The Two Lives of Lydia Bird(92)

Wednesday 14 August


I’m sitting on my balcony stargazing before going to sleep alone, a starfish in a too-big bed. I’ve been thinking about making some changes when I go home. Getting my hair chopped, maybe replacing the kitchen if I can afford it. Our Savoy bed is on my mind too. Much as I love it, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to sleep in it without imagining Freddie there right before I close my eyes, and that’s a forlorn way to fall asleep indefinitely. I’m not sure, it’s just something I’ve been thinking about.

I stare at the night skies, trying to untangle the knotted, multicoloured strands of my life. I had quite a tense conversation with Mum earlier. She thinks I’m being irresponsible staying on here, that I’ll lose my job, or that I might decide to stay here for ever. I entertained that idea for a while; I could do it. I could sell my beloved house, move out here, live a barefoot beach life. Vita would help me, I’m sure of it.

But what of Elle, and my friends, and Mum? I can’t bear the thought of being so far away from them indefinitely, even if it suits me right now, today. They are my anchor, my fingerprint. And there’s the baby. Charlotte. My heart aches a bit whenever I think of her, because she’s going to be a month old in a few days’ time and I haven’t held her since the day she was born. Work is another anchor; I know I’m not running the country, but the town hall is my place and I don’t want to lose it.

And then, of course, there’s Freddie. I haven’t slipped through the back door in the universe since that terrible day in New York for fear of making everything worse. I feel as if I’m navigating the map of my heart with a faulty compass, trying to work out where I live now.

And, finally, there’s Jonah Jones. When Freddie was here Jonah had a defined role in my life as his best friend, which somewhere along the way meant he couldn’t be my best friend too. We settled into that dynamic, our own friendship shelved because we had to vie for Freddie’s attention. And now he isn’t here standing between us any more it’s as if we’re remembering what drew us to each other in the first place, what we mean to each other. He is my oldest friend. His name on my phone lifts my heart.





Sunday 22 September


‘I think you should go home.’

Vita and I are drinking coffee on the restaurant terrace. My skin is only a few shades off hers now, the seasoned colour of someone who spends all their days in the sun rather than shoe-horning two weeks into their fluorescent-lit, office-based life. The summer rush is over and life here has slowed to a more leisurely pace.

‘I know,’ I say. I’ve been thinking the same thing. Mum and I have resorted to communicating by text in recent weeks because talking has become so fractious, and it’s easier to chat to Elle that way too. The last couple of times I’ve called she’s had to dash because Charlotte was screaming or had just thrown up down David’s clean work shirt.

‘You can always come back. We’re not going anywhere,’ Vita says, sipping her coffee.

‘You’re lucky to feel so sure,’ I say, envious of her seemingly simple life.

She winds the string of her apron around her fingers. ‘You make your own luck, Lydia.’

‘Do you think so, really?’ I ask, not sure I agree. ‘Because sometimes I feel as if life just sweeps me along and it’s all I can do not to hit the rocks.’

She snorts through her nose. ‘Rocks won’t kill you.’

‘They might,’ I mutter.

‘So hide out here for the rest of your life to avoid the rocks?’ She shrugs, her dark eyes full of challenge.

I look out at the sea. ‘Is that what I’m doing?’

Vita shrugs again. ‘Isn’t it?’

I know she’s bang on the money. I’ve been here for sixty-three days now. Sixty-three days without seeing my family, and almost as many without seeing Freddie.

‘What would you do if you weren’t afraid, Lydia?’

Her question goes straight to the heart of me, as usual. I mull it over.

‘I’d have my hair cut off,’ I say. Getting it cut feels like such a big deal because Freddie loved it long; chopping it would seem like I’m not taking his feelings into account. Which is crazy, I know.

‘Want me to do it right now?’ she offers. ‘I used to cut my sister’s all the time.’

I’m not sure if she’s kidding, but I shake my head. ‘I’m not ready yet.’

Vita pushes her chair back and stands up, her hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t leave it much longer.’





Tuesday 24 September


‘She’s fussy at the moment, won’t go to anyone else,’ Elle says. ‘Not even David.’

I came straight here this morning after a late flight last night. I’ve been here for ten minutes and I can’t shake the feeling that Elle wishes I’d leave. I should probably have called ahead; the house is a bit of a mess and she looks as if she’s been wearing the same stained T-shirt for a few days. It’s very un-Elle; I know how much she’ll dislike appearing so un-put-together.

‘Can I help?’ I feel really useless. Charlotte is tomato red from crying and seems to have the lung capacity of a small horse. ‘I could – I don’t know – wash up or something?’