. A soft pile cream carpet is pure heaven beneath my feet, and the drawers of cashmere jumpers and silky underwear bring out the girlie girl inside me. Shelves upon shelves of amazing shoes and handbags tempt me, and glittering evening gowns twinkle from the furthest corners as the spotlights pick out the sparkle woven into the fabric.

  This is every woman’s dream and suddenly I understand Aunt Daisy and her choices in life because who wouldn’t want this life of luxury?

  Leaving most things untouched, I concentrate
on the highest shelves where there are big white boxes tied with satin ribbon. Inside are various personal items, and as I take the first one down, I sit on her bed and start sifting through. I’m amazed to see one is full of photographs and spend a large amount of time looking through them, enjoying seeing Aunt Daisy’s life in glorious colour before my eyes. She has been everywhere it seems and the snapshot of a well-travelled life, makes me determined to do the same. Exotic locations and beautiful sandy beaches show Aunt Daisy laughing at the camera, usually with a brightly coloured cocktail in her hand. It strikes me that there is never anyone else in the picture. Just her and I wonder about the people who took them. Were they strangers she asked to immortalise the moment for her, or did she travel with a willing companion we never got to meet?

  I am so engrossed in my task, I don’t realise how long we’ve been here until my mother shouts from the doorway, “Do you fancy a cuppa, darling? Dad thinks his throat’s been cut. I think there’s some milk, but I can’t be sure if it’s turned or not. Come down if you fancy it but be warned, you may have to take it black.”

  Shaking myself, I look around the room with a new resolve. Yes, I want this. I want what she had – all of it. This has confirmed that I was always meant to live this life. I’m glad I came because it’s given me the reassurance I need.

  As I finish up, I glance around and think I’ve covered most of it. Maybe I should start on the guest room next. Turning to place the boxes back on the shelves, I notice a small notebook laying on the highest shelf preventing me from sliding the box back. Grabbing the nearby chair, I jump on it to retrieve the notebook and as I feel the soft leather in my hands, my curiosity wins over any cup of tea. Once again, I sit on the bed and open the book, loving the rich coloured cream paper with gold edging. I’ve always loved a good notebook and this is the stuff of dreams.

  I hear my mum calling and hastily place the book in my bag and head off to see what they’re up to downstairs.

  ♥6