The Two Lives of Lydia Bird - Josie Silver Page 0,66

died one year ago tomorrow.

Over the last few days I’ve grown progressively more restless; in some ways it’s almost no different to usual, because I miss him every day, but I’ve started obsessively looking at the clock and thinking back over what I might have been doing this time last year, or working out how many hours of my old life I had left. God, my heart aches for the girl I was and what she was about to go through. What I wouldn’t give to go back and insist Freddie come straight home rather than detour for Jonah.

Mum and Elle want to take me out to dinner tomorrow, but I really can’t do it. I don’t want to mark the day in any way, not as my birthday, in any case. I’m dully aware that my birthday will for ever be marred, not ever really appropriate for celebration. Freddie would be furious with himself if he knew, he always made a big fuss of it – he even sent my mum a ‘thank you’ card on my birthday once for giving birth to me, the silly sod. Mum reminded me of it the other day when we were talking about what to do. I think she was trying to make me feel obliged to get out of the house for Freddie’s sake, a spot of well-intended emotional blackmail to stop me from moping around. It’s okay, I promised her, I’m not going to mope.

And I mean it. I’m going into work, for the morning at least. I’ve booked a half-day so I can spend some time at the cemetery in the afternoon. I’ll go and have a chat with Freddie and then I’ll come home again and have myself an early night. I haven’t taken a pink pill since January. I’ve told myself it’s because I’m rationing my supply, but if I’m honest, it’s probably more because of Elle losing the baby there. Her pregnancy is a very apparent part of my life here in my waking world; she’s still got terrible morning sickness and tossing name suggestions around has become our main thread of conversation. She is already sporting a small but perfectly formed bump to show for it. In a few months there will be a brand-new human here who doesn’t exist in my other world; it feels like a ticking clock, or perhaps a time bomb.

Thursday 14 March

Is it odd to have a picnic at the cemetery? I guess it kind of is, but it’s my birthday and I’ll do what I want to. It’s not exactly a picnic, anyway; just the blanket out of my boot to sit on because the ground’s cold, and a flask of coffee. I’ve got a slice of cake too; everyone gathered round my desk just before I left work and sang to me, a little out of tune as they thrust a helium balloon at me with apologetic, hopeful eyes. They gave me flowers and a bottle of something fizzy as well. I appreciate the gesture. I’ve left the balloon and the bottle in the car, a party on the passenger seat, out of place here amongst the quiet granite. I’ve brought the flowers out with me to leave with Freddie. I was going to get some from a local florist, but as these were a gift to me, they’re now a gift from me to him. Does it sound strange to say it feels like sharing a tiny piece of my birthday with him? I’ve learned not to question my own actions and thoughts too deeply though, sometimes you just have to go with whatever gets you through the day.

‘Hi, Freddie.’ I wrap my arms around my pulled-in knees. ‘Just me again.’

I close my eyes and allow enough silence to imagine him settling himself on the blanket beside me. I feel the weight of his arm around my shoulders and I smile as he buries his face in my neck and wishes me happy birthday. It’s a cold, clear afternoon; I can almost feel the warmth of his body pressing against mine.

‘What would we be doing tonight, do you think?’ I ask him.

He tells me it’s a secret and slow tears roll down my cheeks because I can hear his quiet laughter in the still air around me.

‘God, I miss you.’ It’s such a gaping understatement. ‘I’m okay most of the time. I’m toughing it out, Freddie, I really am. But today …’ I stop, lost for big