The Two Lives of Lydia Bird(63)

You know how sometimes a day at work can feel like a week? Today wasn’t one of those days – it felt almost as if I went in and out through a revolving door – and now I’m dragging my Birkenstocks towards the cafe where I’ve arranged to meet Kris. I wasn’t sure what to wear; jeans felt a bit too I’ve-not-made-any-effort, so I’m hoping my blue-and-white sundress strikes a casual summer vibe. My hair began the day in a pony, hung loose at lunch, and is now in a messy bun because it’s too warm to wear it down. God, casual drinks shouldn’t feel this much of a minefield, surely? I’m probably not even remotely ready to date anyone; I’m annoyed with myself for getting into this position in the first place, and I’m delving down into my bag for my phone even as I walk. Is it too late to cancel? I know the answer: yes, it’s too late – I was due there five minutes ago. Ah, there it is. I check the screen: no cancellation messages. I can actually see the cafe up ahead as my thumbs hover ready to start typing, and then I spy Kris heading towards me from the opposite direction. Bugger, I can’t cancel now, it’d be rude. And actually … seeing him makes me remember what it was that appealed to me in the first place. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a T-shirt, and as he ducks inside the cafe he slides his sunglasses off and hooks them on his shirt. I don’t know what it is about the casual move that calms me; I think I’d built him up in my head to be this scary stranger and in reality he’s a normal guy. I can have a coffee with a normal guy, surely? I slip my phone back inside my bag and push a straggle of hair behind my ear, gearing myself up to go inside. I can do this. It’s just a drink after work with a friend.

It’s blessedly cool inside the cafe, and although there are a few people grabbing an after-work drink I easily spy Kris at a table over in the corner. He raises his hand when he spots me, and I recognize the look on his face as relief as I thread my way across the room towards him.

‘Hi,’ I say.

He stands to greet me, reminding me of his height. We have an awkward moment where we don’t know whether to hug, and for a horrible second we almost shake hands, and then he laughs and drops a casual kiss on my cheek, his hand warm on my bare shoulder.

‘You came,’ he says, sitting back down. ‘I ordered straightforward coffee, but I can get something else if you’d prefer? I think they have a licence if you fancy wine?’

He indicates a cafetière on the table and two cups.

‘Coffee’s good,’ I say, smiling as he pours for us both. Probably better to give my liver a bit of a reprieve.

‘Have you been here before?’ he asks.

I nod. ‘Sometimes after work, on birthdays, leaving dos, you know how it is.’ It’s a nice place, sympathetically modernized from an old grain store, all exposed wood and scrubbed floors. They open pretty late and serve unpretentious food, a welcome change from the usual chains. ‘It gets quite busy in the evenings.’ Wow, I’m boring.

‘So,’ he says, putting the coffee pot back down. ‘Shall we stare at each other in silence for a few minutes again, stick with our tradition?’

‘Do you mind if we don’t?’ I laugh as I reach for my cup, the tension broken. ‘God, that was a strange evening, wasn’t it?’

He looks amused. ‘Crazy stuff. I don’t know why I did it, to be honest.’

‘Well, I know why I did,’ I say without thinking. ‘I work at the town hall and had my arm twisted to make up the numbers.’

Another person might have been offended, but Kris just laughs. ‘I guessed as much.’ He picks his coffee up and touches the rim to mine. ‘I’m glad you took one for the team.’

Creases fan from the corners of his eyes as he smiles, relaxed, and you know what? It’s actually okay. I lower my shoulders from the brace position, take a sip and exhale slowly.

‘How’s the building coming along?’ I ask, unsure if I’ve phrased it correctly. He’s an architect; do they build things?

‘Yeah, not bad,’ he says. ‘Almost there now. A couple of weeks or so should see it signed off.’

‘It must be rewarding,’ I say. ‘Seeing your designs go from paper to reality.’

He gives me a ‘sometimes’ shrug. ‘It can be. Or it can be a complete pain in the ass from start to finish, depending on the building and the client.’

‘Is it what you always wanted to do?’

‘Besides a Ferrari test driver, pretty much,’ he says.

‘I expect competition’s fierce for that one,’ I say.

‘Helps if you’re Italian,’ he says.

‘Ah. You don’t look Italian.’

‘Too tall?’ he says. ‘Half Swedish, actually. Dad’s a Brit, Mum’s from Stockholm.’

‘But you’ve always lived here?’

He nods. ‘We spent our summers in Sweden as kids though. My eldest sister lives there now, I go over when I can.’

‘You have more than one sister?’

He grins. ‘Three, all older. I’m the only son.’

Wow. ‘At least you didn’t have to wear hand-me-down clothes then,’ I say. I don’t think I had anything Elle hadn’t gone through first until I was old enough to buy it myself.

‘Don’t bet on it,’ Kris laughs. ‘My mother is fairly progressive.’