This Is Your Life (2 page)

             
‘Ah, Lizzie, do you have a minute?’ 
He’d appeared from his office, a benign smile on his face.

But
well-meaning, he’d summoned everyone to his office, where to Lizzie’s intense embarrassment he’d rambled on with his usual verbosity about what he affectedly referred to as ‘the blessings of marriage’ and ‘lifelong commitment’, words which sent a chill down Lizzie’s spine, before opening a bottle of champagne. 

It
was warm but Lizzie gulped it.  For the second time that day she fought an untimely desire to run, instead smiling blindly around the office at everyone as their voices echoed in her ears.

             
‘I felt like that, doll!’  Jude’s red lipstick had transferred to the rim of her glass – and her teeth.  Always grateful for a distraction, she was swigging champagne like there was no tomorrow.  ‘Only not like till the day before…’

             
‘Like what?’  Lizzie was flummoxed.

             
‘Poleaxed!  Shit scared… You know!  It’s a big day, isn’t it, in front of all those people… But it’ll be a good one.  The best.  Especially the wedding night!  Oh, that was worth waiting for, I can tell you..’  She winked at her.

             
‘You’re so lucky, Lizzie…’  Little dark-haired Sammy looked enviously at her.  ‘I mean, you’re getting married… it’s just so romantic, isn’t it?’

             
‘Thank you.  I mean, is it… I am…’  Lizzie stuttered. 
Lucky?  Romantic
?  She took another gulp of champagne.

Lizzie fled as soon as she dared.  The tube was its chock-a-block worst, and she failed to notice the man who’d edged closer and closer until he was pressed up against her, breathing noisily in her ear.  And that was when Lizzie lost it, a spark of anger flaring inside as she ground the heel of her boot into his foot.
How dare he
…

It flashed into Lizzie’s mind
how Jamie had bought them for her. 
You can’t beat a pair of good quality high heeled boots…

And f
or once, he was right.  She’d cursed those heels many times but this was her reward for every uncomfortable step.  Her assailant gasped, a contorted look of pain on his face.

But t
he strangest mood was upon her, the most restless of thoughts in her head.
Bring it on,
she silently challenged the universe, her nails digging into the palms of her hands as she clenched her fists by her sides. 
Throw something else at me.  Do your absolute worst… 

She’d stood stiffly after that, enduring the beastly tube
as it jolted through the darkness, staring mindlessly at a pair of arms further down the carriage.  They were encased in a rather damp coat.  Nice though, Lizzie noticed -
navy, wool by the looks of it, expensively cut, she thought, desperately trying to distract herself. 

             
Unintentionally her eyes wandered upwards, scrutinising purely objectively of course, blue, smiling eyes with the skin slightly crinkled at the edges, and fairish windswept hair that would have looked more in place on a beach. 
Brad Pitt’s hair mixed with Jude Law’s eyes
, she vaguely registered, before he smiled and winked at her before getting off at the next stop.

How could she have
… Lizzie’s face flushed with shame as more sardines prised themselves in beside her.  First she’d attacked a man, then been caught red handed ogling another
.
A wild, alien energy coursed through her veins as yet again she fought the urge to run anywhere, just to
escape -
from the heaving carriages, the mundanity and pointlessness of all of it.

Slowly, as she soaked blissfully in a steaming hot bath, Lizzie started to feel more like herself.  But even here, submerged in the bubbles, she still couldn’t fathom her thoughts.  It niggled at her that her wedding felt such a chore.  Tired or not, shouldn’t it be the biggest day of her life, looking forward to the future that lay in front of them? For the first time she contemplated the enormity of what she was committing to, and that’s when something shifted.  Barely perceptibly at first…  But it was that question, the one that she couldn’t quite bring herself to answer.  W
as Jamie really the man she wanted to share her life with
?  It floated in the air, unanswered.

As Lizzie poured herself a large glass of wine, she looked again at the beautiful earrings she’d borrowed from Katie - then suddenly remembered a bracelet that had been her mother’s.

In
the bedroom, she pulled a chair over to the vast wardrobe, and climbing up, reached for the topmost shelf where pushed out of sight was a wooden box.  Modest looking, its contents were priceless - at least to Lizzie – of photos, letters, precious bits of her life. 

