Page 90 of The Two Lives of Lydia Bird

She takes a deep breath and doesn’t ask again.

Afterwards I sit in the car, my plait coiled in a clear ziplock bag in my lap, much more than a physical weight off my shoulders. Dawn donated her hair a few summers ago, so I looked last night and found a charity that makes wigs for teenage girls. My hair was my pride and joy when I was fifteen; you need something to swish and hide behind at such a tender age. It warms me to think my hair might in some small way brighten the life of another girl who’s struggling. I have no need for it any more.

In the hallway I drop my bag and examine myself in the mirror from every angle, smoothing my fingers down the back of my revealed neck, fiddling with the short strands around my face. I can put a tick in that classic get-all-your-hair-cut-off box now on the grief reaction checklist. Laura nearly had a heart attack when I asked for a pixie cut. She grabbed a pile of magazines to show me photographs of short cuts, imagining that I’d got it wrong. I hadn’t – I knew what I wanted – and looking at myself now, I’m glad I was brave enough to go through with it.

Brave. I turn the word over in my head and then I say it out loud. My reflection looks steadily back at me, telling me I’ve done the right thing. I add ‘brave’ to the collection of words that describe my life right now.

It’s five in the afternoon here, which I reckon makes it nine in the morning in LA. I texted Jonah a photo of my new haircut a few minutes ago, and just when I think he’s having a Saturday morning lie-in my phone lights up with a message.

Calling you right now.

I grin and drop down into the corner of the sofa with my legs curled under me as my phone buzzes and then he appears, laughing, still in bed.

‘Let me get a proper look at you then,’ he says, and out of nowhere I feel shy and wrinkle my nose up, embarrassed as I twist my head from one side to the other and await his verdict.

‘What do you think?’ I ask.

He’s the first person besides my hairdresser to offer an opinion.

‘You look … you look Australian,’ he says, and then he laughs again, shrugging because he knows it’s a ridiculous thing to say.

‘Australian?’

‘I don’t know,’ he says. ‘It’s the tan and the hair combo, I think. You look like you should be a lifeguard on Bondi Beach or something.’

‘That is such a weirdly specific description,’ I say, rolling my eyes. ‘Did I disturb you in the middle of some Baywatch dream?’

He runs his hand over his stubble and pulls a face that suggests I might have but he’s too polite to say so.

‘When did you get home?’ he asks.

Jonah and I speak quite a lot now, usually last thing at night for me. He was my main thread connecting me to home back in Croatia, the only person who hadn’t judged me harshly for going away – probably because, by his own admission, he’d done pretty much the same himself.

‘A couple of days ago,’ I say. ‘Not the warmest of welcomes, it has to be said. I stayed away too long.’

‘They’ll come round,’ he says. ‘They love you.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ I say; he’s right, of course. I change the subject because thinking about Elle and Mum lowers my spirits. ‘What’s new with you?’

He reaches for a glass of water from his bedside table then flops back, his LA tan stark against the white sheets. He looks better than I’ve seen him for a long time: healthier, vital, like he’s found his shine somewhere in the bottom of a wheatgrass smoothie. I settle in and listen as he tells me about his days, developments with the script, the people he’s spending his time with. Enthusiasm shines from his dark eyes. I can’t imagine he’ll ever come home; he moves in different circles now.

‘What’s it like to be back?’ he asks me.

I sigh. ‘Same old,’ I say, then I catch myself. ‘Actually, it’s not. It feels weird. As if I don’t quite belong here any more.’

He nods slowly. ‘You’ve been away a fair while, but you’ll settle back down.’

‘I know.’

‘Back to work soon?’

I nod, my heart heavy. ‘Monday. They’ve taken someone new on though. Phil told me to come in, but I don’t know if there’s still a place for me there.’

Concern flickers in his eyes. ‘Sure you’re feeling okay?’

‘I will be,’ I say. ‘Just missing the sunshine, probably.’

‘It’s a big world out there, Lyds,’ he says. ‘There’s always sunshine somewhere.’

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