The Two Lives of Lydia Bird - Josie Silver Page 0,68

the rest of the cake. ‘I didn’t think.’

‘I’m not in a birthday mood, to be honest,’ I say, distracted as my coffee flask slides out of my grip when I open my door. I bend to catch it before it rolls under the car and, in the mess of scrabbling around, the helium balloon makes a successful escape bid. We both grab for the metallic string, but we don’t stand a chance against the elements.

‘Shit,’ I say, annoyed with myself more than anything. It isn’t that I wanted the balloon, it’s just not right that this should happen here of all places. We stand silently and watch it make its way upwards, a bright-red splash against grey, and then suddenly, actually, it becomes completely right. I’m so not a symbolic balloon release sort of person, but it turns out I am an accidental balloon release sort of person. We watch it until it disappears, lost in the low-hanging mist.

We’re quiet for a few beats, and when I look back at Jonah his eyes are steady on mine.

‘You’ll always matter to me, Lydia,’ he says. ‘Let’s not lose our friendship again. We’ve lost too much already.’

I nod, on the edge of tears again, because this is what should have happened on New Year’s Eve. This healing conversation between old friends, not that destructive thing that hurt us both.

‘You’ll always matter to me too, Jonah Jones,’ I say, and I stand on tiptoes and press my lips against his cold cheek.

He rests his hand on my door as I climb in. ‘Happy birthday,’ he says softly, waiting for me to fasten my seat belt before he closes the door. ‘Drive safe.’

I nod and raise my hand, checking the skies overhead for any last fleeting glimpse of the balloon as I pull out of the car park. It’s nowhere in sight.

I’m halfway home when I have to pause for someone to cross at a zebra crossing, and as the woman makes slow progress in front of my bonnet I realize it’s Maud from the grief session. Her shoulders are rounded and she’s pulling one of those shopping trolleys on wheels.

I glance down at the chocolate cake on my passenger seat, and I don’t know what makes me do it but I roll down my window and call out her name when she reaches the pavement.

‘Hey, Maud,’ I say loudly, pulling my car over beside her. ‘Fancy seeing you again.’

She peers into the car at me. ‘Never seen you before in my life,’ she barks.

‘You have,’ I say. ‘We met at the grief session, you know, up at the school last summer?’

She moves her jaw from side to side a few times as she dredges up the memory. ‘New-fangled nonsense.’

‘Hmm,’ I say. ‘It wasn’t my favourite morning either, if I’m honest.’

She stares at me, making no attempt at small talk.

‘Anyway,’ I say, feeling a bit ridiculous. ‘It’s my birthday today and I –’

‘Are you so desperate for friends that you’re bothering strangers in the street?’ she says. ‘You picked the wrong one. I hate birthdays.’

‘Well, that’s a shame,’ I say. ‘Because I remembered you liked cake and I wondered if you’d like this one.’ I nod towards the chocolate cake on the seat beside me.

She looks past me at the cake and curls her lip. ‘Chocolate isn’t my favourite,’ she sniffs.

‘Oh, okay,’ I say. ‘No worries.’

‘I dare say I could manage it,’ she says, already unbuttoning the flap on her trolley. ‘If I have something to wash it down.’

She eyeballs the bottle of fizz on the seat beside the cake and I can’t help but laugh at her audacity. I hand her both the cake and the bottle and wait while she stashes them away.

‘I could come and help you eat it?’ I offer, trying to be kind in case she’s lonely.

‘Find your own party,’ she says, straightening up. ‘It’s double yellow lines here, you know. You shouldn’t even be parked.’

And that’s that. She trundles off with her trolley and she doesn’t look my way when I call out a cheery ‘Bye then, Maud!’ as I pull off. I’m sure it wouldn’t please her to know that she’s brightened my day no end.

Thursday 14 March

‘Happy birthday, beautiful.’

We’re in Alfredo’s. Of course we are.

‘I know we came here for your birthday last year, but it’s just the two of us tonight,’ Freddie says. ‘Unless you wish your mum was here to complain about her chicken being cold again.’ He starts to laugh. ‘You know I