The Two Lives of Lydia Bird(70)

I don’t know where all that came from, and I don’t strictly believe my own lecture. In my waking life, precious yesterdays are all I have left of Freddie.

Jonah looks at the floor and then back up at me, his dark eyes unreadable. ‘What if someone falls in love with their friend?’

I think of Freddie. ‘Then they’re lucky,’ I say.

Jonah nods, bleak. ‘I guess so. As long as their friend loves them back.’

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out because I’m suddenly afraid where this conversation is heading, afraid of the charge in the air between us.

‘Being Freddie Hunter’s wingman has been the story of my life,’ he says, and something inside me twists because, a universe away, he said those exact same words at Freddie’s funeral. Back there he said it had been his honour and his privilege; I don’t think he’s about to say that here.

On cue, Freddie barrels through the door from the pub, all smiles at the sight of us.

‘Hey, my two favourite people in one place.’

‘Hey, you,’ I say, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. I realize I’m shaking.

‘Shall we go for curry?’ he says, leaning against the wall next to Jonah. I’m reminded of them standing exactly like that at school, backs against the wall, waiting for me at the end of the day. ‘I’m starving.’

‘You’re always starving,’ Jonah says, shaking himself down, shucking our too-close-to-the-knuckle conversation off his skin. ‘Your night, your choice, pal.’

‘Lyds?’ Freddie turns to me. ‘Coming?’

I shake my head. ‘I don’t think it’s good form for the bride to come on the stag night. I’ll go and find Dee and Elle.’

‘Last spotted ordering tequila shots,’ Freddie grins. ‘It’s gonna get messy out there.’

He disappears into the gents humming something loosely similar to the song coming from the bar, and Jonah and I look at each other, alone in the corridor again.

‘Forget I said anything, I’m talking shite.’ He swallows hard and rubs his hand over the back of his neck. ‘Too much beer.’

I nod, grateful for the lie.

‘I better get back out there,’ I say.

He nods, forcing out a laugh as he pushes himself away from the wall. ‘Tequila and all that.’

A couple of girls I vaguely recognize from our schooldays push the door open and I take it as my cue to leave. I make my way through the busy pub looking for Elle, still troubled even as I try to shove my encounter with Jonah to the back of my mind. I can’t easily spot my sister or Dee, so I give up and sit down on an empty stool, my head against the side of the fruit machine. Everything feels a few degrees off tonight: Dee is too frothy, Elle too pissed, Jonah too serious, Freddie too laddish. And then there’s me at the centre of it all in my Conservative-candidate black dress and festooned veil. I close my eyes, tired and ready to call it a night. I don’t want tequila, or Dee, or Elle, even. Tonight has felt much like trying to walk a tightrope. In fact, that’s a good analogy for how life is for me at the moment – I’m constantly standing on an invisible wire between two worlds and hoping like hell that I don’t plummet to my death. For a girl with bad balance, it’s hard work.





Sunday 7 July


My head is pounding and I didn’t even have a drink before I took the pill last night. Can I be hung-over across universes? My travels are always wearying, but today I feel steamrollered, both physically and mentally.

Three paracetamol and two mugs of coffee do little to raise my energy or my spirits. I try a little soup and toast soldier self-care at lunch, an overthrow from my childhood, but it would seem there’s no escaping this wretchedness yet. I feel … I don’t know, bruised, I guess? Bruised on the inside, as if someone had a kick around in there and used my internal organs for goalposts.

An afternoon on the sofa does little to mend me. I’m bone tired, as if I’m convalescing. The news rolls past on the TV, informing me it’s Sunday 7 July. My tired brain can’t manage the maths, so I count manually on my fingers up to 20 July. Thirteen days. In one week and six days’ time, Freddie and I will get married in a place where I’ve never even seen my own wedding dress. Thinking about the wedding brings me to Jonah, Freddie’s best friend and best man. That conversation we had in the pub corridor last night in my sleeping life … I’ve been trying not to think about it until now. After all, it doesn’t apply here. Well, not really. Does it? He didn’t say anything explicit or cross any boundaries, but he walked pretty damn close to the line; close enough for me to hear his unspoken words. I sigh and close my eyes, leaning my head back against the sofa cushions. Why does everything have to be so bloody complicated? Perhaps I misinterpreted what Jonah said. It’s possible. But in my heart, no, I’m not wrong. There was tension in the air between us, something in his dark gaze that asked questions I didn’t have easy answers to. Here in my waking world he would never have spoken so boldly, and now it’s going to make things decidedly awkward in my sleeping life.

Maybe he’ll suddenly need to be somewhere else on our big day. After what he said last night, it’d be easier if he wasn’t there, for me at least. But not for Freddie, who deserves to have his best friend beside him on his wedding day. I can’t see any way around it but to try to do as Jonah suggested – forget he said it at all.