Chapter 17
Lili got up early and made herself pancakes and syrup.
She hadn’t gone to such effort at home for breakfast since Em died.
Then she walked down to the newsagents to buy a Sunday paper and came back to the cottage and read it in the back garden with a large cup of coffee.
She put a bowl of feed out for Bobbin and the robin kept her company, eating on the table.
She’d covered her knees and legs with a blanket as frost still lay around, reminding Lili that Christmas was around the corner.
When her toes became numb, she went inside and baked fresh scones for the afternoon.
On the way home yesterday, she’d bought clotted cream and always had strawberry jam in the fridge.
After lunch, with only half an hour to go until two o’clock, she quickly vacuumed, pushed back the sofa to give her three guests more space and lit incense sticks.
She covered the coffee table, in the middle of the room, with a white cloth and a small vase of flowers.
Lili also set down a box of tissues and an instant camera.
She turned on a Spotify playlist of relaxing, instrumental Japanese music.
She left the scones in the kitchen. They would restore everyone later.
The doorbell rang and Lili hurried into the hallway. She opened the door. ‘Hello, Marge. Come on in.’
A woman entered with pure white hair, in a cloud of rich, heady perfume, wearing large, black-rimmed glasses and an embroidered multi-coloured coat.
Marge often frequented Crystoffees. She had been one of Em’s favourite customers, a well-spoken lady who sounded as if she originally came from a posh part of London.
She carried a plastic bag. Lili gave her a hug, hung up Marge’s coat and showed her into the lounge.
The doorbell rang again. It was Tarone from across the road, still in his postman’s outfit that fitted tightly around his generous waist. His face was covered in perspiration.
His extra shift in light of the looming festive season had just finished and he had a rucksack on his back.
He wore shorts throughout winter and had done for every day of his twenty-year career.
Lili was handing out glasses of water when the third guest arrived, in practical jeans and flat shoes and hair scraped back into a tight ponytail – Jill, who cleaned the charity shop every night, a single mum.
A small leather bag was slung across her shoulder.
Nervously, the three of them sat on the sofa and Lili joined them, settling in a small wooden, upholstered armchair.
She and Em had bought it from a flea market and its curved legs shone thanks to Lili’s re-varnishing.
Tarone rubbed his forehead, brushing chin-length dreadlocks away from his face. ‘Before we start, can you explain about the ceremony again? What exactly am I supposed to do? I’ve mulled over everything you told me, Lili, and I’ve prepared myself, but I’m worried I’ll get it wrong.’
The three of them clutched their bags tightly.
In recent weeks, one by one, they’d asked about her Sunday afternoons.
Marge’s hairdresser had told her about Lili’s special events, Tarone had heard from his neighbour and Jill found out from one of her children.
What was about to happen was private, personal, not to earn money, nor status, nor kudos.
It was about attraction, not promotion, and since moving to Cornwall, since Em encouraged her to follow her gut with her mission, Lili’s Sundays had attracted many people in need.
She always prepared her guests thoroughly.
Tarone wouldn’t need her to go through it again – but she sensed he was simply procrastinating; he was anxious.
‘You can’t do it wrong, Tarone. It’s down to you.
’ Lili smiled. ‘I’ve told you about my travels and how I learnt…
how I grew to believe that inanimate objects are not much different to us humans.
Certainly not in terms of the building blocks of life.
They just lack the processes necessary to be called living – how to eat, reproduce, respire, how to move and adapt. ’
Tarone nodded. ‘I did my own research after speaking to you. It’s like… at the end of the day everything on earth is just a mass of protons, neutrons and electrons. We’re all the same.’
‘Exactly.’ Lili took a sip of water. ‘That’s why, in Japan, some of these objects are given funerals.
They’ve played an important part in people’s lives.
Over the years I’ve known several people who, for example, have felt sad saying goodbye to an old car, even though they’re excited for a new one.
The car holds so many memories, good times, bad times.
It becomes part of a person’s personal history and therefore they’ve attached emotions to it. ’
‘Those emotions we feel around certain objects, it’s why we find it hard to let go of particular objects,’ said Marge.
