Page 20 of Save You
Dr.Hearst presses a few buttons on the machine and smiles at Lydia, and then at me.“They’re non-identical twins and both well-developed.Everything looks fine.Do twins run in your family, Lydia?”
Lydia nods and shakes her head all at once, still staring at the screen.
“She has a twin brother herself,” I answer quietly for her, trying to suppress the image of Lydia’s twin.James has no place in my head right now.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of.”Dr.Hearst is trying to reassure Lydia, but I don’t get the impression she’s taking any of it in.“We’ll keep a slightly closer eye on you from now on, and I’d recommend a glucose tolerance test to rule out gestational diabetes.You can make an appointment at reception…” She gives a brief lecture on healthy eating and the next checkups, but I can tell that Lydia isn’t listening.
I study her pale face.She really needs something soothing about now.And I’ve got a pretty good idea of what.
7
Ruby
Smith’s Bakery doesn’t look like much from the outside.It’s part of a row of shops with flats above them, between my favorite thrift store and a takeaway pizza place that’s been closed every single time I’ve walked past.They refresh the front every year, but it gets so weather-beaten that the paint barely lasts a few weeks before it’s looking tatty and unloved again.There’s a sign with fancy lettering in green and gold over the big front window that displays the day’s freshly baked treats to every passerby.Everything is made in the shop, from soft white bread, scones and rolls, to Bakewell tarts, to pies—everything your heart could desire.
“I always come here when I’m feeling down,” I tell Lydia, who is looking a little doubtfully at the shopfront.I go up the steps to the bakery and hold the door for her.The delicious aromas waft out from the ovens toward us, and the smells of fresh bread and cinnamon fill my nose.
“My favorite smell,” I say, turning to Lydia.“If there was a perfume that smelled of fresh bread and cinnamon, I’d buy theentire stock and then bathe in it until I’d never smell of anything else ever again.”
Lydia’s lips twitch ever so slightly.Still, it’s the first sign of emotion she’s shown since we left the doctor’s office.
Phil, my mum’s colleague, is serving a customer as we approach the counter.There are wooden shelves on the wall behind him, filled with loaves and baguettes.On the counter, there are two little baskets with free samples of buttered bread.I take a couple in passing and hand one to Lydia while I pop the other into my mouth.
“Have a taste,” I say through a mouthful.“The bread here is so good.”
Lydia follows suit, somewhat hesitantly.
The bakery is small and cramped.The space isn’t really designed for settling down with a coffee, but they’ve squeezed in a couple of tables and seats anyway.One’s by the kitchen door, where they make the dough, and the other is so close to the counter that you can’t help getting a bit jostled by other customers when it’s busy.
I gesture toward the little bench and battered table at the back of the shop.Lydia squeezes in, looking around her.She doesn’t seem to know what to make of this place.There’s an air of skepticism about her that reminds me of her mum and the way she studied me the only time we met.
I shake the memory out of my head.“Do you know what you’d like?”I ask.
Lydia squints past me, her head to one side as she eyes the array of cakes.“What would you recommend?”
“The Bakewell tart is my favorite.”
“I’ll go with that, then.”
I nod and smile, and walk up to the counter just as Mum emerges from the bake room.She beams at the sight of me and wipes her hands on the apron she’s wearing over a striped shirt, embroidered with the bakery logo.
“Hi, Mum, I’m here with Lydia,” I say hastily, gesturing with my thumb back to our table.“She’s had a tough day and I thought a Bakewell tart and a hot chocolate would be sure to make her feel better,” I add in a whisper, hoping that Lydia can’t hear me.
“There’s nothing that a Bakewell tart and a hot chocolate can’t cure,” Mum replies with a conspiratorial wink.
“Thanks, Mum.”
I go back to Lydia and sit on the wobbly chair opposite her.She’s resting her chin on her hand.“How long has your mum worked here?”
“Since before I was born.She started here straight from school.”
She smiles slightly.“Must have been cool as a kid.”
“There were always biscuits,” I say, waggling my eyebrows.
Lydia’s smile broadens.
“Do you know what you want to do, one day?”I ask after a while.