It was almost exactly a year since
the last time, when she’d tucked away a few treasured items.  Dragging it out now, Lizzie sat on the floor.  Whether déjà-vu or just plain nerves, her hands were trembling as she opened it, finding her mother’s old jewellery box and underneath it, a notebook, a journal her mother had kept until her illness prevented her from writing.  It had been far too painful to read at the time and Lizzie had left it - out of sight, out of mind. 

A whole year
.
How can that be?
   Holding the notebook had triggered a wave of memories - not all good ones either.  It had been the toughest thing Lizzie had ever done, seeing her mother through the appointments, the treatment and watching the decline that followed.  And the end… That was still a no-go area.  Far too distressing to think about.

Lizzie studied the notebook
, taking in the daisies on the front - her mother had loved them.  Then starting to turn the pages, before she got any further an envelope slipped out and landed in her lap. Picking it up, she turned it over. 

And that was when she forgot all about the events of today.  It didn’t occur to her that if Jamie hadn’t gone to his conference,
she wouldn’t even be sitting here like this.  Nor that the events of the entire day had in some obscure way been tipping her off balance.   All that mattered at that precise moment was the letter and with shaky hands she opened it. 

Dearest Lizzie

I hope that maybe the dust is settling – enough at least for you to start to move on.  Because at some point, after all that’s happened, that’s what you have to do.

Think for a moment:  here you are in the middle of your greatest adventure – your life!  Or maybe somewhere along the way you lost sight of that… I know, you have to work, pay the bills, but...

You have choices.  Never forget that.  Imagine for a moment, if you were granted three wishes, Lizzie.  What in your life is most in need of change?
What do you most need?  Freedom, maybe?  What a gift that would be! Remember, Lizzie – you are as free as you choose to be.

There’s a place in the West Country.  It’s known to the locals as Spriggan Point.  You’ve been there before, with me,
many years ago. I can’t remember who told me about it, just that there’s a magic to be found there which heals the broken spirit.  And you can feel it, Lizzie, even when the fog rolls in off the ocean and you can’t see one step in front of you, but it’s in the wind touching your skin, the spray from waves crashing on the rocks, even the sand underfoot.  It reaches into your soul until you, too, can’t help but feel part of something bigger.  What I found there never left me.

Maybe you need its magic too,
Lizzie.  I’ll leave a map with this letter.  There’s a farm nearby, where we stayed – Roscarn, if I remember rightly.  And don’t let anything stop you.  Let it weave its spell on you too, before you do something you regret.  

D
on’t be upset when you read this.  None of us go on forever!  Life has been great!  Make sure you have a great life too...

With love forever

Mum

As Lizzie read it, pain like a knife stabbed at her.  Barely taking it in, she read it again, her face wet with tears.  And as she sat there not moving, she realised.  It was all a mistake.  Her mother had meant this for her a year ago, not now, just days before her wedding…

Rummaging through the box, Lizzie looked for the map but there was no sign of one.  And as a knock at the door
interrupted her, she forgot about it. 

‘Cheer up love, it might never happen,’ quipped the delivery
man with an annoying wink, as she opened it and signed for the large box he handed over.

But Lizzie was too distracted to respond and
simply took the parcel, carrying it into the kitchen where she opened it to find the orders of service beaming up at her in all their embossed glory.

Saturday 27
th
June

The Marriage of

James Archibald Mountford

And

Eliza Rosalie Lavender

              A
s
Lizzie stared the words seemed to jump up and mock her. 
How could he? 
The hated ‘Eliza’ instead of Lizzie and the ‘marriage of’ suddenly sounded like a prison sentence.  And how come she was marrying a man whose middle name was Archibald?  She thought of her dress hanging in the spare room, its stiff, unyielding form like a straight-jacket waiting to deliver her to her warder.

             
As the rest of her life flashed in front of her, Lizzie froze.  And at last the fog started to clear. It was wrong, all of it.  The serious husband, the beige house, the stultifying job – she didn’t in all honesty want any of it.  She had to do something – now – before it was too late.  But what?  Desperation swept over her.  She had no place to run to, no plan B.  Nothing. 

             
But as her world crumbled around her, there in her darkest moment she found it.  The faintest trace of strength like the furthest, dimmest star, just enough for her to do the only thing she could think of.  Digging out her battered old suitcases from the loft, hurriedly, untidily, she packed.  Throwing in only the clothes she liked, leaving the dreaded suits.  It was a pitifully small pile of possessions, when she’d finished – not much to show for three years.  

             
But all done and ready to go, and oblivious to the moonlight beaming through the window, Lizzie slept, dead to the world.

