Pieces of Us

Day Four

Sara

The jar is still sat on the table where I’d left it the night before. The box is beside it, open and discarded. It’s now seven a.m. and I have another thumping headache, probably not helped by the half bottle of wine I downed last night.

I stare at the jar bleakly. My mouth is dry and bitter tasting, and my body is cold despite the heat of the flat. I pick up Goose and hold her tight against my body. Luckily she doesn’t protest and simply purrs gently against my chest.

‘Why has she given me this?’ I whisper into her fur. ‘She knew I wasn’t into that stuff. How the hell is this going to help? It’s just going to make me feel even sadder, thinking about the silly things she did that I never understood.’

My thoughts drifted back to last night. Despite my earlier reservations I had made the somewhat hasty decision to invite Tyler over – I needed distraction and for someone to help me relax a little. I was so stressed out I couldn’t even bring myself to open the bloody jar and read the messages. What if they upset me all over again? What if each one was like opening up a fresh wound? I wasn’t sure I could face that.

Tyler’s answer to everything was wine and sex in that order and, although I went along with the instructions quite happily yesterday, I was regretting it now. Sex with Tyler is like eating one of those poncey desserts in a posh restaurant. It looks nice at the time, but always leaves me feeling empty and a little bit queasy from overindulgence. That was the problem with Tyler – he was all style and no substance. He’d always been there for me when I needed fun and flattery, not when I needed to digest complex emotional shit.

‘It’s just a jar,’ he’d said, looking at it as if it was some kind of boring specimen. ‘I don’t see why you’re getting stressed over it.’

We’d just had sex on the sofa. Quick, untidy sex. Tyler’s hair was a floppy mess, and his eyes had that sleepy, faraway look. I knew he just wanted to drag me into bed to talk about football or something funny he’d heard down the pub. He didn’t have the emotional bandwidth to dissect the reasons why Lottie had decided to leave me her jar.

‘I don’t understand why she’s given it to me,’ I tried to explain. ‘It makes no sense. I took the piss out of her for keeping one. I never saw the point in it.’

Tyler’s frown blighted his good looks briefly. ‘I can see what you mean…’ He shook the jar. ‘No offence, babe, but I don’t think a jar full of paper is that exciting… She could have left you a watch. A necklace. Something more exciting and valuable.’

Snatching the jar away from him, I smarted – I didn’t like him talking badly about Lottie. ‘Lottie always does the best gifts. This isn’t about value or anything like that. They’re usually so special; she puts thought into them.’

But the Jar of Joy was all about Lottie: it was related to things that mattered to her, that made her feel good. I couldn’t see how this would be relevant to me.

Tyler went to open the jar. ‘Well, let’s read the messages then. It’s the only way you’ll know.’

‘No!’ I clutched the jar tighter to me. ‘We can’t. I remember Lottie telling me before that you have to do this properly. You can’t just read them all at once. Besides, they are not mine, they are for her. She always wrote these things to help herself. It feels too personal.’

Tyler looked totally confused. ‘So what are you going to do? Leave them in there?’

‘She probably just gave it to me to look after,’ I said. Thinking about it, this made the most sense. She wouldn’t want it in the house under her mum’s prying eyes, it was too personal to her, and there was no way she would’ve destroyed it herself. Lottie was never much good at throwing stuff away, she clung onto things in case they became worthy again. If she had lived to an old age, she would’ve probably been one of those mad old hoarders. The thought caused my heart to ache.

‘I still think it’s a bit weird,’ Tyler muttered. ‘Leaving you a jar of a personal wishes and stuff. Where are you going to put it?’

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet.’

Even looking at it made me feel sad. It looked just like the ones I had seen Lottie make when she was little. There was glitter and some stickers around the top, tiny hearts and stars. It was like a glimpse back into her childhood. I wondered if this was one of her original ones.

‘It’s so sweet how she kept it for so long,’ I said.

‘Did she ever show you any of the stuff inside?’

I shook my head. ‘No, and I never asked.’

It was private and I’d respected that, but also, I knew – with a touch of shame – that I hadn’t been interested. How could tiny scraps of paper make you feel better about your life? What if you didn’t have many things that brought you joy? Did it mean your jar would be half empty? I think looking at that would have made me feel more depressed. Lottie was lucky in that she saw the best in most things and, unlike many, she had a lot to be thankful for. Well, until the end…

Tyler shook his head. ‘I still can’t work out why it’s such a big deal. Keep it or bin it. It’s a child’s thing. Something she thought you might like, but obviously didn’t want to upset you with. It’s no big deal.’

