off my Converse by the door as I head for the kitchen. And I walk in on my mum stripped down to her bra and jeans having a good old-fashioned snog with Stef, the now shirtless computer mender. My raised jazz hands freeze in the air at the sight of them, and they jump apart as if they’ve been electrified.
‘Bloody hell, Lydia!’ my mother half shouts, red-faced, covering herself nonsensically with a tea towel.
Stef literally crawls under the kitchen table and re-emerges from the other side with his jumper on inside out and my mum’s blouse in his hand. She whips it off him and drags it on without saying a word.
‘Nice to meet you again, Lydia, love,’ Stef mutters, and then shoots past me down the hall and scoots. I don’t blame him; Mum looks ready to blow a gasket.
‘Nine weeks,’ she shouts, still flustered. ‘Nine weeks you’ve been gone and then you swan in here without so much as a phone call to tell me you’re home again?’
I stare at her. I knew both Elle and Mum were put out, but I didn’t think they’d react to my homecoming this badly.
‘I wanted to surprise you,’ I say.
‘Well, you certainly did that.’
‘Sorry,’ I mumble.
She sighs, running her hands over her hair to tidy it. ‘When did you get back?’
‘Last night,’ I say. I don’t tell her that the house was colder than I’ve ever known it when I finally got back at around six yesterday evening, or that there was an officially worded letter from Phil telling me they’d had to take someone on to cover my job and to call him, or that my time away has changed something in me. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long.’
I can see that she’s struggling between anger and relief that I’m home.
‘You shouldn’t have stayed away that long.’
I nod, miserable.
‘Have you seen your sister?’
‘Just now.’
‘How was she today?’
The question implies that Elle’s health currently changes on a day-to-day basis. Organized, calm, reliable Elle.
‘She seemed stressed. The baby was crying, I didn’t stay long.’
Mum huffs. I don’t know if it’s at me for not staying long, or Elle for being stressed, or the baby for crying.
‘She isn’t just stressed. She’s struggling, Lydia. You’d know that if you’d been here.’
Ah. Me then, obviously. ‘I didn’t realize.’
‘No,’ Mum says. ‘Clearly.’
It’s as if my prolonged absence has soaked up any residues of sympathy they had for me and flushed them down the sink.
‘I’m sorry for interrupting you … you know.’
She glances down at her blouse, knowing she’s buttoned it up wrong.
‘Poor Stef,’ she says, shaking her head.
‘Sorry.’
‘Will you stop bloody apologizing? It’s not helping.’
I clam up, unsure what to do or say.
‘Have you eaten?’ she asks eventually.
I shake my head. Shopping is next on my list today; the cupboards are bare. She opens the fridge and pulls out a half-empty glass dish of lasagne and pushes it into my hands.
‘Here. Take that with you.’
I stare down at it, stupidly close to tears because both of my most special people have dismissed me from their homes today. ‘Thanks,’ I say.
She nods and then looks away out of the window.
‘I’ll be off then,’ I say. ‘Shall I call you tomorrow?’
She nods again, tight-lipped.
‘It’s really nice to see you, Mum,’ I say quietly. ‘I missed you.’
I turn away and leave, and she lets me.
I climb into my car, tearful and rejected, and as I drive the familiar streets towards home, I know it’s finally time to go back.
Tuesday 24 September
He isn’t here. I’ve found the courage to return at last, but the house is empty. Further inspection tells me that there’s none of Freddie’s favourite beer in the fridge and the washing basket contains only my clothes. Where is he? We’ve only been married a couple of months. I start to panic. Was our argument in New York the catalyst for change? Did I derail our happiness to the extent that our fledgling marriage has hit the rocks? I pour myself some juice, my hand shaking as I pick up my phone in search of answers.
Two messages flash up on my screen. From Elle, do I fancy going to theirs for fish and chips later? From Mum, the offer of a spare ticket to a play she’s seeing in Bath at the weekend. They’re rallying round me here in this world. I rub my finger over my wedding ring, still in place on my third finger. Where are you, Freddie Hunter?
I click his name and wait for