*

Under a canopy of ancient beech trees, a wisp of smoke spiralled above the dying embers of a fire.  Nothing stirred, and when it did, it was as if the trees themselves were whispering.

‘Are you sure we should be doing this?’ The words were barely detectable.

‘Oh shush yourself, it’s fine! How could it possibly not be!’  There was a rushing noise, the cracking of twigs underfoot, then quiet again.  ‘All that matters is it’s done with
love
…’ 

The pungent scent of rosemary filled the air.

‘Which it is of course! We agreed, didn’t we!  That if your heart is full of love, everything will follow…’

The air filled with more whispers.  ‘So, everything’s in place then.  Everything…’

              ‘I only hope it’s enough…’

             
‘It’s working this time, it has to be.  All the signs are there…’

             
‘Come on – we’ve nearly finished…’

             
The whispers unified, softly:

‘Candle light

Of spirit sight

Guide this spell

Through its flight…’

             
The voices were hushed for a moment.  There was no sound at all, but the faintest movement of the leaves.

             
‘Such a perfect moon, isn’t it?’ Spoken like a wish.

             
A collective sigh filled the air, then the words ‘Blessed be!’ murmured almost reverently in response.

The fire hissed as more herbs hit glowing cinders, and the voices faded away leaving silence.

*

             
T
he next morning bright and early, Lizzie opened her eyes.  Instantly awake, it was with relief she found her resolve had not deserted her and quickly dressing, she heaved her cases into her car.  It was her Mum’s old Golf, highly disapproved of by Jamie, who muttered about emission gases and carbon footprints every time it was mentioned.  Then propping up an envelope on the hall table and leaving her door key and engagement ring next to it, she looked back for only the briefest moment before closing the door behind her.

             
Ready, Lizzie paused and reached for her mobile.  After all, it would be just a little reassuring if even one person knew what she was doing and could tell her that no, she wasn’t daft and shouldn’t hot foot it back in there and rip that letter up quick-smart.

             
‘Hello, you’re through to the voicemail of Katie McDonald, please leave a message…’

             
‘Hi Katie?  It’s me.  I
have
to talk to you.  Something’s happened… I’ll - I’ll tell you all about it later…’ She was on her own.  The butterflies were fluttering inside again.  It was time.

Driving
along the South Circular, she tried to ignore them and thought instead about the letter.  She’d never heard of Roscarn or Spriggan Point, but surely any place was easy to find these days.  And the timing was perfect – the wild sea, deserted beaches – if she couldn’t find
herself in a place like that, she was beyond hope. 

Heading past
Heathrow on the M4, she put her foot down just as her mobile buzzed on the passenger seat.  Hoping it was Katie, she glanced over to see ‘Jamie’ flashing up on the screen. Panic shot through her, and she turned her music up over the noise.  The sound persisted and before she could stop herself she’d opened the window and hurled it out, narrowly missing a motorcyclist who swerved and raised his fist at her.  Grinning slightly madly and ignoring the aggressive toots behind her, Lizzie gave a whoop of glee as a weight suddenly lifted from her shoulders.  She’d done it!  She was free…

As she drove, Lizzie’s spirits stayed high, her heart soaring, and oblivious to the clouds gathering ominously the further west she drove.  She had a vague plan that she’d stop at some point - it didn’t matter where – but she’d find a B & B for the night.  A homely place with comfy beds and soft pillows, and a plump, welcoming landlady who’d have steak and kidney pie or chicken casserole on the go.  Comfort food.  She’d talk to Katie and fill her in, then tomorrow she’d be up with the lark and a whole day closer to Cornwall.  She’d buy a map when she got there and find Roscarn, or better still, go online and google it.  In her mind, Lizzie saw black, jagged rocks she’d clamber down to a sandy beach, where she could walk for miles while she figured out the rest of her life. 

I can’t wait…
she kept thinking excitedly, holding the image in her mind. 
I just can’t wait to be there…

W
ishing the miles behind her, Lizzie drove onwards, imagining an invisible barrier keeping Jamie away.  Just thinking about him caused anxiety to ripple through her. An orange light blinked at her from the dashboard – she ignored it.  But a few miles on the engine coughed just as another, red, flashed into life beside it.  A slip road appeared in the nick of time, and gratefully Lizzie took it.

For a few fruitless miles
Lizzie crawled the Golf along before she almost missed the old-fashioned rusty metal sign, proclaiming ‘Garage’, with an equally rusty arrow underneath.  Buried in the hedge, pointing in the unlikely direction of a narrow country lane. 

