This Is Your Life Read Free Page B

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