Escaping Life Read Free Page A

birthdays and anniversaries.  As it turned out, the old couple
from only the next road, who had been daily visitors to their building site
whilst rebuilding the cottage to assess the progress, were celebrating their
forty-fifth wedding anniversary that week.
    “Well done you
two!” Elizabeth said out loud, as she took another sip of her tea.  She looked
at the weddings, still attracted to the glamorous white dresses, which were
much smaller and sleeker than those she remembered as a child.  She was so
certain, at five years old, that when she married James, the boy who always
rode his bike through the stream on the hot Sunday mornings, that she would
have the biggest whitest, laciest dress she could find.  It hadn’t taken long
to become bored with the idea of marrying James and when she married Graham her
dress was a far cry from her childhood aspirations.
    As she glanced
down at the list of announcements, trailing her already inky finger across the
names and boxes, she almost missed it, not bothering to read the name of the
sender.  As her brain continued to process the information, she realised she
had seen something in those words, her subconscious dragging her eyes backwards
as if on springs.  It was something that she least expected to see again.  She
read it three times before she really understood what she had seen.  She
couldn’t believe the words so honestly written in front of her.
    Betty, I
never stopped missing you.  I’m so sorry that I had to go away.  I know in your
heart you will believe this is me, and I know you will read it.  It’s time to
learn the truth.  Your big sister, Becca  x
    As she mouthed
the words over and over they scratched at her throat as if decorated by thorns. 
Her stomach whirled and somersaulted as if she were travelling over the highest
point of a Ferris wheel.  “ Betty, I never stopped missing you”, she read
over and over to herself.  “ Your big sister, Becca”.    For the last four
years she had begged for another conversation with the sister.  She had prayed
to a God that she didn’t believe in anymore to bring her back so that she could
be with her again.  He never answered her prayers, just like he hadn’t when she
was a child, and so instead she had moved her life and her husband to this
cottage, and she had found her sister again in the beauty of her garden, the
sound of the ocean, and the tattered pages of the local weekly newspaper.  But
what she had found in this new place was not her sister.  Instead it was a
place where the good memories could live openly, with the more recent bad ones
pushed aside.  Now, here before her, were actual words, as if Becca was stood
in front of her and speaking.  But her sister couldn’t speak to her.  She
couldn’t write letters.  She couldn’t contact her in any way.  She had already been
dead for four years.
    She sat for a
while.  She could no longer hear the waves lapping against the small boats
tethered to the harbour wall, or the seagulls as they fought over their stolen
fish.  Her thoughts were simple, yet frantic.  The words before her looked as
if they came from the hand of her sister.  Even the nicknames were the same.  Nobody
else ever called her Betty.  But there was just no way…… was there ? 
Grabbing the paper, she headed through her kitchen and back into the hallway,
and taking the stairs two steps at a time, arrived at the bedroom where Graham
was still sound asleep and unaware of the ghostly intrusion.
    “Graham, wake
up,” she said shaking him.  She sat down on the bed next to him, rolling him
back forcefully by the hips towards her.  His face twisted under the glare of
the sunlight, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light streaming in through the open
window.  Elizabeth was trying to look calm.  She knew she was failing.
    “What is it?”
he asked, realising immediately that this was not the usual Sunday morning
wake-up call.  There was no mug of tea freshly placed