The last time I’d opened it was when Olivia’s mum, Sonia, came over to collect a lot of her daughter’s belongings. She took most of the stuff but let me keep a few things. After taking a deep breath I turned the handle and went into her room.
My eyes darted to the dressing table where I expected to see her, wearing her pink fluffy dressing gown, and curling the life out of her long black hair. She’d grin at me through the dressing table mirror and ask me what time we were going out to our favourite cocktail bar. There was just an empty stool.
The wardrobe next to her dressing table was empty with one door hanging open. If she had still been alive, it would have been overflowing with clothes, jumpers, belts, and bags. Olivia always said that her clothes rushed out to greet her when she went to her wardrobe.
Her double bed had been stripped bare. There were a few books in the little bookcase by the window. On one shelf was a basket full of old phone chargers and a collection of takeaway menus.
This room used to smell of Olivia’s perfume. The second you entered your nostrils would be hit with its vanilla and earthy notes. It had been replaced by a faint musty smell. Sometimes I feel like going to buy some of her favourite perfume just so that I can feel like she’s near me again.
I felt dizzy and sat on the bed until her room stopped swaying. Once the dizziness abated, I got up and went to collect fresh sheets and bedding. To fit the mattress cover I had to lift the mattress. Underneath the bed frame was a pink notebook. Bending down, I picked it up and a photo slipped out from it. The photo was of a young Olivia and a blonde woman I didn’t recognise. They were dancing and laughing at the camera.
Flipping over the first page I gasped at Oliva’s swirly handwriting. It read:How I Got Over Losing a Wonderful Friend, by Olivia Lunn.With a trembling hand, I turned the page.
This is a personal account of how I survived losing my wonderful friend, Sophie. One day I hope to publish this as I hope it will help others going through the same thing.
It must have been about her friend, Sophie, who dated Ben, the guy Olivia had been trying to set me up with. I closed it quickly as a wave of emotion was rising inside me. Reading this would turn me into an emotional mess. Grandpa needed me and tomorrow I would be driving us to Surrey. Maybe when I returned from Harp Brook, I could have a closer look at the notebook, or even pass it to Sonia.
I placed it on the dressing table, made the bed and left the room, shutting the door firmly behind me. Wiping a solitary tear, I went into the living room and checked on my buckets.
CHAPTERSEVEN
‘You look tired, Rachel.’ Grandpa took a sip from his morning tea. ‘Are you sure you’re well enough to drive to Surrey?’
‘I’m fine,’ I lied, avoiding his stare, and inspecting my piece of brioche bun. It had been difficult to sleep in Olivia’s room. I’d spent the night scrolling through my phone in the dark and looking at pics of Olivia on my Instagram.
Shortly before she died, she’d started dating a new guy who worked in a pizza restaurant, and I don’t think I’d seen her happier. One night after she’d returned from his flat, she’d summoned me into her room and asked me to be bridesmaid at her future wedding. We’d then cracked open a bottle of cheap wine from the fridge and spent hours sitting on her bed scrolling through bridal and bridesmaid dresses.
My last Instagram post of her was of us on this bed, with a giant bag of crisps between us, holding up mugs of wine and pulling funny deep-in-thought expressions. I’d added the caption –Engaged in a lengthy debate about whether I would look better in sage green or purple orchid as a bridesmaid at a future wedding.
Olivia spent the following day at work adding comments to my post on how tired she was, how her post-wine headache wasn’t going away and how the woman at who sat opposite her thought I would look great in a dreadful light peach colour.
I fell asleep against a damp pillow, clutching my phone.
Grandpa was an early riser, and he liked his breakfast cooked for him too. This meant my alarm had to be set for six thirty to make us both one of the breakfasts he enjoyed: a brioche bun filled with eggs and salmon. I also wanted to ensure we got to Harp Brook on time so that Maddie and Frank could head off to the airport.
After only three hours of sleep my eyes were puffy and sore.
‘You know, Rachel,’ said Grandpa, ‘you have always been bad at lying. I don’t know who taught you to lie because they did a terrible job.’
I laughed and he smiled. ‘You and Maddie would squabble and fight like sisters do. Maddie would come rushing into the kitchen in tears saying that you’d stolen her little box of Smarties and eaten them behind the sofa. I would summon you into the kitchen. You’d stand in front of us, with Smarties juice around your mouth, and I would ask you whether it was true what Maddie had told us about you stealing and eating her box of Smarties. You’d avoid all eye contact with us and then you’d say in a squeaky voice, “I didn’t eat her Smarties.” Your nan used to whisper in my ear, “She’s a terrible liar – isn’t she?”’
With a sigh, I sank back into my chair. ‘Am I that easy to read?’
Grandpa nodded. ‘Like a book, Rachel. The trick to good lying is to maintain eye contact and not let your voice get high pitched.’ He winked at me. ‘Also, check that your box of Smarties is not still sticking out of your back pocket, and check it doesn’t rattle as you walk away.’
We both began to giggle at my childhood Smartie theft crimes. ‘You’re right, I’m tired, Grandpa. I’m a rubbish liar. Sleeping in Olivia’s bedroom wasn’t a great idea.’
‘Do you need forty winks?’ Grandpa smiled. ‘A forty-wink nap always makes me feel better.’
‘I’ll be okay, Grandpa.’
After clearing away the plates, washing up and dragging our cases and bags downstairs into the hallway, I went for one final look around my flat to see whether I’d forgotten to pack vital things like a phone charger, my toothbrush, my favourite eyebrow pencil, or my paints, brushes, and spare canvases. Grandpa made his way down to wait by the cases.
I don’t know what made me enter Olivia’s bedroom, but I found myself in there. Wandering over to the dressing table I stared at the pink notebook. In the night I had thought about reading it, but I’d resisted. Now, it stared back at me. In a flash, I grabbed it and shoved it inside my handbag before racing out of my flat and closing the door behind me.
Dragging the cases and my bags to my car was like my own form of cardio workout. My paintbrushes had a mind of their own and flew out of the plastic bag, scattering all over the floor. By the time I had picked them up and heaved both cases into the boot, Grandpa was in the passenger side with his seat belt on. I got in beside him bathed in a light sweat.
He pointed out of the windscreen. ‘First snowflakes.’
