The Two Lives of Lydia Bird - Josie Silver Page 0,83
a cafetière on the table and two cups.
‘Coffee’s good,’ I say, smiling as he pours for us both. Probably better to give my liver a bit of a reprieve.
‘Have you been here before?’ he asks.
I nod. ‘Sometimes after work, on birthdays, leaving dos, you know how it is.’ It’s a nice place, sympathetically modernized from an old grain store, all exposed wood and scrubbed floors. They open pretty late and serve unpretentious food, a welcome change from the usual chains. ‘It gets quite busy in the evenings.’ Wow, I’m boring.
‘So,’ he says, putting the coffee pot back down. ‘Shall we stare at each other in silence for a few minutes again, stick with our tradition?’
‘Do you mind if we don’t?’ I laugh as I reach for my cup, the tension broken. ‘God, that was a strange evening, wasn’t it?’
He looks amused. ‘Crazy stuff. I don’t know why I did it, to be honest.’
‘Well, I know why I did,’ I say without thinking. ‘I work at the town hall and had my arm twisted to make up the numbers.’
Another person might have been offended, but Kris just laughs. ‘I guessed as much.’ He picks his coffee up and touches the rim to mine. ‘I’m glad you took one for the team.’
Creases fan from the corners of his eyes as he smiles, relaxed, and you know what? It’s actually okay. I lower my shoulders from the brace position, take a sip and exhale slowly.
‘How’s the building coming along?’ I ask, unsure if I’ve phrased it correctly. He’s an architect; do they build things?
‘Yeah, not bad,’ he says. ‘Almost there now. A couple of weeks or so should see it signed off.’
‘It must be rewarding,’ I say. ‘Seeing your designs go from paper to reality.’
He gives me a ‘sometimes’ shrug. ‘It can be. Or it can be a complete pain in the ass from start to finish, depending on the building and the client.’
‘Is it what you always wanted to do?’
‘Besides a Ferrari test driver, pretty much,’ he says.
‘I expect competition’s fierce for that one,’ I say.
‘Helps if you’re Italian,’ he says.
‘Ah. You don’t look Italian.’
‘Too tall?’ he says. ‘Half Swedish, actually. Dad’s a Brit, Mum’s from Stockholm.’
‘But you’ve always lived here?’
He nods. ‘We spent our summers in Sweden as kids though. My eldest sister lives there now, I go over when I can.’
‘You have more than one sister?’
He grins. ‘Three, all older. I’m the only son.’
Wow. ‘At least you didn’t have to wear hand-me-down clothes then,’ I say. I don’t think I had anything Elle hadn’t gone through first until I was old enough to buy it myself.
‘Don’t bet on it,’ Kris laughs. ‘My mother is fairly progressive.’
It creeps in around the edges of my consciousness; I’m enjoying his company. He’s quick to smile, and he doesn’t seem to have an agenda. We talk about his job and mine, about the shaky state of the nation, about the one-eyed cat he’s taken in because it pitched up in his garden and didn’t leave, and Turpin the deserter cat who has pretty much left me for another woman. He refills our cups and I realize hunger has replaced my nerves when he picks up the menu and suggests food. We pick our way over a charcuterie sharing plate and I find myself asking him what brought him to the silent dating event.
He ordered a beer with dinner, and he stares into it now. ‘Loneliness, I guess. I was married. My wife and I separated a couple of years ago.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry.’ As soon as it’s out of my mouth I hate myself for parroting the same trite apology so many people have said to me.
‘Yeah, so was I for a while,’ he says, rueful. ‘Very sorry for myself, anyway. Not so much for Natalie; she moved to Ireland with her boss, who incidentally drives a Ferrari.’
‘God.’ I chase an olive round my plate with a cocktail stick. ‘Bastard.’
‘Yeah.’ He laughs a little. ‘Anyway, I got pretty sick of it being just me and the one-eyed cat and somehow I found myself signing up to stare at complete strangers in the town hall.’
‘Did you tick any other boxes in the end?’ I ask. Okay, I know I’m fishing.
‘No,’ he says, his eyes alive with humour. ‘Did you?’
‘I didn’t have a sheet, remember?’
‘Ah. Just doing your job. I remember now,’ he says, then adds quietly, ‘For the record, you were very good at it.’