Day Three
Sara
Sunday. Urgh. Could it just disappear please?
It used to be my very favourite day, but now it feels like my very worst, hanging over me like a heavy, endless cloud threatening to break into rain at any moment. I am quite possibly the only person on earth right now who is praying for Sunday to end, so that I can move onto the structure and banality of Monday.
In the last few months, Sunday had become mine and Lottie’s day. A day we always shared together if possible, whether it be lunch down the pub or walking around the lake. It was our day just to ourselves.
Lottie’s illness had affected that, of course; we had started with short trips out before Lottie had become too tired. Then I started visiting Lottie at home – painting her nails or doing her hair or watching films. Anything that made her feel better and more human. It may have been different, but it was still special. I even ignored the fact that Erica had been there, hanging around in the shadows, listening to our conversations.
However, Lottie’s cancer soon made her too weak for even that. I used to go and see her as often as I could, but it was clear that Lottie struggled with too many visitors. Erica became stricter, like a brittle gatekeeper at the door, scared that I might bring more risk to Lottie because I worked in a care home. She wrapped Lottie up in cotton wool, restricting her to short meetings in their huge living room or tiny walks in the garden. It was hard. I hated those times. I didn’t know what to say to my friend who was angry one minute and scared the next. I was consumed with rage too, a rage that was so strong it frightened me. I just wanted to whip Lottie out of her mum’s grip and do fun things with her again like we used to – a trip to Brighton beach, shopping in London, drinking milkshakes at Roxy’s cafe in town.
Anything was better than seeing her curled up in a chair, bored out of her mind, slowly wasting away.
We called each other, but that soon tired Lottie out, and it wasn’t the same. I couldn’t hug her. I couldn’t rub cream into her dry skin. I couldn’t wipe away her tears when she cried, but Lottie cried so rarely even then…
Lottie had needed me more than ever in those last few months and I was kept away from her. I was a danger. A threat. And in no time at all, our Sundays had been broken forever.
I haven’t opened her present yet. I can’t bring myself to do so. It’s just sitting there, looking at me in its pretty paper, almost like it is taunting me.
I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I think maybe knowing this is Lottie’s last gift to me is making it too hard. I don’t want to rush opening it, it’s too special. But also, I’m scared. What could she possibly give me that I would want? What if this present makes me feel a whole lot worse? Sometimes it easier to just leave things alone and remember things as they were. Sometimes things are best left unopened – I’ve learnt that to my cost.
Goose buzzes around my legs as I busy myself having a shower and tidying the flat. I am trying to get a grip of my life. I hate sitting around in my own misery, I feel like it’s starting to seep deep into my bones, making my feel heavy and listless. Out of boredom, I even ring Tyler.
‘Hey babe.’ His voice is sexy and soothing. ‘How are you doing?’
I picture him in his chaotic flat, probably walking up and down with his top off. To be fair, Tyler does have a lovely body and I can understand why he likes to show it off.
I met Tyler when I was at university waiting tables. We dated on and off for a laugh and then hooked up again when I came back from travelling three years ago. We are not dating. I don’t think either of us wants that. Tyler is happy being free and single and I am happy meeting up with a fun guy occasionally for uncomplicated sex and a few laughs. It’s always been like that between us. From the night I met him, dancing crazily whilst trying to protect his pint of beer, I felt a kind of affection towards him. Tyler is daft, kind and undemanding – which is just what I need right now. It’s all I’ve needed for quite a while…
‘I didn’t want to call you,’ he continues, ‘in case, well – you know. I didn’t want to barge in where I might not be wanted. How did it go? I was thinking of you.’
I smile. I doubt this is true, Tyler’s life is too busy and crazy, I can’t believe he even had time to send me that text. ‘It was tough, but I’m glad it’s done now.’ I stare at Lottie’s present and tug a little at my hair. ‘It’s just going to be hard, I guess. Moving on.’
‘Yeah, I guess it will.’ He pauses. ‘I’ve made a curry, you’re welcome to pop over?’
‘That’s nice, but I don’t think so. Maybe tomorrow? We could meet up?’
I don’t want to sound needy because I’m not. I’m really not. I just like the idea of slipping into Tyler’s arms, having him whisper some dirty words into my ear before he pushes me up against the wall. I can’t be thinking about sad things when I’m turned on, can I?
‘Well, the offer is there if you change your mind,’ he says. ‘What are you planning on doing instead?’
I stare again at the present. ‘I dunno. I guess I still have a few things to sort out.’
‘I’ll book us a table for tomorrow, somewhere nice. You need spoiling. Shall I text you the details?’
‘Sure.’ My smile feels forced. ‘Sounds perfect.’
When he ends the call, I feel sad and a bit jealous. Tyler’s life is so simple and unproblematic. He loves his job as a chef and he’s good at it. He’s close to his family and has a huge gang of friends that he regularly hangs out with.
I think of what we used to have together – me, Dec, Lottie and Jay and I suddenly feel hollow inside. We once were that happy, sociable group but then, bit by bit, it all came apart until only Lottie and I remained.
I glance at the photo that I still display on the mantlepiece. It’s my favourite one. In it we are all huddled together after a party at Lottie’s house. Lottie is in the centre; her cheeks are rosy and her beautiful thick golden hair is loose around her face. Dec is crouched beside her, his face turning to look at her, laughing. Even looking at the photo from here I can remember the rich, hearty sound of Dec’s laugh – it always sounded a bit too big for his body somehow. Jay and I are standing behind. Jay has his arm slung around my shoulder; his cheeks are glowing from too much drink, his eyes are sleepy. I’m the only one not smiling, but I never did in those days, I was always so paranoid about my teeth. My fringe is heavy against my eyes and my skin is deathly pale against Jay’s tan.
