The Two Lives of Lydia Bird(59)

‘You know what I mean,’ she says. ‘I’ve wanted to bring this up for a while now and not known how to say it. You know how much we all adored Freddie, but no amount of missing him will bring him back.’

I nod as I swipe my cheeks dry with my fingertips, wishing I could tell her that, actually, there is a way to bring him back, how exquisite it is to slide into a different reality. I watch Elle struggle as if she’s sorting around inside her head for the exact right phrase.

‘So, me and David, and Mum too, actually, we all think it might be a good idea if you broadened your circle a bit.’

She winces after she’s finished, a silent baring of her teeth, her shoulders raised, braced for my response.

‘Broadened my circle?’ I repeat the phrase slowly. And then realization dawns, cold as IV saline sliding into my bloodstream. ‘Oh, I get it. You all think I’m leaning on you too much.’

She looks winded. ‘What? No, not that at all, Lydia. God, no.’

I’m not listening properly, because all I can hear is that I’m taking up too much of their time, that Elle and David want their life back to just the two of them, or the three of them, and that Mum is tired of having to worry about me. They all need their normal back, which translates as I need to find other people to be with and other places to be sometimes. Fine. Just fine. I get up sharply from the table and flick the kettle on, messing with the cups for something to do.

‘Tea?’

‘I don’t want tea and I don’t think you’re leaning on us all too much,’ she says, her voice low and steady. ‘I would never say that and you know it.’

I turn, leaning against the kitchen surface. ‘It’s okay,’ I say, brittle, not able to let the hurt go. ‘You’re right, anyway. You’re going to be busy when the baby comes and Mum has this Stef person now, so …’ I shrug.

Stefan, or Stef, is someone Mum works with. She’s dropped his name into conversation a few times over recent months. Stef said this, Stef did that. And then Stef was in Mum’s kitchen eating macaroni cheese a couple of weeks ago when I called in unannounced after work, sending Mum into a puce-faced panic as if I’d caught them in bed rather than eating dinner and watching The Chase. She followed me to the front door when I made my excuses to leave, muttering that they were just friends, he’d popped round to have a look at her laptop as it was on the blink, and she’d made too much dinner so offered him a plate. Least she could do, really, considering he’d saved her a small fortune. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to explain herself to me, that I was nothing but happy to think she might have found someone. Elle and I spent most of our teens and adult lives trying to encourage her towards romance. But I have to admit that, right now, the timing feels off. That’s selfish of me, isn’t it? And truly, I wouldn’t want her to pass up on a chance that might not come around again. It’s just … I feel lonelier than ever.

‘So what was he like?’ Elle taps the note with one fingernail. ‘This Kris.’

I’m grateful she’s decided to ignore my antagonism. ‘I can’t even remember him really,’ I say, off-hand. It’s true, and then it isn’t. ‘He seemed nice enough.’

She nods, swallowing. ‘Attractive?’

I scowl. Shrug. Lie. ‘Just normal.’

‘So that tells me nothing,’ she says, sarcastic. ‘Will you call him?’

I shake my head. ‘Don’t think so.’

Thankfully, Elle doesn’t press me for further details.

‘No one will ever be Freddie, but that doesn’t mean you’ll never be happy again, sis.’

‘Yeah,’ I say. I don’t tell her that I’m more scared by the thought that, in time, someone might make me happy again. I may not remember the nuances of Kris’s face, but I remember the feelings he stirred in me, and how, in those moments, I wasn’t thinking of Freddie Hunter at all.

‘He seemed okay, to be honest. Didn’t take himself too seriously.’

Hope brightens my sister’s eyes, but she tries to play it cool. ‘Definitely nothing serious about a cup of coffee.’

‘You say that. I could spill it down myself and end up with third-degree burns.’

She smiles, grateful for my silly joke.

‘Or you could just have a perfectly nice time.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ I say, unwilling to commit.

‘Don’t leave it too long,’ she says. ‘He sounds nice.’

I take the note and fold it in half. ‘Don’t go on about it. And I mean it – for God’s sake, don’t tell Mum.’

‘Promise not,’ she says, then looks at her water glass in disgust. ‘Bloody ice has melted already.’

Ah, there she is again.

My phone feels like it’s burning my palm. Elle left half an hour ago and I’m still sitting at the kitchen table with Kris’s note in front of me and my phone in my hand, trying to decide if I’m brave enough to send him a message. Or if I want to, even. Am I just doing it to please Elle? Probably not, given that I kept the note. What am I supposed to say, though? I read it over again, feeling hot with nerves. I haven’t put his number into my phone, so I can open a message window and tap something in without fearing I might accidentally press ‘send’.