I stare at him blankly, wondering again why I always ended up back with him when he understood so little about me. Lottie used to call him my ‘shag blanket’ – a kind of comfort that I sought when I was feeling upset or lonely.

‘ There’s better things you could do, Sara. You could get another cat. You could have a bath. Fuck it, you could just call me… ’ Except I didn’t want another cat, Goose was more than enough. And I couldn’t call Lottie. I couldn’t call her ever again.

I told Tyler to leave after that. I was quite cold about it, and he looked at me in that familiar, baffled way – like he was a dog that I had just kicked for no reason. I couldn’t really explain to him why I wanted him gone; I just knew I couldn’t stand to have him around me any longer. He didn’t understand. He never knew Lottie that well. I’d always tried to keep those parts of my life separate. He hadn’t known the stuff we’d been through together. And the only other person who did know, who might understand, was the last person I wanted to see right now.

‘I don’t want any men around me right now,’ I tell Goose firmly. ‘Tyler, Jay…’ His name catches on my breath. ‘I don’t need any of them.’

Every year, Lottie had made herself a new Jar of Joy and it would stand freshly decorated on her bookcase. She would fill it with messages, starting on New Year’s Eve and continuing as the year went on, then, by December, her jar would be full. Rammed full of folded-up pieces of paper. Lottie’s scraps of Joy.

‘What do you do with them?’ I asked her one time. I was still confused by the whole process, not understanding how she could commit to this same process every year.

‘I transfer most of them into my new jar. Some I discard if they are no longer relevant, or no longer fill me with joy, but many I’ve kept for years and years now.’

‘Am I in there?’ I asked, intrigued.

She nudged me gently with her arm. ‘You might be,’ she said teasingly. ‘There are some things you’ve said that I want to keep forever.’

‘Like what?’

She shrugged. ‘It’s in the jar. When I pull it out, I’ll remember and it’ll bring me the same joy that it did back when it happened.’

‘That’s what you do then? Take them out occasionally?’ I frowned. ‘I’d be tempted to tip them all out at once.’

‘No, no, it doesn’t work like that. This is like a separate memory bank, except that this memory bank is for good things. You wouldn’t want to waste them all at once, would you?’ She stared at me intently and I felt compelled to shake my head. ‘You take out a message when you need to, like if you feel sad, or a bit low. It’s really uplifting. You immediately remember a better time. Something that made you feel grateful and then you can move on with your day.’

I shrugged. ‘Sounds nice I suppose… A bit too much of an effort for me, though.’ I wasn’t even sure I’d have enough happy messages to fill my jar. ‘What if you run out of room?’ I asked.

‘You never run out. Sometimes I throw away a message once I’ve read it and it’s served its purpose, but like I said, some have been there for ever.’

‘And what if you use them up?’ I ask.

She smiled. ‘Sara, I swear you look for problems that don’t exist. I never run out. If I see I’m getting low, I’ll write some more to add, but I don’t use the jar every day. Only when I need it. You can make special jars for people who are having a bad time, they might need to read a message every day to get them through a dark period.’ She shrugged. ‘I’ve not had to do that yet.’

‘Which ones do you keep forever?’ I asked. ‘I’m guessing they must be really important.’

She took a moment before answering, I could see she was giving it a lot of thought. The tiny frown lines appeared between her eyes – the same ones that were there when she was studying or worrying about something. ‘You’ll think I’m silly,’ she said quietly. ‘In fact, I know you think that anyway.’

‘No, I don’t,’ I lied, because I did think she was a bit, but I was trying to understand. ‘Tell me what makes the ones special that you keep them forever.’

‘They’re the ones that make me happy to be alive,’ she said finally. ‘They remind me to keep on going. They remind me why I’m here.’

I don’t want this present. It’s hers. Something that is so personal to Lottie. It feels wrong, invasive. I glare at the jar as if it’s its fault. As if it had asked to come here and sit itself on my table. As if it’s mocking me.

Then another realisation hits me. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe the wrong gift went in the wrong box. It’s an easy thing to happen, Lottie had got so muddled in the end – her medication was so strong. She was bound to have got confused. Maybe she picked up the jar without thinking, meaning to give me one of her special crystals or ornaments instead. She knew I always loved those. The jar should’ve stayed safely in her room. OK, there was a risk her mum might look – but would Lottie have cared about that so close to the end?

