Lissa. Resolutions are only for lame people who want to change how they do things. I, however, am perfectly happy in that regard and will continue to carry on exactly as I always do.
He quickly follows that up withUnless you are the resolution-making type. In which case, resolutions are great and very worthwhile and not at all lame.
She finds another meme on her phone that says,Can’t break your New Year’s resolutions if you don’t make any.
She gets a strong-arm emoji back.Attagirl.
Although she probablyshouldmake some resolutions, shouldn’t she? Other than random job applications. Maybethatshould be her resolution: figure out ideal job. Darcy insisted last year that they write their resolutions down and stick them above their computer screens at work, because according to her, you’re four times more likely to make a positive change if you make a resolution than if you don’t. Though she didn’t exactly prove this point herself when she changed her resolution frombuy fewer shoestobuy more shoesat some point in February.
The bell above the shop door rings and in comes a woman around Lissa’s age, holding the hand of a little girl who can’t be more than about six, her hair in lopsided pigtails, cheeks rosy from the cold. Lissa smiles politely at the woman but leaves it at that – different people like different levels of engagement, she’s learning, and best to let them lead the way on that.
The little girl makes a beeline for the big teddy bear – almost brand new – that is displayed in the window. ‘I want this,’ she announces.
‘We’re just here for clothes today, honeybee,’ says the woman, placing a gentle hand on top of the girl’s head.
On the glass counter, Lissa’s phone lights up, and this time it is the email she’s been waiting for.
Dear Lissa, Many thanks for your application. Unfortunately, on this occasion …
She doesn’t bother to read the rest. All these rejection emails say some version of the same thing. But really – she didn’t even get an interview? She’s heard the job market is tough at the moment, but still. Or is it just her? She wants to text Darcy, to lament and to be reassured that it’snother, but she doesn’t. Things have been slightly off between them since the spa incident. It hasn’t been terrible – they still had Christmas drinks together, exchanged presents – just … off.
‘Come on then, Rosy,’ the customer is saying, heading to the counter with a selection of children’s clothes. She smiles a little awkwardly at Lissa. ‘They just grow out of them so fast,’ she says, her voice almost apologetic.
Lissa smiles as she puts them through the till. Some of the other people who work here seem to be able to strike up a conversation with anyone who comes in, but Lissa hasn’t mastered this skill yet, not quite sure where the line between friendly and annoying is.
‘But I want the bear,’ the little girl – Rosy – says, stopping just short of a foot stomp.
‘We can’t get the bear too, love, not today. Maybe next month.’
‘It might not be here next month. I want it for Eddy.’
The woman visibly winces, then glances at Lissa from under long eyelashes. ‘Her brother,’ she explains in an undertone.
‘Ah,’ Lissa says with another smile, picking up a small vest top and ringing it through.
‘He’s not …’ The woman swallows. ‘He was a baby and he didn’t …’ She trails off, seeming to catch herself, as though she’s realised that she doesn’t need to explain. And the awfulness of what she is saying hits Lissa.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she says, looking up and pausing what she’s doing. There it is again, that word. Sorry.
The woman places a hand on Rosy’s head again, like she might somehow protect her from the conversation. ‘My sister, she … Well. I just don’t know if the bear is a good idea.’ Lissa can think of nothing to say, so she only nods, folding the clothes into a brown paper bag.
The woman smiles down at the girl. ‘Come on then,’ she says brightly.
But Rosy doesn’t leave. Instead she looks up at Lissa out of big eyes. ‘The bear would be for Eddy,’ she says again, like she is trying to plead her cause with Lissa now instead. ‘He isn’t here,’ she adds. ‘He’s in heaven.’
Oh God. Lissa’s throat tightens as Rosy blinks up at her. ‘Mummy says we can take flowers to him, but I think he’ll like this better.’ She turns to the woman now. ‘Please, Auntie Cece.’
Cece’s eyes are shining, and Lissa can tell from her expression that she is only just keeping it together. Lissa swallows, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. This little girl has lost her brother. And she’s got to be about the same age Chloe was when she died. She wonders if Cece doesn’t want to buy the bear because of what it would remind Rosy’s mother of – the future that could have been. She remembers that feeling well – saw it in both her parents in the months and years after Chloe died.
‘Come on, Rosy,’ Cece says again, and Lissa can hear the effort it takes her not to let her voice break. ‘We’re going to go to Tesco next – how about we get some chocolate for you and Mummy?’
Rosy hesitates, then nods, looking down at the floor. ‘Okay.’ It’s a deflated little sound, one that makes Lissa’s heart break. She wonders if the girl understands what happened exactly. Wonders if she ever met her brother. But thinking about it makes it even sadder, because it’s such an awful thing to have happened.
She watches them leave the shop, the bell chiming happily again as they do so. They are just out of the door when she grabs her purse, stuffs a ten-pound note in the till and snatches the bear from the window. She doesn’t think through what she’s doing as she runs after them.
‘Wait!’
They both turn around, and she holds out the bear. ‘Here. I’ve paid for it.’