The lane meandered for a mile or so, before a few scruffy cottages emerged out of the countryside
and another old sign pronounced ‘Littleton’.  Then an old church appeared, just visible through the woods, more cottages and then,
was that it
? 

A single ancient petrol pump stood proudly at the side of the road, in what presumably passed as a forecourt.  It
looked like something out of
Heartbeat
and Lizzie half expected to see Nick Berry pull in on his motorcycle.  It didn’t matter, she told herself firmly.  Of course it didn’t.  Not if they could fix her car and get her on her way.

She p
ulled over and got out, peering in to the shabby kiosk, which apart from a shelf of dusty coke bottles, appeared empty.

‘Hello? 
Is anyone there?’ she called, tentatively venturing inside.

A
hacking cough which made her jump was followed by a loud sniff, as a man in filthy overalls shuffled out of the gloom.

‘Mornin’ Miss?  S’pose you be wanting some petrol like?’  The accent took Lizzi
e by surprise.

‘Actually, I was hoping someone could look at my car,’ Lizzie started hopefully.  ‘
Only there’s a warning light… it came on about five miles ago…’

S
ucking his teeth and squinting out of the corner of one eye at her, the man shook his head disapprovingly.

‘Should a brought it in right-way miss, could have all manner goin’ on in there,’ he shook his head some more.

‘Well,’ Lizzie started most indignantly, then sensing an explanation was pointless, stopped.  ‘Well,’ she tried again, more desperately this time, ‘do you think you can fix it?’

‘Mmm, well, best I ‘ave a look, right? 
You leave me your phone number Miss.  That way I can tell you what it is.’

‘Oh.  Ok. Oh.  I don’t have one.  And I can’t go anywhere until I get my car back.’

It was a funny look her gave her.  Not comforting in the least. 

‘Aaar,’ he said knowingly.  ‘Aaar.  Right.  I see.’  Then he paused.
  ‘What you means is you needs somewhere to stay.’

‘Stay
?’   Lizzie started to panic again
.  Stay here?  Oh no.  NO
.    ‘I don’t think you understand.  You see I don’t want to
stay
, I just want you to fix the car so I can be on my way.’

He chuckled.  ‘Oh no no no.  You see it won’t be fixed till tomorrow earliest.  You best go down the Star miss, they do rooms. Ain’t nowhere else to go.’

It wasn’t the most promising
of recommendations, but Lizzie was out of options. As she rummaged in her car for a few overnight essentials, Dave, as he told her his name was, stood and watched her, coughing loudly and saying ‘aaar’ a lot.  Then resigned to her doom, she handed him her keys with a sigh and wandered down the lane to find the Star.

The quiet was disconcerting
.  It had been bright and sunny in London, but here the clouds here had arranged themselves menacingly overhead and she could feel the odd heavy spot of rain.  Her footsteps seemed to echo in the silence and when a crow cawed loudly just above her, she leapt out of her skin.  She passed a few more old cottages but not a soul - it was like a ghost town. 
It’ll be fine
, she persuaded herself. 
It’s just one night, that’s all.  I’ll walk round this corner and find a cosy village pub with a roaring fire and a little bedroom tucked into the eaves…
   

Her daydream was
rudely interrupted however, when around the next corner she nearly got mown down by an Audi TT.  It must have been doing seventy as it sped furiously up the lane.  And then she found the Star, and her illusions were shattered.  Instead of being the quaint, thatch-roofed pub she’d been expecting, its red-brick exterior looked grim.  And the mother of all commotions was going on inside.

‘I ain’t havin’ no bleedin council bastards tellin’ me what to do…’ came an angry male voice, clear as a bell
through the closed door. 

‘William.  If we’re going to get anywhere with this, you have to calm down,’ came a female voice.  Soothingly.  Not quite so passionate, from what Lizzie could gather.

‘S’all right for you, inn’t it?  You ain’t got them marchin’ through your land, leavin’ friggin’ gates open, chuckin’ their crap in the ’edges…’  He made a sound like spitting.

‘Lord sakes.  Someone needs to get this nonsense under control,’ came another woman’s voice, a
well-spoken one this time, sounding more than a little exasperated.  ‘It’s the traffic we’re talking about surely, not the blasted ramblers.  It’s not that difficult.  All we need to do is close the road, temporarily of course, and move the sheep every day for a month.  At five o’clock on the dot.  That’ll fix the buggers!’

