Page 24 of The Two Lives of Lydia Bird

I stare at the security key pad on the door, and poke half-heartedly at the silver buttons. They don’t work of course; the code changes every few weeks, for no real reason other than procedure, because there’s very little point to anyone bothering to break in. What would they take? Well-read books from the town’s library housed on the ground floor? We’re probably one of the last remaining places to still rely on the library cards and stamp system. Delia, our octogenarian librarian, wouldn’t cope with anything more up to date. Our office upstairs isn’t much better equipped when it comes to technology – a couple of old PCs and a photocopier is about as good as it gets. Some might call it charming; others might deem it out of the ark. Both are accurate descriptions. There’s a pleasing old-school vibe to working here, but it can frustrate the hell out of me when things don’t get replaced until they literally fall apart. This bloody security lock, for instance, with clunky buttons you have to stab at as if you’re in a foul temper. I’m not in a foul temper, but I am fast getting cold feet and considering bolting back to my car, when an arm lands heavily over my shoulders. I find myself pulled into a sideways hug, pressed against the side of Phil, my boss.

‘Lydia, thank God you’ve come back,’ he says, squeezing me as he reaches over and attacks the key pad with gusto. ‘The place has gone to pot without you.’

It’s exactly what I need to hear. No pomp and ceremony, no carefully worded welcome-back interview. Phil is one of those bosses everyone adores, full of bonhomie and charisma, a man who naturally connects with people – so much so that he boomingly offered to be Dawn’s birth partner if her husband happened to be working away when it all kicked off. Thankfully, she didn’t need to take him up on the offer, but we all had a bit of a laugh at the idea of him scrubbing up and getting in there at the business end. I don’t doubt that he genuinely would have, too, had the need arisen.

‘Look who I found trying to break in the back door,’ he says as he leads me into the upstairs office.

It’s stupid to be nervous, but I am. I’ve worked here for the last five years: these people know me; I know them. But they knew Freddie too, and they’re all looking at me round-eyed and I can tell that right now they’re thinking: Shit, what in God’s name do we say to her, will she dissolve into tears if I say his name, will she be offended if I don’t, I think I’ll just look incredibly busy and smile and see how things go after a cuppa.

‘Cuppa?’ Dawn asks on cue, and I nod gratefully as she makes a bolt for the kitchen.

My desk next to the window looks as if it’s become the general dumping ground, piled high with brochures and boxes, and my chair is nowhere to be seen. I’m not sure how to feel – relieved no one has jumped in and bagged my plum spot beside the only window in the room, or miserable because they haven’t thought ahead enough to make it welcoming. Ryan, twenty-two and prime fodder for a spot on Love Island with his blue-black hair and sunbed tan, looks up and winks, a phone wedged against his ear. My face must have given me away, because he follows the direction of my gaze and jumps to his feet, hanging up on whoever he was on hold for.

‘Lydia,’ he smiles, all veneers, striding across the small room to pull me into a hug. It’s not lost on me that both of my male colleagues seem more emotionally equipped to deal with my arrival than my female counterparts. Dawn disappeared pretty much on sight, and at the back of the room Julia lifted a perfectly manicured hand without rising from her chair. Granted, she seems to be on a conference call, but even so she doesn’t exactly exude warmth. That’s not really fair. Julia and I have worked together for some years now and she can’t help coming over as a cold fish, even though I know for a fact she’s butter-soft. She’d just rather no one knew and uses her oh-so-glamorous braided hair and long blood-red nails to terrify people into thinking she’s a tough taskmaster. She’s easily the eldest of our cohort, an indeterminate age somewhere between fifty-five and sixty; I suspect she’ll remain in that bracket until someone challenges it. Which no one will.

‘Sorry about your desk,’ Ryan says, leading me by the hand towards it. ‘Let’s sort it out.’

His idea of sorting it out involves sweeping everything up into his arms and dumping the lot on top of the nearest filing cabinet, but I appreciate the gesture all the same. He casts his eye around for a chair, and coming up with nothing, he wheels his own across and then performs a tiny bow to indicate I should take his seat.

‘Your throne, m’lady.’

I don’t argue. I can’t, because the simple gesture of kindness has caught in my throat. He notices and, to his credit, he doesn’t panic. He just pats me on the shoulder, finds me a tissue and nods sagely.

‘I know, Lyds,’ he says. ‘I’m devastating. I have this effect on lots of women.’

I gulp-laugh, glad of his humour, and catch Dawn’s relieved eye as she drifts towards me with the promised cup of tea. She’s no doubt pleased that I’m smiling, and actually, so am I. I can feel myself slowly settling, my fingers running over the familiar bumps and dinks in my battered old walnut desk. I have a place to be.

‘No sugar, too much milk,’ Dawn says, as she always does. It’s subtle, but I hear it. It’s I remember, it’s You’re amongst friends here, it’s We’ve got you.

Julia appears too and places a small vase of pink and purple sweet peas on my desk.

‘Perfume was getting up my nose,’ she sniffs, her perfectly made-up eyes assessing me, no doubt taking in the fact I’ve lost some weight and making a mental note to bring cake tomorrow and lie about buying it from the reduced counter.

I look at them, one face to the next, and swallow hard.

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘It’s good to be back.’

‘We weren’t sure whether to, you know, to say anything, about …’ Ryan says, his lovely dark eyes full of consternation. Again, I admire him for being the unelected spokesman for a group of people twice his age, even if he did stumble at the last hurdle.

‘Freddie,’ I say, forcing the word out clear and untearful, saying it so Ryan doesn’t have to. ‘You can say his name, it’s okay.’

They all nod, hovering, waiting for more.

‘I’m grateful for the chair and the tea and the flowers,’ I say. ‘But more than anything else, I’m glad of the company. I couldn’t spend any more days on my own at home, I’m boring myself stupid.’

‘Say if you need anything,’ Dawn says, too fast, trying to stop her bottom lip from wobbling. She feels for a tissue in the pocket of her oversized cardigan. All her clothes swamp her; she’s been on a wedding diet for months and not had the spare money to replace her wardrobe. She’s let her robin’s-wing-brown hair grow too; there’s an air of the waif about her today.

Julia shoots her a withering look, sliding her horn-rimmed glasses down her nose, letting them hang on the rose-gold chain around her neck. ‘I’ve got a list of things you can make a start on, when you’re ready.’

Ryan hands Dawn a tissue, and she dabs her eyes as she plucks my lunchbox from my bag. ‘I’ll put this in the fridge for you.’

‘Hideous colour,’ Julia mutters.

‘Bagsy the biscuit,’ Ryan says, squinting through the pink plastic.

They drift away, and I let out a slow hiss of relief, glad to have jumped the coming-back-to-work hurdle. Next up, actual work.

Between the four of us and Phil, we run the local town hall. Ryan has the gift of the gab so he’s in charge of the local community magazine, which mostly involves selling advertising space and the odd outing to photograph prize-winning marrows or locals with unusual hobbies. It’s a hit-and-miss affair; he’s never fully recovered from his visit to a life-painting class featuring his retired physics teacher as the nude model.

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