I may have looked miserable, but I remember the joy of that night. How we had laughed for hours because Dec had drunk too much cider and started talking nonsense about his career aspirations. I remember how Lottie had tried to get us all to dance, putting on her favourite Madonna songs and begging us to copy her moves – poor Jay hadn’t had a clue.
We’d been eighteen there. Just after our A levels. We’d been so happy.
I walk over to the photo, and I turn it against the wall. I can’t stand to see the open smiles and the hopeful faces. So much has changed – too much – and I’m not sure that I can deal with much more.
Later that evening, after a small dinner of beans on toast, I sit in my living room with music playing softly in the background – something nondescript on a local radio station that forms a nice backdrop. Beside me, Goose is sleeping soundly, gentle purrs escaping her body every few minutes and making her whiskers flutter against my leg. On my lap is the box that Erica had given me. I still haven’t opened it. Once it’s opened, it’s opened forever.
Lottie had always been a fervent present buyer. She loved lavishing gifts on others. When we were younger, I had resented this a bit – I saw it as Lottie flashing her privilege in my face, trying to win people over with her money. However, it hadn’t taken me long to realise that Lottie’s gifts were not about the expense at all. They were thoughtful and kind and had taken her a lot of time to choose. Lottie gained pure joy from simply giving them out, and soon it became hard not to be won over by her charm and excitement.
I remember the first gift that Lottie had given me just after we met. A simple bookmark. So silly now, looking back, but at the time it had meant the world to me. I still have it, tucked away in my drawer. Lottie told me it was to help me keep my precious words safe and I liked that. I realised that in very little time Lottie had worked out that books meant a lot to me. The bookmark was a reminder that not all first impressions are right ones.
And now, here I am with another gift on my lap. My mind is whirling. When did Lottie have time to shop? She must have purchased it online, surely? She was so tired, so drained at the end. And what on earth could she have thought I needed?
‘You shouldn’t have bothered, babe,’ I whisper. ‘This will be a waste. There’s nothing I need. Not now anyway…’
I imagine Lottie sitting next to me frowning. ‘ Just open the bloody thing and stop wasting time. You’re such a drama queen! ’
My fingers touch the fancy paper, always the most expensive kind. Lottie said that half the fun came in the wrapping, and stuck beside the ribbon is a small handmade label, cut out in the shape of a heart. Lottie’s curly writing sweeps over the glossy card. I take a breath before reading the words, imagining Lottie’s soft voice reading them to me.
I think this might be the greatest gift I could ever give to you. I hope you agree.
You deserve this. You really do, but you need to believe it too.
Forever your friend,
Lottie
x
It feels like I’m being watched by her. I remember how impatient she used to get when I took ages opening presents, especially in the early days. She hadn’t realised then how much they meant to me – how I wasn’t used to getting them, always overwhelmed by a heady mix of awkwardness and excitement.
I picture her beside me, her face pulled into a scowl. Her hands slapping the sides of the sofa. ‘ C’mon Sara – get a move on. I’m dying to know if you like it. ’
‘All right. All right,’ I mutter to myself. ‘I’ll do it now.’
I peel the paper back carefully. I don’t want to tear the beautiful wrapping. It’s so shiny and expensive looking, glossy black with tiny white diamonds. I want to treasure it forever. It reminds me of the tiled floors in Lottie’s mum’s house. Clean and glistening and slightly slippery underfoot. Her house was always elegant, modern and tidy. So unlike mine. We were so different in many, many ways.
I remember the first time Lottie had come back to my house, and a lump forms in my throat, making it difficult to breathe. How sweet she had been, so kind and unjudgmental. It was like she couldn’t see the dust and clutter, the worn carpet and the tatty curtains. I just wish now that I could rush back in time and be with her again. I would do things differently. I would thank her for making me feel OK.
‘I wouldn’t have been so defensive back then,’ I whisper, my fingers stroking the paper. ‘I never thought you’d understand. How could you, really?’
Imaginary Lottie is still sat beside me, nodding her head gently. Telling me it’s OK. We never talked about this stuff, not really. I guess there was never the need. We just began to understand each other in that comfortable and quiet way that makes friendships so perfect.
I pick gently at the Sellotape, feeling a smile tug on my face. Lottie always knew how to use the right amount, how to wrap a present properly. I was the complete opposite, I would always rush and cut corners and end up twisting yards of tape over the package just to hold it together into one huge sticky mess. It used to drive Lottie mad. She would break a fingernail simply trying to open one of my specialities and would be a be a hot sweary mess by the time she got it open.
‘Here we go,’ I say, as I break through the seal.
I pull away the paper, hardly able to believe how fast my heart was beating. Inside is a box. A plain white box. Pushing the wrapping to one side, I gently turn the box upright on my lap. I can feel the thud of something moving inside. It isn’t that heavy, but it feels substantial. Carefully, I tug at the lid of the box, keen to see what is contained inside. I tip the box slightly and peer in.
It takes a few seconds for my mind to compute what I am actually seeing.
‘Oh, Lottie,’ I breathe, my voice breaking. I almost don’t want to go on.
Because I now know what Lottie has given me. Immediately, I feel my heart crack open once again.
It’s a jar.
One of Lottie’s Jars of Joys.