The voices faded to a rumbling discontent.

‘It’ll only work if we all agree,’ said the first sane voice Lizzie had heard.

The exasperated woman spoke up again.  ‘Very well.  All in favour, raise your hands.
..’

After much mutterings
in the background, she added, ‘Right.  Monday morning everyone?’

Feeling rain soaking into her t-shirt, nervously
Lizzie went in, not sure at all what she’d find.  But no-one seemed to notice as she crept over to the bar and timidly enquired about a room.

‘A room, Miss?’ bellowed the barman, grabbing the attention of absolutely everyone there.  ‘You say you want a room?’

‘Just for one night,’ Lizzie added hastily, suddenly conscious of everyone’s eyes turning to stare at her.  ‘You see, my car’s being fixed up the road.’

‘Oh,’ said the barman, a wicked glint appearing in his eye.  ‘Not Dave?  You sure you just want the one night?  Could do you a deal if you decide to stay for five?’

‘No,’ Lizzie answered far too loudly, clearly showing her alarm.
Five
? ‘No.  Just the one night. Please.  It isn’t going to take long,’ she added firmly, ignoring his raised eyebrows.

‘Whatever you say, Miss…’
he smirked and turned to rummage for a key.

Lizzie
’s stomach was churning.  Dave hadn’t exactly inspired confidence, and now, this cocky barman standing there grinning at her, he really wasn’t helping at all. 

Maybe she should go.  Right now
.  She could hot-foot it back to Dave’s, reclaim her crippled car and creep back up the road to civilisation.  Who was to say she wouldn’t get away with it?  But she was interrupted by the exasperated female voice from earlier. 

‘
I say, you better come and have a drink.  You’ll need one. Name’s Antonia by the way.  You’re not from round here, are you?’

Lizzie turned to face Antonia, a slight figure with long fair hair
which hung in unruly curls down her back.  She was pretty in an unkempt kind of way and a bit older than her, Lizzie guessed.  But in skin tight jodhpurs and riding boots, might have come from another planet.

‘Um, I’m Lizzie,’ she said uncertainly, holding out a hand.

Antonia shook it heartily.  ‘Take no notice of these old farts.  They’re all up in arms because the road works on the main road mean our lane gets used as a rat run.  Absolute flaming nuisance, of course.  William blocked it with his tractor and let the tyres down but he never knows where to draw the line.  Ended up getting arrested, the idiot.  And you can’t go out on a horse with all those bloody townies who think they own the road...  Buggers hoot at you as they pass!  God, I can’t tell you.  Poor Hamish, nearly sat on a Porsche.  Golly!  Should have let him – that’d make them think.  Anyway, the upshot of it all is the farmers start moving their sheep around.  Spot on rush hour.  That’ll sort them!  Can’t run a bloody sheep over no matter what you’re driving!’ she hooted triumphantly, thumping a fist on the bar.

Just as she was wondering who or what on earth Hamish was,
one of the men, in an unlikely outfit of Stranglers t-shirt and a beany hat wandered over and stared at Lizzie, the look on his face unmistakeably hostile as he pointed a grubby finger at her.

‘You ain’t one of them danged ramblers I ‘ope…’ he said menacingly.

‘Lord’s sakes, William.  Don’t be such an
arse
.  Do you honestly think she’d tell you if she was? Now clear off and leave the poor girl alone.’  Antonia raised her eyebrows exasperatedly at Lizzie, as William, clearly used to her bluntness, simply glowered at her, muttering obscenities under his breath as he shambled back to the others.

‘Farmer,’ said Antonia by way of explanation.  ‘Alpha male, though you’d never think so to look at him.  Pity… he’s quite sexy when he’s not being such a cretin,’ she added regretfully.  ‘
Awfully good with horses, believe it or not.  And I’d far sooner some mud and sweat than poncey pinstripes, wouldn’t you?  My ex wore them.  Once was enough, I can assure you.’  Her eyes wandered up and down the retreating view of the farmer.

Lizzie blinked disbelievingly. 
Mad and sweat?  It didn’t appeal in the slightest though she could understand an aversion to pin stripes.  Surely there was middle ground – with scrubbed country types in nice, clean clothes rather than this lot who looked straight out of the fields.

Antonia
’s company was refreshing.  She clearly had a thing for the beany-hatted farmer who looked several years her junior, her eyes flickering lustfully in his direction every so often, a fact to which he seemed oblivious.