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I shake my head. ‘The summer’s when Arundel is busiest – I can’t leave the shop.’
Birdy sighs. ‘Couldn’t you take even a week off?’
‘I don’t see how I can.’ I don’t have any staff, and more than that, I don’t share her need to travel. But we’re different people. While Birdy’s a free spirit, there’s a part of me that feels safe in the routine of my life here. ‘Where were you thinking of going?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Pulling her long red hair over one shoulder, she frowns. ‘But I don’t want to go to a resort.’ She’s quiet for a moment. ‘Everything feels so predictable here. I mean, everyone leads such quiet lives. They get up, go to work, come home and go to bed. Then the next day, do it all over again. And I know there’s nothing wrong with that… It’s just, I’m not sure I want that.’ She frowns slightly. ‘I think what I want is an adventure.’
Anxiety shoots through me. However illogical, after what happened to our parents, air travel, foreign places, they do it to me every time. ‘Is that a good idea?’
Birdy’s silent for a moment. Turning to me, there’s sympathy on her face. ‘Rae, I do get why you don’t want to go away.’ She’s silent for a moment. ‘It’s because of Mum and Dad, isn’t it?’ my wise-beyond-her-years sister then says quietly.
My eyes suddenly blur with tears as I struggle to speak. My memories of the day we lost them are still horribly, brutally vivid.
‘It’s OK,’ she says, her eyes searching mine. ‘I don’t mean what happened – that will never be OK.’ Her voice falters momentarily. ‘But you feeling the way you do… I want you to know, I understand.’
I wipe away the tear that rolls down my cheek. ‘Thank you.’ My voice is thick with emotion. Birdy seems to have found an acceptance, a way to move on, that for whatever reason, I haven’t. ‘I suppose talking about travelling just triggers something in me.’
It’s as if she reads my mind as she reaches out and strokes my hand. ‘It’s OK. You’re you, Rae. One day, you’ll find your own way.’
That evening, the skies clear and, leaving Birdy curled up on the sofa engrossed inMade in Chelsea, I walk the quiet streets under the softness of moonlight. It’s a beautiful night, the darkness setting off the brightness of the stars; my breath freezing in small clouds as I take in the glow from behind curtains, the faint strains of music drifting through closed windows.
As I gaze at the sky, I’m reminded of a quote I love, about how only in the darkness do we see the stars. Contemplating how true it is, it strikes me that maybe it’s the same with sadness; that without it, we wouldn’t know what happiness is.
Lost in contemplation about life and death and everything in between, I can’t help thinking about our parents again. I’ve done a lot of contemplating these last two years since they died. They’re two years during which I’ve emotionally distanced myself, while I’ve tried to come to terms not only with their passing, but with what I can only describe as the transience of life.
When I think of Birdy, simultaneously I feel my heart warm and stomach knot. Without our parents, there is no backup in our lives; if anything happens to me, she’s alone. However unlikely it is, it’s a thought that keeps me awake at night. But it’s part of the reason I keep my life so small. By containing and controlling it, I’m protecting both of us.
I can’t tell Birdy that, though. Turning into the High Street, I glance into the shops and galleries before passing The Little Hotel. Its bar looks cosy and welcoming. Through the window, I notice the girl who came into the shop the other day sitting alone at one of the tables. Pausing for a moment, it crosses my mind to go in and ask her if she’s started reading either of the books. But thinking of Birdy again, I head for home.
Our flat is above the bookshop, cosy and uncluttered, a little sanctuary away from the world, with views onto the quiet street below. When I go in, Birdy’s still curled up on one end of the faded sofa.
‘Hey.’ There’s a gap in the curtains letting in the glow of a street lamp, and going over to them, I pull them closed.
Her eyes are riveted to the screen. ‘Did you have a nice walk?’
‘I did.’ Surveying the sofa, I plump the cushions at the other end, for a moment conjuring an image of our parents. It’s one of my greatest regrets that they will never see this.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I go through to my bedroom. Turning on the radio, I change into my pyjamas, scrunching my hair up into a topknot before picking up the book that’s on my bedside table.
As the local news comes on, my ears prick up as I listen to a report about a fatal car crash right near here, just a couple of nights ago, in the snow, and sadness washes over me as I think of the families left behind. I know only too well how that feels.
Turning the radio down, I go through to the kitchen. Making us both a cup of tea, I take them through and join Birdy onthe sofa. This is how we spend most evenings – with the world shut out, Birdy lost in some reality TV show, me engrossed in whichever book I’m reading.
There are times I’m aware of Birdy’s frustration with me, with this life we have that feels so small to her. And I know that one day, however much I don’t want her to, the chances are she’ll leave here. But tonight, I try not to dwell on it. No-one’s life is perfect and as I look around, I know there are many reasons to be grateful we have this.
It’s about duality again, I can’t help thinking on Monday morning. Just as the rain keeps people at home, it takes a hint of warmth to draw them out. In sunshine that’s spring-like, the shop is busier than it has been all winter.
Halfway through the morning, one of my regulars comes in.
‘Fine morning, young Rae.’ He waves a gloved hand in my direction.
‘Morning, Ernest. How are you?’ I smile brightly.
‘Seeking inspiration, my dear. The old brain cells,’ he says with a frown. ‘They’re not what they used to be.’
Ernest is a writer, though these days, a less prolific one, which isn’t surprising given his seventy-nine years. ‘I think we all have days like that,’ I say reassuringly.
A puzzled look crosses his face. ‘Can’t find the remote control.’ He glances around the shop. ‘Haven’t seen it, have you?’
