The Two Lives of Lydia Bird - Josie Silver Page 0,78
says, sarcastic. ‘Will you call him?’
I shake my head. ‘Don’t think so.’
Thankfully, Elle doesn’t press me for further details.
‘No one will ever be Freddie, but that doesn’t mean you’ll never be happy again, sis.’
‘Yeah,’ I say. I don’t tell her that I’m more scared by the thought that, in time, someone might make me happy again. I may not remember the nuances of Kris’s face, but I remember the feelings he stirred in me, and how, in those moments, I wasn’t thinking of Freddie Hunter at all.
‘He seemed okay, to be honest. Didn’t take himself too seriously.’
Hope brightens my sister’s eyes, but she tries to play it cool. ‘Definitely nothing serious about a cup of coffee.’
‘You say that. I could spill it down myself and end up with third-degree burns.’
She smiles, grateful for my silly joke.
‘Or you could just have a perfectly nice time.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ I say, unwilling to commit.
‘Don’t leave it too long,’ she says. ‘He sounds nice.’
I take the note and fold it in half. ‘Don’t go on about it. And I mean it – for God’s sake, don’t tell Mum.’
‘Promise not,’ she says, then looks at her water glass in disgust. ‘Bloody ice has melted already.’
Ah, there she is again.
My phone feels like it’s burning my palm. Elle left half an hour ago and I’m still sitting at the kitchen table with Kris’s note in front of me and my phone in my hand, trying to decide if I’m brave enough to send him a message. Or if I want to, even. Am I just doing it to please Elle? Probably not, given that I kept the note. What am I supposed to say, though? I read it over again, feeling hot with nerves. I haven’t put his number into my phone, so I can open a message window and tap something in without fearing I might accidentally press ‘send’.
Hi Kris, it’s Lydia, remember from the dating night?
I huff as I delete it. How many Lydias is he likely to know? And if he’s forgotten me already, then maybe I’d be better not bothering anyway.
Hey you
God no, that’s terrible.
Hi there
Bloody hell! How hard can this be?
Hi Kris, thought I might take you up on that vegan chai-latte-skinnydip sometime, if the offer still stands? Lydia
I don’t think I can do better than that. It’s brief, light-hearted, take it or leave it. I type his number in and press ‘send’ before I can chicken out. And then I lay my head on the table and groan.
It doesn’t take him long to reply, ten minutes at most. I appreciate the speed – it tells me that he’s not someone who plays games for the sake of it.
Hey Lydia, glad to hear from you. I work from home so I’m pretty free. Let me know when and where’s good, I’ll be there. K
Monday 17 June
‘He’s running late at work,’ Jonah says, placing a coffee mug down for me on the coffee table.
‘Did he just text you?’ I say.
He nods. ‘He said to get started without him.’
I roll my eyes, both because Freddie is late and because he’s taken the easy route of letting Jonah tell me. It’s after eight in the evening, for God’s sake. ‘Get started without me’ means he’s not going to make it. It’s infuriating. We’ve had tonight pencilled in on the kitchen calendar for weeks now, at Jonah’s rather than ours, to organize our wedding music. I’m relieved he hasn’t moved in with Dee yet. It was supposed to happen weeks ago, but his landlady pretty much begged him to stay for an extra couple of months until she can find a new tenant. It’s so Jonah to put his plans on hold for someone else; she’s an elderly woman who pops up from her basement flat every now and then to listen to him play.
I don’t come here very often, he’s always been so at home in our living room.
It’s a very Jonah space: uncluttered, one wall lined with books and vinyl records, a piano in the ground-floor bay window. It’s restful. Or else it would be, if I wasn’t pissed off with Freddie for leaving yet another of the wedding details to me.
‘How’s Dee?’ I ask, to change the subject.
‘Fine,’ he says. ‘Already excited for your hen night. Plans are afoot, I think.’
‘Should I ask?’
He grins and shakes his head. ‘I’m sworn to secrecy.’
I’m not sure what to make of that so I don’t press him.