The Two Lives of Lydia Bird(105)

‘So you’ve come home to …?’ I leave it open-ended for him to finish, but he just stares at me in silence.

‘Hide?’ I suggest.

He huffs softly. ‘Something like that.’

‘But you will go back again, right?’ I say, because I couldn’t bear to see him lose this now he’s come so far.

He drains his beer. ‘Yeah, I’ll go back. Of course I will, but I’ve no idea what I’m going to say to them because the end matters, Lyds. It makes all the difference.’

‘I know,’ I say, even though I don’t really know much about stories. ‘Is there any chance they might have a point?’

‘More hopeful. That’s what they said. It needs to be more hopeful.’

I swirl my wine. ‘People need hope, Jonah,’ I say softly. ‘Surely we know that better than anyone?’

He looks away. ‘We also know that not every story has a happy ending,’ he says.

‘Maybe not,’ I say. ‘Not in real life anyway, but I don’t go to the movies to be depressed. I go to be inspired and to feel like everything’s going to be okay even when it isn’t, to think the good guy always wins in the end. I mean, who’d watch James Bond if the bloke with the metal teeth won?’

‘Jaws,’ Jonah mutters.

‘Exactly.’ I point at Jonah. ‘That shark got what was coming to him.’

‘No, Jaws as in … it doesn’t matter.’

‘Would it help if I read it?’

He looks at me, quiet. ‘I don’t know.’

He hasn’t told me what happens in his script. Obviously I know it’s inspired and informed by his friendship with Freddie, but he’s been reluctant to share too much and I haven’t pushed him because I’m nervous about it too. I know it’s going to stir up a million memories and I don’t want it to damage the friendship Jonah and I have worked so hard to rebuild over the last couple of years. But I look at him now, in trouble, and I know I’m the only person in the world who might be able to help. The studio execs might know their business, but they didn’t know Freddie Hunter.

‘Let me read it,’ I say, resolute. ‘I’d really like to.’

Hope flickers in his eyes. ‘You would?’

He looks so down-in-the-mouth, I just want to see his smile again. ‘I’ll do you a deal,’ I say. ‘I’ll read it if you watch the midwives shite with me.’

He looks at his empty beer bottle. ‘I think I might need another beer for that.’

‘You know where they are.’

He comes back from the kitchen with a fresh beer and the wine bottle in his hand, topping me up before he sits down again. It’s such a simple, second-nature gesture, yet it hits me right in the gut because I’ve grown so accustomed to doing everything myself. I refill my own glass, I eat alone, I watch TV on my own.

‘I’m really glad you’re home,’ I say.

Jonah looks my way, surprised. ‘I wasn’t sure it’d feel much like home any more,’ he says. ‘But it does.’

I know exactly what he means.





Friday 3 January


It’s three in the morning. I’ve tried all my usual tricks to get to sleep, but it won’t come to me even though I’m done in. Reading strains my eyes, waterfall sleep sounds make me want the loo and it’s a well-established fact that counting sheep is a crock of shit.

Jonah’s stayed over, he’s downstairs on the sofa like he always used to be. I wonder if he’s awake too or if sleep finds him easily at night. The floorboards are cool against my feet when I get out of bed, quiet so as not to disturb him. I sometimes make a cup of tea if I can’t sleep, but the kettle might wake him so I don’t bother tonight. I stand at the sink with a glass of water instead, yawning, and then I put my head round the door to look in on Jonah before I go back up to try for sleep again. He’s fast out, one arm flung towards the floor, his dark hair black in the shaded room. He’s always possessed an innate calmness, even back when we were kids and his home life was anything but. Sleep only amplifies it; he’s guru-level relaxed right now, his T-shirt discarded on the floor. Something draws me closer, until I’m sitting on the floor next to him, resting my head on the bunched-up quilt. God, I’m tired. I close my eyes, comforted by the sound of his breathing.

‘Can’t sleep?’

Jonah strokes my hair, soothing. I must have dropped off. I’m cold and my arm’s gone numb where I’ve been leaning on it.

‘Struggling,’ I admit. It won’t come as news to him, he knows I’ve been battling insomnia for a while.

He moves back and lifts the quilt. ‘Come up, there’s room.’

I don’t hesitate, not really. I crawl into the space he’s made for me, my back pressed against his chest. He wraps his arms around me and pulls the quilt up to my shoulders, his knees behind mine.

‘Go to sleep now,’ he says, his mouth close to my ear. ‘I’ve got you.’

Jonah Jones cradles me in his arms and shares his beautiful calmness with me. The steady beat of his heart against my shoulder blade, his body heat radiating into my blood and my bones. I sleep.





Monday 6 January