I’ll go back to Lottie’s mum and give it back. I’ll tell her I don’t think it is for me and that she should look after it.

With a glance at my phone, I realise the time and jump up with a jolt. Its already eleven thirty. I hate how I am wasting the days away. I have some time off work and I know I need to make the best of it and try to get my head straight again, so I hurry into the shower, hoping that the cold water will invigorate me. It doesn’t. It just makes me grumpier, and I trudge into the bedroom to change into some clothes.

‘What were you thinking, Lottie?’ I mutter. ‘You know I hate any attempts at forced happiness. It’s not me, none of this. Was this your last joke? A little wind-up?’

‘ Nothing wrong with some fun ,’ I swear I hear Lottie whisper in the shadows. ‘ You know I love you, Sara, but you always take life so seriously. It worries me. ’

I shudder. I have to stop doing this. Imagining Lottie’s voice will be enough to finally push me over the edge. I walk over to my chest of drawers and rummage through my make-up trying to decide if I can face attempting to apply some on my pale features. In front of me, a photo of Lottie shines back at me. It’s of both of us, taken when we were sixteen on Brighton beach. Jay had been behind the camera telling us to strike a pose and smile. It came easy to Lottie of course. You can see it in her bright sweeping grin, her long blonde hair whipping up in the wind, catching across her cheeks like streaks of sunlight. My arm was pulled tightly around her, my expression more serious as I squinted without the protection of sunglasses.

She was the light, and I was the dark. Rose Red and Snow White. We had all been so happy then.

‘What were you thinking there?’ I ask her smiling face. ‘Did you even suspect how things might turn out for us all?’

Lottie beams back at me. The answers are there of course. Trapped in a mind that I no longer have access to. Lottie is as far away from me now as this girl in the photograph.

I sit down heavily on the bed, my body naked and dripping from the shower, and burst into tears.

It isn’t a long walk to Erica’s but I always feel a bit self-conscious walking in this side of the city. The roads are much wider and tree lined, the driveways are sweeping and the homes themselves are detached and grand – each one as individual and intimidating as the next.

As a teenager, I used to skulk up here in tatty ripped jeans and busted-up trainers. I used to imagine what it would be like to live in a place that was four times the size of our flat. What could you do in that space! I knew Lottie was embarrassed by it. She never bragged or liked to show off what she had. Sometimes I think she was just as uncomfortable living there as I was visiting.

‘It’s just a house,’ she would say. ‘It’s where I sleep. It’s not home.’

I asked her what home was, but she couldn’t answer. There was a sad expression in her eyes, and I knew not to push her further.

But her house – well, that was always something special. Number thirty-two sits at the end of Quintin Avenue on the corner plot; larger and prouder than the others, the house seems to overpower the rest of the street. I can see Erica’s red Audi parked up and my stomach dips a little, as it always did at the thought of facing her. There is something about Erica’s stern expression and her perfect, polished appearance that always makes me feel ill at ease.

Lottie never understood that. She never really seemed to take her mum seriously – said she was ‘fake’ and ‘full of shit’, but I only ever saw a rich and austere woman who looked down on scraggy-arse characters like me.

With a sharp intake of breath, I make myself walk towards the front door, press the doorbell and wait. My rucksack contains Lottie’s supposed last gift to me and I am keen to give it back.

After a moment or two I hear an internal door open and see the shadow of Erica approaching behind the glass. Even now, after all these years, I feel like the same scruffy teenager. I am slouched and awkward on her doorstep, painfully aware of my scuffed trainers and messy hair.

She opens the door carefully and I immediately notice that she’s wearing an old grey tracksuit – not like Erica at all, in fact more suited to what my mum would wear. Her hair is pulled away from her face, which is unmade-up and plain.

She looks exhausted. I’ve never, ever seen her like this.

‘Sara?’ She frowns. ‘I wasn’t expecting you, was I?’

‘No. No, sorry.’ I’m still thrown by her appearance. Even in the days after Lottie’s death Erica had maintained a perfectly turned-out look. It’s unnerving. ‘Maybe I should have called ahead…’ I say quickly.

She purses her lips. ‘Yes, maybe you should have. I didn’t think anyone would come today.’

She doesn’t invite me in. Instead, she stands blocking the small gap in the door, like I’m some door-to-door salesman that she is desperate to get rid of. I think of all the times I’ve been here before. How I’d slept over, spent weekends here. Have I ever really been welcome? ‘Sara, I’m sorry but I’m a bit busy at the moment. Is there something I can help you with?’

