The Two Lives of Lydia Bird - Josie Silver Page 0,112
brunch.
‘We won’t want to eat again today,’ I say, hiding the surprise I feel at our restaurant choice. This place wouldn’t have made my wish list, but being fair, it’s Freddie’s honeymoon too, so it’s okay.
‘Save some room,’ he grins.
‘For …?’
He taps the side of his nose. ‘You’ll see later. It’s a surprise.’
I smile, glad to know that our day is balanced with things for both of us. And I’m being churlish; this place might not be on my list, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it. I flip the gratitude switch on in my head. Freddie booked New York to make my dreams come true, I can’t expect him to get all the details bang on. Besides, I can see how this is supposed to be fun. Neon lighting, disco balls and wannabe Broadway actors serving food while belting out show tunes. It’s stereotypical America with bells on. It just caught me off-guard, that’s all.
I watch Freddie (my husband!) for a few seconds through my lashes, trying not to make it obvious that I’m staring. He’s in his element in places like this, where the fast-paced, high-energy level chimes with his. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of his platinum wedding ring; still gleaming, yet to wear a groove of familiarity into his flesh. I check out my own hand and find my ring there too, a slender white-gold band beneath my engagement ring.
Oh. I bite the inside of my lip because it looks so perfect, exactly the way I’d imagined it would the day we picked out my trilogy diamond ring a few hours after Freddie proposed because I was too excited to wait.
‘So, Mrs Hunter,’ he says. ‘Ready to make a move?’
Mrs Hunter. First the rings, now the name. In truth, I wasn’t sure what to do about my surname when Freddie proposed. I’m Lydia Bird. Mum, Elle and me – we’re the Birds, it’s always been us three. I don’t feel able to think of myself as Lydia Hunter, even though it’s a perfectly good name. Elle had the same concern when she married David, and in the end she settled for double-barrelling his name on to the end of hers. I didn’t really have that option – Lydia Bird-Hunter makes me sound like something from The Hunger Games. It wasn’t a question we ever got around to resolving in my waking life, but it seems that here the decision has been made – I’m no longer a Bird.
‘Mrs Hunter,’ I say slowly, trying it out. I can’t help smiling as I say it; I longed to be Freddie’s wife, and now I am.
‘Sounds good, eh?’ he says, holding my hand across the table.
I squeeze his fingers. ‘It does,’ I say. ‘It’ll take some getting used to.’
‘You’ll always be Lydia Bird to me,’ he says. It’s exactly what I needed to hear. I’m still the same person, my new name doesn’t change anything. I love him for understanding that it might feel strange.
Outside on the street, Times Square is an assault on all of my senses at the same time. Everything is bigger, noisier and brighter than I’d anticipated, and I cling to Freddie’s arm and laugh at the sheer overwhelmingness of it all.
‘Wow,’ I say, filling my eyes with the huge moving billboards and Broadway show trailers, stepping backwards to avoid the flow of people as I stand still, look up and gawp.
Freddie looks at me. ‘Okay?’
I nod, remembering it isn’t actually the first time I’ve seen this in this world. ‘It’s amazing every time you see it, isn’t it? So full on.’
‘The city that never sleeps,’ he laughs. ‘Come on, it’s your turn to flag a cab.’
‘It is?’
I’m guessing that I’ve made a thing about wanting to hail one of the famous yellow cabs, but now I’m here I feel clueless. I give myself a shake; how hard can it be? To be fair, it’s not as if I’ve spent much time hailing cabs back home either. If anyone needs a taxi in my day-to-day life, we call the only firm in town and Andrew Fletcher’s mother dispatches one to us, more often than not driven by Andrew himself.
Freddie tugs me by the hand until we’re on the edge of the sidewalk. Traffic and cabs surge past us and I dither about before bobbing my arm out in the general direction of the road. He bursts out laughing.
‘Bloody hell, Lyds, do it like you mean it,’ he says.