Lydia
Lydia
Within the space of a few minutes, Lydia’s great triumph had morphed into disaster.
The hall, which had been a hubbub of celebratory, festive conversation, had fallen silent. Lydia had managed to push her way through the throng to grab Maggie by the collar and stop her doing any more damage to the generous posterior of the man from Starbucks.
“THAT DOG SHOULD BE DESTROYED!” shouted Gavin Gravely, all buggy eyes, flared nostrils, and quivering belly.
Within seconds, Maggie was surrounded by small children, creating a miniature human shield around her and crying hysterically.
“She was just protecting an old man who was being bullied,” said Lydia. “I bet she didn’t even break the skin.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from the crowd as Gavin Gravely undid his zip and pulled down his trousers to expose his graying Y-fronts, and two tiny red marks underneath his right buttock. Janine placed her hands over the eyes of the small child standing in front of her.
“Well, now she’s got a taste for human flesh, there’s no knowing what she’ll do next,” said Gavin Gravely, who seemed disappointed not to find a more dramatic wound.
“I would have thought that after tasting that particular flesh it would put her off for life,” said a voice that was unmistakably Daphne’s.
Art was sitting in his director’s chair, curled in on himself like an “@” sign, his head in his hands.
“I’ll have you know, I’m calling the police with regard to your collection of stolen goods,” said Gavin Gravely, sucking in his stomach and doing his belt back up.
“Get out of here, you odious little man!” shouted Daphne, levering Gavin Gravely away from Art with her walking stick. Lydia wasn’t at all sure why Daphne carried a stick. She certainly didn’t need it for walking. She was, in fact, almost unnaturally sprightly.
“You have no proof whatsoever that any of those items were stolen or, if they were, that Art is the culprit. So, you can take your baseless insinuations and stick them where the sun. Don’t. Shine.” With each of those last three words, Daphne poked Gavin in his retreating, protesting arse.
“And don’t you dare threaten my dog!” she shouted after him.
She was magnificent . And, as always when she was with Daphne, Lydia found herself feeling braver. More determined. More resourceful.
She had to get the day back on track.
Lydia headed over to William’s laptop. If she could get those happy photographs of all the play preparations and rehearsals beaming onto the projector screen again, at least they would be the final images the council members saw before leaving for their lunch. Better, by far, than memories of feral dogs and rotten stolen goods.
Lydia clicked the touch pad, and saw a folder pinned to the home screen labeled PHOTOS . Thank goodness William had made it easy. She clicked on that and saw a handful of files, one helpfully labeled LYDIA . She clicked it and selected Slideshow . See! She may be past fifty, but she was no Luddite.
Lydia picked up Maggie, in her sheep jacket, just in case the horrid Starbucks man decided to come back with the dog police, and pushed her way through the crowd to the group of musicians from Ziggy’s school.
“I know you’ll be needing to get back to school soon,” she said. “But I’d be super grateful if you could just play a couple more carols. Something really cheerful!”
As the sounds of “Ding Dong! Merrily on High” filled the hall, Lydia stepped back and looked up at the screen. It took her a while to adjust to what she was seeing. There was a photo of her, but not at the community center. She was saying goodbye to Jeremy, who was leaning against his scooter on their doorstep. What was that picture doing in there?
Then there was Jeremy again, this time with a blond woman at least twenty years younger than Lydia. The one who could stop traffic. First, getting out of a taxi, then entering a pub. Then the two of them sitting at a table, heads so close to each other that they were almost touching. Hands clasped over the tabletop. Then kissing. More kissing. Proper kissing. The sort of desperate, hungry kissing she’d seen teenagers do when she’d helped organize the junior prom at Ellie and Sophia’s school. Not at all like the half-hearted middle-aged kissing she and Jeremy indulged in. When he kissed her at all.
It wasn’t just her, staring at these images of her husband virtually devouring a woman barely older than their daughters. Almost the entire hall was watching. And the ones not looking at the screen were looking right at her, aghast, as tears streamed down her face and her world collapsed around her.