The Two Lives of Lydia Bird(23)

We stare at each other for a moment, and then I turn on my heel and march off, furious.

I can’t tell Jonah what’s really the matter: that my body is knackered and my head is wrecked with the push-me, pull-me of living life with and without Freddie. I lay awake last night and tried to think of a rational way to explain to someone else what’s been happening, but it’s impossible. How can I expect anyone to understand that I sometimes get to be with Freddie when I sleep? I’m not delusional, and I’m not pretending that Freddie’s still alive in my everyday life. But there’s this … this other place where he and I are still together, and it feels like I’m locked in constant battle against its siren call. What will happen when the pills run out? I push the thought aside. I can’t contemplate it.





Sunday 3 June


I don’t know what I’m doing here. I was never particularly fond of school; this is the first time I’ve stepped foot in the place since I collected my A-level results. Actually, I do know what I’m doing here – I’m here because I felt like a bitch for storming off on Jonah yesterday and ended up sending him a sheepish sorry text, saying that maybe I could use some mindfulness after all. He replied it was either that or anger management because I was in danger of turning Hulk and bursting out of my jeans, and I said that I’d better try to make it then, seeing as green clashes with my hair. So here I am, dragging my feet across the concrete drive just as I used to when I was fourteen and hadn’t done my homework. I’m late, deliberately so. He said ten until twelve and it’s already turned eleven. I’m loosely planning to slide in towards the end and hide at the back, then tell Jonah a small white lie that I was there for almost all of it so we can put the bruise of yesterday behind us. We may not see each other every day any more but I don’t want to feel that we’ve fallen out; it seems terribly disloyal to Freddie to turn against his best friend.

As I push open the school hall door the nostalgic smell of floor polish and stale air transports me straight back to morning assembly. I can almost feel my knees aching from sitting cross-legged on the floor while the headmistress lectured us about appropriate behaviour, Freddie on one side loosening his tie, Jonah on the other fiddling with the buttons on his watch. There aren’t nearly enough people in the hall to hide my arrival this morning, twenty or so at most, sitting around tables with tea and cake rather than in regimented lines. Most of them look up when I come in and I pause, unsure, until Jonah stands and makes his way across to me.

‘Thought you’d decided to give it a miss after all,’ he whispers. ‘It’s fine if you don’t want to stay – I shouldn’t have pushed you yesterday.’

‘It’s okay.’ I look around at the gathering, apprehensive. More women than men, a smattering of people around my age but mostly older. A horrible thought strikes me: what if Auntie June and Uncle Bob are here? They love a workshop. I glance about and breathe a sigh of relief when they’re nowhere in sight. ‘How’s it been so far?’

He nods. ‘Yeah, it’s all right. Nice people. Honestly, Lyds, you don’t need to stay, it might not be your bag after all.’ He cricks his neck, something I haven’t seen him do in years. He used to do it when he was anxious; taking exams in this very hall for example. ‘In fact, I’ll grab my phone and come with you.’

I look at him, confused. ‘You asked me to come here,’ I say.

Jonah opens his mouth to say something else, but a woman approaches us, holding her hand out.

‘Hi there,’ she says. ‘I’m Dee. You must be Lydia.’

Ah. So I wasn’t too far off the mark with Dee. She’s brunette and a little shorter than me, her ponytail swinging as she shakes my hand. She’s not terrifyingly svelte, more yoga curvy; I can see why Jonah might be attracted to her. Her sympathetic brown gaze holds on to mine, and I realize she already knows my sob story. Both of her hands clasp around one of mine, slightly too warm. ‘Welcome.’

‘Hello,’ I say, slightly too cold and stiff upper lip, extricating myself. I don’t know what’s come over me. I just hate the idea of a complete stranger thinking she knows everything about me.

‘You missed the mindfulness session, I’m afraid,’ she says. ‘But you’re here for the cake, which is always the best bit in my opinion.’

I keep my churlish thoughts of how cake wouldn’t be much help to me to myself. ‘Maybe Jonah can fill me in on the mindfulness,’ I say instead.

‘Or I can do a one-to-one session sometime if you’d find it helpful?’ Dee offers, and although I can see she’s just being kind, she nettles me again. Am I silently radiating SOS signals? Here I am, feeling like I’m holding it together, and there everyone else is shovelling help on to me until I’m squashed flat. I’m coming to realize that I’m quite a private person; I prefer to hide behind a shiny veneer and then fall apart when no one’s looking.

‘I’ll keep it in mind,’ I say, non-committal. ‘Thanks though.’

Dee’s eyes connect with Jonah’s for a few silent seconds, just long enough to indicate ‘Your friend is bloody hard work, isn’t she?’ Or maybe I’m wrong and she was being far more New Age and philosophical in a ‘Your friend clearly has a way to go on her healing journey’ way. Or then again, maybe it was just a straightforward ‘Fancy a drink later?’ kind of look and I’m in the way. I wish I hadn’t come, but it’s too late now because Dee’s hand is on my elbow, steering me over to the group Jonah had been sitting with.