The Two Lives of Lydia Bird(9)

‘Who’s been to visit you, Freddie?’ I say, settling my bum down on the grass, my bag at my feet. There’s something terribly depressing about keeping a bag in the boot of the car with cemetery essentials, isn’t there? An empty water bottle I fill up at the tap, scissors to cut the flowers to size, cleaning wipes, those kinds of things.

When I first started to come here, I used to try to prepare in my head what I was going to say. It didn’t work. So now I just sit in the silence, close my eyes and imagine that I’m somewhere else entirely. I’ve conjured all kinds of places for us. I’ve been at home on the sofa, my feet on Freddie’s lap. I’ve been beside him on a sun lounger in Turkey, an ill-advised package holiday to a godawful hotel survived mainly thanks to endless free shots of raki. And we’ve been opposite each other in Sheila’s small, steamy cafe around the corner from our house, the one we used to go to for a hangover-busting full English after a heavy night out, beetroot on mine, specially bought in for my regular order by Sheila. It doesn’t take me more than a couple of seconds to decide where we’re going today. We’re in the safety of our big warm Savoy bed, facing each other on the pillows, the quilt pulled over our shoulders.

‘Hey, you,’ I say as my eyes drift closed, a half-smile already on my mouth. ‘It’s me again.’

Thanks to what happened last night, I don’t struggle to bring Freddie’s face into focus as I sometimes do. His fingers tangle with mine between our bodies, warm and strong, and in my head he grins and says, ‘Back already? You’re eager.’

I huff gently. ‘I can’t tell you how good it was to see you again,’ I say, barely more than a whisper. ‘I’ve missed you so very much.’

He reaches out and strokes the back of his fingers down my cheek. ‘I’ve missed you too,’ he tells me, and we don’t say anything at all for a few minutes. I just look at him and he looks back at me in a slow, meditative way we would never have taken the time to do when he was here. ‘So what’s new with you then?’ he says after a while, wrapping a strand of my hair around his finger.

‘Not much, really,’ I say, which isn’t an understatement seeing as I rarely leave the house these days. ‘I’ve been for breakfast with Mum and Elle this morning. Cheese and onion omelettes because Mum wanted to test a new pan she bought off the TV.’ I pause, then get going again. ‘Auntie June and Uncle Bob have taken up archery,’ I say. Freddie always found their ever-changing roster of hobbies amusing; they seem to work their way through the adult classes prospectus regardless of any innate ability. All in good humour though, they’re salt-of-the-earth people and Auntie June has been a rock for Mum since Freddie died. I suspect she’s been the one propping Mum up so she can prop me up. I adore Auntie June, she’s uncannily like Mum. They share the same infectious laugh, a sound guaranteed to make everyone around them laugh too.

‘Dawn and Julia from work came round a few nights ago, brought a card and some grapes. Grapes! As if I’m ill or something.’ I hear the scorn in my voice and feel bad for it. ‘It was kind of them to come though. I’m not the best company at the moment.’ I pause and then laugh softly. ‘I don’t even like bloody grapes.’

I keep my eyes closed as I cast around for more news to share with him. ‘Elle got herself a new job,’ I say, remembering my sister’s big news. ‘She’s going to be the events manager at that fancy new hotel in town. Lots of free cake, or so she reckons.’

What else can I tell him? Very little changes in my day-to-day life. He’d probably appreciate some sports news, football or rugby, but I’m at a loss there.

‘The doctor gave me some new pills a couple of days ago,’ I say, almost sheepish because Freddie had a thing about never taking tablets. ‘Just something to help me sleep. Mum insisted, you know how she gets.’ I know there is no shame in needing some help, but I want him to be proud of how I’m coping. In my head he asks me if the tablets have helped, and I smile, hesitant. ‘I didn’t think they would. I haven’t been sleeping in our bed at all, until the other night.’

‘And how was it?’ he asks.

‘I didn’t realize you were still here,’ I breathe, my heart quickening. ‘I’ve been so afraid to go to sleep, not realizing that you were waiting for me.’ I half laugh, giddy.

‘I feel different today, Freddie,’ I say, quiet even though there’s no one around to hear me. ‘Every day since the accident has felt like I’m moving through a grey fog or something, but today there’s a chink of light. It’s like, I don’t know …’ I shrug and cast around for a way to explain. ‘As if you’re flashing a torch at me in a complicated sequence from somewhere a long way away and I’m concentrating really hard to follow the pattern. To find you. What are we doing right now where you are?’ I glance at my watch. ‘Midday on Saturday. No doubt you’re going to the football with Jonah.’

God, I can even be pass-agg to a dead man. It’s just that sometimes when I think of Jonah and that fast-fading scar across his eyebrow I boil with the injustice of it all. Freddie should have come straight home on my birthday, not detoured to Jonah’s. My logical brain kicks in most of the time and tells me that it’s hideous to lay even a speck of blame at Jonah’s door, but sometimes, late at night, I can’t stop the thoughts. I’ve pretty much avoided him since the funeral; texts have gone unanswered, missed calls not returned. I know he doesn’t deserve such treatment, but I can’t help it.