The Two Lives of Lydia Bird - Josie Silver Page 0,82
two at best, before I get up again and stand in front of the fireplace, disconcerted. I bought a couple of new sofa cushions a few weeks ago on a whim, bright and embroidered, and I grab one now and try it out on Freddie’s chair. It works. I know for a fact that Freddie would have hated the cushions, and he certainly wouldn’t have accepted one on his chair. Pushing the last of my toast into my mouth, I switch the cushion back and head into the kitchen to make my packed lunch.
I’m halfway to the bus stop when I realize I’ve left my mobile on the coffee table. I hesitate, torn because I don’t want to be late and I don’t know the bus schedule well; I only catch it on the occasional days when I’m likely to go to the pub after work. But I don’t want to be without my phone today either in case I decide to cancel my casual drink with Kris. Or he might cancel, which would frankly be a bit of a relief, and I won’t know I’m off the hook because my phone is at home. On balance, I decide that the only thing worse than meeting Kris is being stood up by Kris, so I dash back to grab it. In the living room I pocket my phone, and then before I can change my mind, I move the bright new cushion on to Freddie’s chair again. My fingers linger on the back of his chair, almost an apology, but I leave it there all the same and make a run for the bus.
You know how sometimes a day at work can feel like a week? Today wasn’t one of those days – it felt almost as if I went in and out through a revolving door – and now I’m dragging my Birkenstocks towards the cafe where I’ve arranged to meet Kris. I wasn’t sure what to wear; jeans felt a bit too I’ve-not-made-any-effort, so I’m hoping my blue-and-white sundress strikes a casual summer vibe. My hair began the day in a pony, hung loose at lunch, and is now in a messy bun because it’s too warm to wear it down. God, casual drinks shouldn’t feel this much of a minefield, surely? I’m probably not even remotely ready to date anyone; I’m annoyed with myself for getting into this position in the first place, and I’m delving down into my bag for my phone even as I walk. Is it too late to cancel? I know the answer: yes, it’s too late – I was due there five minutes ago. Ah, there it is. I check the screen: no cancellation messages. I can actually see the cafe up ahead as my thumbs hover ready to start typing, and then I spy Kris heading towards me from the opposite direction. Bugger, I can’t cancel now, it’d be rude. And actually … seeing him makes me remember what it was that appealed to me in the first place. He’s dressed in dark jeans and a T-shirt, and as he ducks inside the cafe he slides his sunglasses off and hooks them on his shirt. I don’t know what it is about the casual move that calms me; I think I’d built him up in my head to be this scary stranger and in reality he’s a normal guy. I can have a coffee with a normal guy, surely? I slip my phone back inside my bag and push a straggle of hair behind my ear, gearing myself up to go inside. I can do this. It’s just a drink after work with a friend.
It’s blessedly cool inside the cafe, and although there are a few people grabbing an after-work drink I easily spy Kris at a table over in the corner. He raises his hand when he spots me, and I recognize the look on his face as relief as I thread my way across the room towards him.
‘Hi,’ I say.
He stands to greet me, reminding me of his height. We have an awkward moment where we don’t know whether to hug, and for a horrible second we almost shake hands, and then he laughs and drops a casual kiss on my cheek, his hand warm on my bare shoulder.
‘You came,’ he says, sitting back down. ‘I ordered straightforward coffee, but I can get something else if you’d prefer? I think they have a licence if you fancy wine?’