The Two Lives of Lydia Bird - Josie Silver Page 0,29

good for me and that I’d ask you to join as well. But I told him you’d say no.’

‘Well, there you go then.’ I throw my hands up in the air. ‘You’ve done your duty and now you can leave without feeling guilty.’ I regret the words as soon as they leave my lips.

‘Without feeling guilty,’ he says. ‘Thanks for that, Lydia. Thanks a bloody lot.’

‘What do you expect when you gang up against me with my dead boyfriend?’ I say.

‘It wasn’t ganging up on you,’ he says, more measured than I feel. ‘I just thought it’d be helpful maybe, but I get it. You’re busy, or not interested, or scared, or whatever.’

I snort and shake my head, looking away down the row of grey headstones.

‘Scared?’ I mutter, and he looks my way and shrugs, unapologetic.

‘Tell me I’m wrong?’

I snort again and throw in a huff for good measure. I know he’s trying to goad me and I can’t stop myself from walking straight into it.

‘Scared? You think I’m scared of some poxy school-hall workshop? I’ll tell you what scared looks like, Jonah Jones. It looks like a police car pulling up outside your living-room window, and it looks like having to bury the man you love instead of marrying him. Scared looks like standing in Sainsbury’s thinking about swallowing every damn pill on the medicine shelf because you just remembered that stupid argument you had in the next aisle about biscuits of all things, biscuits, and it winds you. Physically winds you, right here.’ I bang two fingers over my heart hard enough to leave a bruise. ‘Scared looks like knowing how endlessly long life seems without the person you planned on spending it with, and also knowing how shockingly, unexpectedly short it can be. It’s like that trick with the tablecloth and the teacups except we’re human fucking beings getting broken, not teacups, and …’ I stop and gulp in air because I’ve lost my thread about being scared and I’m bloody crying with anger, and because Jonah looks ashen and horrified.

‘Lyds –’ he says, reaching out to put a hand on my shoulder.

I shrug him off. ‘Don’t.’

‘I’m sorry, okay?’

‘No. No, it’s not okay. None of this –’ I gesticulate sharply around the graveyard – ‘is ever going to be okay.’

‘I know. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

I don’t know where this landslide of anger has come from. It’s as if Jonah moved a rock and caused an avalanche, and now it’s pouring out of me, uncontrollable as lava.

‘Oh, sure, you didn’t mean to upset me,’ I spit, horrible even to my own ears. ‘Digging at me via a dead man. What is it, Jonah? Do you need someone to chaperone you and tell the supply teacher that you like her?’ He looks confused, as well he might. ‘Just write it on the damn whiteboard. Or ask her out. One or the other, either works, but I’m not up for holding your hand. I’m not your replacement wingman. I’m not Freddie.’

We stare at each other for a moment, and then I turn on my heel and march off, furious.

I can’t tell Jonah what’s really the matter: that my body is knackered and my head is wrecked with the push-me, pull-me of living life with and without Freddie. I lay awake last night and tried to think of a rational way to explain to someone else what’s been happening, but it’s impossible. How can I expect anyone to understand that I sometimes get to be with Freddie when I sleep? I’m not delusional, and I’m not pretending that Freddie’s still alive in my everyday life. But there’s this … this other place where he and I are still together, and it feels like I’m locked in constant battle against its siren call. What will happen when the pills run out? I push the thought aside. I can’t contemplate it.

Sunday 3 June

I don’t know what I’m doing here. I was never particularly fond of school; this is the first time I’ve stepped foot in the place since I collected my A-level results. Actually, I do know what I’m doing here – I’m here because I felt like a bitch for storming off on Jonah yesterday and ended up sending him a sheepish sorry text, saying that maybe I could use some mindfulness after all. He replied it was either that or anger management because I was in danger of turning Hulk and bursting out of my jeans, and I said