Page 13 of Winter Nights at the Bay Bookshop
Returning to Bay Books, I was dying to tell Cassie who I’d just seen but there was a small queue so I waved and headed downstairs to the staff room, my encounter with Jordan playing on repeat. But as I settled at the table with a mug of tea and my lunch, it was the end of our friendship which was on my mind.
I’d been excited, if a little apprehensive, about leaving behind the small, cosy world of primary school and starting at Laurendale School with so many more kids, but I’d felt confident I’d settle in quickly because I’d have my best friend by my side. Jordan Hughes and I had been inseparable all the way through primary school. She’d lived just around the corner from me so we’d seen a lot of each other outside of school too.
When Hendrix was born during my penultimate year of primary school and we moved to Everdene in a different part of town, I’d been worried about not seeing my best friend during the school holidays. Our parents had ensured that didn’t happen, dropping us off at each other’s houses to spend time together. I’d expected the summer between primary and senior school to pan out the same, but every time Mum got in touch with Jordan’s mum to make arrangements, there was an excuse. Halfway through the summer break, I was helping my Granny Nora run the tombola at her village’s summer fete, my job being to retrieve the prizes. Jordan appeared but obviously hadn’t noticed me, considering her shocked expression when she gave me her winning tickets. I’m not normally one for confrontations – never have been – but I was so upset that, as I handed over her prizes, I couldn’t stop myself from blurting out, ‘Don’t you want to see me anymore?’
I’ll never forget the coldness in her eyes as she dished out her truth. ‘No. Because I’m sick of you yabbering on about books all the time.’
‘But I thought you liked books.’
‘They’re boring, Lily. Just like you. Rhianna’s my best friend now.’ She curled her lip at me then ran off to join her new bestie.
Granny Nora witnessed it and wrapped me in a bear hug. ‘Someone capable of treating you like that isn’t worth your friendship, sweetheart, and they’re certainly not worth your tears.’
But I couldn’t help it. I was distraught at losing my best friend and so hurt by what she’d said about books being boring, about me being boring. I’d never have believed she could turn on me like that. And with Rhianna Black of all people – the girl who’d picked on me from the moment we met in reception class.
Across the rest of that summer, books were my friends and my escape. I devoured the entireAnne of Green Gablesseries which I’d received in a boxset for Christmas, longing to live in Avonlea with abosom friendlike Diana Barry and a friend and love interest like Gilbert Blythe. The books helped restore my belief that there were true friends out there who were worthy of my friendship. I just needed to find them.
That first day at Laurendale School, I was terrified and so very alone. My primary school had fallen between two senior school catchment areas and all my other friends were going elsewhere. What if I didn’t make any new friends? What if everyone had gone up with their best friends from primary school and, as mine had ditched me, I’d forever be on the outside?
Walking up the school drive, my heart sank when I spotted Jordan and Rhianna huddled together. I dipped my head and tried to slink past them unseen but no such luck.
‘Book bore approaching!’ Rhianna called. ‘Run before she sends you to sleep.’
I glanced towards Jordan, hopeful of an apologetic shrug, but she was laughing. My former best friend was actually laughing at what my bully said. Granny Nora had been right. She wasn’t worthy of my friendship, but where did that leave me?
I leaned against a wall, far away from Jordan’s and Rhianna’s sight, and removedAnne of Green Gablesfrom my bag, desperate for some escapism before we were called into assembly to be split into our form classes. I felt sick with relief when I heard that neither Jordan nor Rhianna were to be in my class, but I didn’t know a single soul who was and they all seemed to be paired off as we made our way from the hall to the classroom. I was the last to enter and the only space left was a double desk in front of the teacher. I slipped into it and, to this day, I have no idea how I managed to hold in the tears.
Across my five years at Laurendale School, I didn’t have much to do with Jordan and Rhianna. We didn’t have any classes together or any friends in common. If I did see them around, I’d be subjected to dirty looks or snarky comments, but I never rose to it. I found it quite pathetic that their way of getting their kicks was to bring down others.
I remembered Ozzie from the year above us. He’d been Jordan’s boyfriend when she was fourteen but they broke up when he left school. They’d evidently got back together at some point without me realising because I’d been shocked when Dad pointed out their wedding announcement inBay News.It must have been about eight years ago because I remembered discussing it with Ewan and we hadn’t been together for long at the time.
I really felt for Jordan. It must be bad enough discovering your husband had been having an affair but for it to be with your best friend of twenty-three years was the ultimate betrayal. I just hoped she had other friends who could help her through it because she was certainly going to need them. I wouldn’t be trying to reconnect, though. Some relationships were definitely best kept in the past.
8
LARS
When I’d returned from my walk on Wednesday, I picked up a voicemail asking if I could do another shift at the library so I’d spent yesterday there and actually managed to focus on books rather than IT for most of the day, but today stretched out empty before me and I was going to have to tackle Mum’s bedroom.
I placed one of the boxes on her bed and emptied the shelves first, giving each trophy and medal a cursory glance to check the sports represented – swimming, hockey and archery. As far as I knew, Mum was still a keen swimmer. I knew she’d played hockey at school, but I couldn’t recall her ever mentioning archery. On the wall beside the shelves were her framed degree certificate and graduation photo. I lifted them from their hooks and added them to the trophies box along with various miscellaneous items.
Two boxes were soon filled and I moved onto a tallboy. The top two drawers contained T-shirts and the third contained shorts but, at the bottom of that drawer, I found an old photo album. Assuming it would contain photos from Mum’s childhood, I opened up the first page and gasped at the inscription written in swirly black cursive.
Pia Bryony Jóhannsson
Taken too soon, aged only 7
Rest in peace our little pixie
I sat down on the edge of Mum’s bed, slowly turning the pages. Each photograph was carefully mounted with photo corners and my little sister was in every single one, sometimes accompanied by Mum, Pabbi, Nanna or me. Beside each photo was a handwritten note including the date, location and Pia’s age as well as comments and observations such asPia loved twirling in this dress,I love how the light reflects on Pia’s hairandSuch a happy day out.
The lump in my throat grew with each turn of the page but one photo near the end, taken on Christmas Eve, broke me. Our family had always embraced the Icelandic Christmas Eve tradition ofJólabókaflóð– translated as Christmas book flood–where Icelanders give and receive books and spend the evening reading them. In the photo, Pia was sitting on the floor, cross-legged, her eyes shining as she cradled her new books. Mum had writtenLooking at that gorgeous smile, it’s hard to believe she was so ill and would be gone in less than two months.
As a tear splashed onto the page, I swore under my breath and quickly blotted it with the bottom of my T-shirt, relieved it had missed Mum’s note and the photograph. I wiped my palms across my cheeks before lying the album on the bed beside me, safe from any further tears as I continued to turn the pages.
A family photo taken on Christmas Day – what had turned out to be my sister’s final Christmas – was followed by one of her lying on the sofa on New Year’s Day with her favourite picture book,Anna and the Snow Dragon, open on her lap. The final photo had been produced in black and white. Pia’s favourite stuffed animals, including the knitted dragon she never let out of her sight, were lined up on her bed with a single white rose across their tummies. Mum’s accompanying note gave the date of my sister’s death and three words which set me off again –I am broken.
I’d been three weeks away from my fourth birthday when Pia was born and all my early childhood memories revolved around her. Born prematurely at twenty-eight weeks, Pia’s lungs didn’t get the chance to fully develop, leaving her with various respiratory problems. Severe asthma attacks meant she was a regular patient on the children’s ward at Whitsborough Bay Hospital. She missed so much school that making friends was difficult but she said she didn’t mind because she had her soft toys, her books and me.
