The Two Lives of Lydia Bird(107)

Something soul-deep and undeniable has shifted inside me lately when it comes to Jonah Jones. I’ve realized that you can love people in different ways at different times of your life. He’s my oldest friend, but I turned to him as a man the other night. I turned to him in the small hours of the morning as someone I love, and he gave me sanctuary and protection without question.

I turn the small grey pebble over and over, thinking about the ending to the story he’s written, and then I get up and find some paper and a pen. Words have always been Jonah’s thing, really, not mine, but maybe tonight I can find the right words for both of us.

Dear Jonah,

So, I read the manuscript and I love it – of course I do. I cried on page one, and to be honest, all the way through, because Freddie is there on every page. You’ve brought him, and us, to life with your magic words.

I’m not surprised people have fallen in love with your story. I have too – I’m so very, terribly proud of you. But, Jonah, here’s the thing. I think they’re right – you should change the ending.

Every story has a beginning, a middle and, if you’re lucky, a happy ending – your characters deserve that much after everything they’ve been through. Your audience does too. Let people leave the theatre with empty popcorn buckets but hearts full of hope, because surely there’s more than one happy ending for everyone?

I wish I could say all of this to you in person, but I think we both know Phil would fire me if I asked for any more time off at the moment! Besides … some things are difficult to say out loud, so maybe it’s as well.

You and me … it’s complicated, isn’t it? But then again it isn’t, really, when you think about it. We both loved Freddie – if he was still here, I’d be his wife and you’d be his best friend, and I don’t for a minute think that would have ever changed. We’d have all grown old, although I don’t think he’d have ever truly grown up.

But he isn’t here. There’s just you and me. We’re for ever changed because we loved him, and things changed for ever because we lost him. But aren’t we lucky to have shared so much? We have a for-ever bond. I can’t imagine sharing my life with someone who didn’t know him.

Change the ending, Jonah.

Love Lydia x





Wednesday 29 January


I almost didn’t mail the letter, because I’m not sure our friendship can survive it. I queued in the post office, anxious, and in front of me a small child reached up and slid his hand into his mum’s. It reminded me of that grey pebble being slipped into my hand for luck, and it gave me just enough courage to pass the letter over.

That was more than three weeks ago and he hasn’t replied. I’ve imagined any number of reasons why. Perhaps the letter got lost in the post and he’s out there in LA thinking I haven’t bothered to read the script – or worse, that I read it and hate it. Or maybe he’s got it and he’s mortified because I’ve read the signs all wrong and he doesn’t know how to let me down gently. Or it could be that he’s moved to Vegas and married a showgirl, my letter still unopened on his doormat. If it’s that one, I hope someone does me the kindness of scrawling ‘return to sender’ on the envelope.

‘I wish your mother had never introduced me to these,’ Ryan says, unwrapping his mint biscuit. He’s surreptitiously eating his lunch behind the front desk in the library, breaking my no food or drink rule. I don’t mind; he comes down every now and then to spend his lunch break with us, drawn as much by Flo and Mary as me, I suspect. They’re both in this afternoon, sitting either side of Ryan behind the desk.

‘How’s it going with Kate?’ I ask. He’s been seeing Kate, the Uma-Thurman lookalike who ran the speed-dating sessions, for a while now. They bumped into each other in the supermarket a couple of months after the event; as he tells it their eyes met over the cucumbers, but I think he’s embroidering the truth for the sake of comedy.

‘Good.’ His ears turn pink. ‘She’s …’ He puts his biscuit down while he thinks. ‘You know that place in town next to the dry-cleaner’s?’

I frown as I try to bring the high street to mind. ‘The butcher’s?’

‘Best pork pies for miles,’ Mary says.

Ryan rolls his eyes. ‘The other side.’

‘The fancy-dress shop?’ I say.

Ryan nods. ‘She’s into all that stuff.’

Flo rubs her hands together. ‘Does she want you to dress up as Batman?’

He blanches, and we all laugh even though it’s terribly indiscreet of him to say anything.

‘I’m going to put this lot back in the children’s section.’ I pick up an armful of books. ‘Don’t go bonking anything while I’m gone.’

I’ve grown to love my library. The kids’ section is my haven, set off in a side room to contain the noise, with graceful bay windows overlooking the street. I’ve reshelved the books and tidied the tables, and I take a breather for a few minutes on one of the deep window seats to watch the rain-damp street scene. People coming, people going. I don’t realize there’s anyone else in the room with me until I turn back and find Jonah Jones leaning on the doorframe in his winter coat, watching me.

I’m held bone still by the surprise of seeing him here; we stare at each other for a few silent beats across the room. His dark eyes tell me he’s crossed the ocean to see me and now he’s here he doesn’t know how to play this, and I can’t help him because I don’t know either.