‘Yes. Now and then, someone returns to the shop after dropping off an object. They take it back if we haven’t sold it.
Others, you can just see, are massively relieved when they hand over their belongings.
Sometimes holding on to this stuff can hold us back, in the past. When an object means that much, it’s about giving it some sort of send-off, rather than just dumping it in a bin. ’
‘It’s an opportunity to find closure,’ said Jill.
‘Yes. All sorts of people have taken part now in these ceremonies, with all sorts of objects. The job of this afternoon is to set you free from whatever is holding you back. That’s why I call it a freedom ceremony.’
Tarone’s frown lines had eased.
The serious expression on Lili’s face lifted. ‘Then there are freshly baked scones for afterwards.’
Tarone fiddled with one of his dreadlocks.
His cheeks flushed. ‘At first I wasn’t sure about approaching you but my neighbour, Pete, insisted that what happened here dramatically helped his daughter after a break-up with her boyfriend.
I feel a bit stupid about it all though, to be honest, saying goodbye to something made of metal. ’
‘There’s no pressure,’ Lili said. ‘You can change your mind. Perhaps someone else would like to go first?’
Jill squirmed in her seat.
Marge adjusted her glasses. ‘Delighted to do it. Ever since my hairdresser first mentioned this, I’ve been itching to take part.’
Lili gave a thumbs up.
‘Do I stand?’ she asked.
‘Whatever you are comfortable with.’
Marge pushed herself up, walked over to the window and turned around, in front of the others. She reached into her plastic bag and pulled out… a bird feeder, rusty and scratched. Her chin trembled ever so slightly.
‘I lived with my sister until she died nearly two years ago. Neither of us got married. She was older, and more outgoing – or so I always assumed. I realised, when she passed, that I’d been living in her shadow…
’ Her voice broke, just a little. ‘Hence the big glasses, the colourful clothes now. I’m making up for lost time.
One is never too old for change. That’s my motto these days.
’ She swallowed, held the feeder in the air and looked at it straight on.
‘I’m against discarding items unnecessarily, which is why I’ve not got rid before.
But every time I look out to admire my garden, I don’t see the lush plants or vibrant lawn, all I see is this – and my sister. And sometimes I… I hated her.’
Marge’s voice faltered again, and Lili nodded encouragingly.
‘I didn’t comprehend clearly at the time, but she was a bully.
I don’t use that word lightly. Over the last couple of years, as that realisation has sunk in, I’ve had no issue with getting rid of her personal items. She put me off a young man I was engaged to years ago; said she’d witnessed him kissing someone else.
Now I wonder if that was true. He denied it, became upset, and one of the reasons I was so fond of Alfie was that he had no side to him.
But one should be able to trust their relatives, surely?
’ Marge’s voice broke again. ‘She made me do so many things around the house – cleaning, cooking. She said her career as an administrator for a marine insurance company was far more important than mine as a teaching assistant. As the years passed it was simply easier to keep the peace. I did most of the housework. And that was acceptable. I enjoyed baking, and scrubbing was cathartic.’ She looked at the feeder.
‘But the one thing I detested doing was topping this up with seed. Freda made me do it, however inclement the weather. She’d moan if it became dirty and send me outside in snow or ice.
She didn’t care as long as the birds were content. ’
Marge’s face softened and she swung the feeder gently from side to side.
‘You’re a small thing but you represent so much – how I surrendered to her whim; couldn’t stand up for myself; got stuck in a rut of doing everything she asked, to avoid confrontation.
Well, that’s not me any more. And… I’m no bird lover! There, I’ve said it!’
The other three smiled, even Lili, who was glad that Bobbin couldn’t hear.
‘They do their business everywhere, especially pigeons, and make a dreadful racket first thing in the morning.’ She held the feeder in both hands and addressed it directly.
‘It’s not your fault. You did your job. And thank you.
But I need to move on. The house, inside, now feels like a safe place, free from her memory, happy, kind, cosy.
Now I need to be able to look out onto my garden and feel peace and see the joy in my flowers and shrubs. ’
Marge looked up. Lili got to her feet and went over. She stretched out her hand and Marge passed her the feeder.
‘Would you like a photo to keep?’ Lili asked gently.