The Two Lives of Lydia Bird - Josie Silver Page 0,37

biscuit,’ Ryan says, squinting through the pink plastic.

They drift away, and I let out a slow hiss of relief, glad to have jumped the coming-back-to-work hurdle. Next up, actual work.

Between the four of us and Phil, we run the local town hall. Ryan has the gift of the gab so he’s in charge of the local community magazine, which mostly involves selling advertising space and the odd outing to photograph prize-winning marrows or locals with unusual hobbies. It’s a hit-and-miss affair; he’s never fully recovered from his visit to a life-painting class featuring his retired physics teacher as the nude model.

Julia handles the business side of things, managing the finances, strong-arming local businesses to contribute towards the upkeep of our building and the town fund. That leaves Dawn and I under the catch-all umbrella of ‘events management’, which really means we plan everything that happens in our historic town hall, from summer fetes to Christmas fayres, concerts, dances and parties. I’ve heard Phil refer to us as his community programmers, which I guess is pretty much on the money. We timetable Darby & Joan clubs on Monday afternoons and Mother & Toddler groups on Friday mornings, and everything possible that goes on in between. It’s one of those jobs you kind of fall into as a stopgap and stay for ever, because life slides into the cracks around it, cementing it in place. The people become your friends, the building becomes your second home, your chair moulds to the shape of your bum. On paper we’re a disparate bunch, yet somehow, together, we’re more than the sum of our parts and the town hall has become the thriving hub of the community – a minor miracle on our shoestring budget. I realize as I make a start on Julia’s to-do list that she’s been covering some of my role, and that Dawn’s been doing five days rather than her usual three, even though Tyler’s still preschool and she struggles for childcare. They’ve managed somehow and no one has breathed a word to me of being under pressure. I understand now why my desk hadn’t been prepared for me; there simply wasn’t the time. They’ve been up to their eyeballs just holding my place ready for me to come back to, shoring me up from a distance without me even realizing.

Grief is an odd thing. It’s mine and no one can do it for me, but there’s been this whole supporting cast of silent actors around me in the wings. I mentally add my colleagues to the list of people I need to thank properly somewhere down the line. My mum and Elle are in capitals at the top, of course, and all my neighbours who nip in for a cuppa, and now Julia, Dawn, Ryan and Phil. A casserole from the family three doors down, a ‘How are you coping, lass?’ card from the old man over the road who lost his wife not long after we moved in. Even Jonah dragging me to that damned grief workshop.

‘I was serious about that biscuit,’ Ryan says, handing me my pink plastic box when we all decamp to the canteen for lunch. There are five mismatched chairs around the table, and after we’re all seated, Phil raises his mug of tea.

‘Good not to have an empty seat any more,’ he says, and they all nod and lift their cups. Hot tears prickle my eyes, and to cover I open my lunchbox and toss the biscuit to Ryan.

‘Don’t tell my mum I gave you that,’ I say, sticking the straw in my Ribena. The taste takes me straight back to school, to lunch with Freddie and Jonah, and today I choose to smile rather than let the tears slide down my cheeks. If I’m the lead actor, then the show must go on.

Saturday 23 June

‘I’ve been back at work for three weeks already,’ I say, sitting cross-legged on the sun-scorched cemetery grass. It’s shaping up to be an unusually reliable summer. There are mutterings of a hosepipe ban if the weather doesn’t break soon.

‘In some ways it feels as if I’ve never been away. Ryan’s on his third date in as many weeks and Julia’s still cracking the whip.’

Freddie had a bit of a love–hate relationship with Julia. His loud conviviality irritated the hell out of her, and her ruthless, get-it-done-yesterday streak wound him up – probably because he was actually quite similar. Underneath it all, though, lay mutual affection; she mothered him