‘Yeah… I’m sorry.’ I pull my bag from my shoulder, reach into it and drew out the jar. I had carefully packed it back into the box to protect it. ‘I wanted to bring this back. I think it’s some kind of mistake.’

Erica takes the box and peers inside. ‘I’m not sure I understand. Isn’t this what I gave you yesterday?’

‘Yes. But I don’t think it’s meant for me. Lottie knew my thoughts on these things and I would never ever want to take her Jar of Joy. It was hers.’

Erica shakes her head. ‘But it’s not hers. Hers is still in her room. This is one she made for you. It took her ages.’

‘But I recognise the jar, the glue…’ My words are jumbled.

Erica shrugs. ‘Well, maybe she made it like her own for sentimental reasons, I don’t know, but this was definitely for you. She worked hard on it. I watched her do it.’

I can’t speak for a moment. I step forward, peering again at the jar. Had I been so caught up in my emotions that I’d failed to notice the difference? Now I look again, I can see this one has tiny butterflies painted on the glass, my favourite insect. And – oh my God, is that a robin?

My hand flies to my chest. ‘She painted a robin for me. My favourite bird. How did I not see that?’

‘Perhaps you weren’t looking properly.’ Erica’s tone is sharp. ‘Did you miss this, too?’

I blink, tears building in my eyes. Erica has reached deep inside the box and pulls out a large folded square of paper.

‘What is it?’

Erica hands it to me. ‘Perhaps you should look for yourself.’

Through the cloud of my tears, I do. I open and read Lottie’s last letter to me on Erica’s doorstep. And suddenly, everything makes a lot more sense.

Dear Sara,

My God, I think this is the hardest letter I’ve ever had to write. I did think about giving this to you face-to-face, explaining to you properly, but I knew what you’d be like. You would think that something like this is daft and unnecessary – a silly little Lottie Project that you never quite understood. Maybe you’d push it away and that would really upset me.

I’m begging you not to do that though. You need to give it a chance, even if it’s begrudgingly. I know you’re pulling that face right now (the one I hate) so stop that! Just chill and go along with this process, OK? I promise it’s not as bad as you think.

The truth is, I think this gift will really help you. I think this might be the greatest present I’ve given you and I really need you to believe in me. You once told me that you thought I was good at working people out, well, let’s just say this is my opportunity to prove it. I think I worked you out a long time ago. I love you more than anyone I know, and I want you to have something that is special and meaningful.

I want you to experience something that will matter. This might not make a lot of sense at first, but I think by the end it will – you simply have to trust me.

This Jar of Joy is yours – I’ve made it just for you. It’s a little bit different to the one I used to have. I had to put a twist on it that makes it yours and yours only, I hope you don’t mind. Inside, I have written happy memories and good things that we have done together – either the two of us, or with Jay and maybe others too. I want you to remember those moments. They’re special. They have meaning.

My last wish – and as a dying woman it’s important that you follow this through unless you want to be haunted by a neurotic, ghostly me – is that you take out a message from the jar every day. I want you to read the memory and then I want you to follow the instructions on the back as requested. There is one memory at the bottom of the jar. I’ve stuck it on. Please leave that one until last. The rest can be read in any old order, but I want that one to be seen last.

There aren’t that many messages. I could’ve gone mad, but I didn’t want to exhaust you. Maybe at the end of it you’ll realise why I loved remembering joy so much.

I’m hoping you’ll be able to enjoy the good things we did all over again. That’s not so bad, is it? I know I’m not there to experience them with you again, but I need you to remember the amazing thing we had. All of us. I think it’s rare to find people you get on so well with. Some people go a lifetime and never find a true friend. I count myself lucky that I found you when I did. I was so desperately lonely at times. Despite my best efforts, I struggled to see the brightness in the world – but it was you – and Jay – that helped me to find my way. You may feel like you’re alone now, or that I’ve left you, but that’s not the case. I’ll always be with you really, just listen and you’ll hear my voice. In time, I reckon you’ll soon be sick of me and that’s when I’ll know you are healed.

Also, you are not alone. You know that, really. I hope you’re not pushing everyone away, Sara. Now is the time to start letting others in. Your heart needs to be prepared to be open. You can’t still be scared of being hurt.

I want you to be happy, Sara – that’s all I’ve ever wanted. You will always be my closest friend, my sister and the best thing that ever happened to me.

Please don’t be too sad. I would hate that.

I want to give you happiness and by the end of this, I hope you understand what that truly is.

Yours forever,

L

Xxx