Lydia
Lydia
“What do I do about Jeremy?” Lydia had asked Daphne.
“Don’t worry. He’s on the whiteboard. I’ll make sure I get to him before the bomb goes off,” Daphne had replied.
This response had raised far more questions than it had answered. Where was this whiteboard? What else was on it? Was the bomb actual or metaphorical? She assumed the latter, but one could never tell with Daphne. And was anyone going to get hurt when it went off? Literally or metaphorically?
Not knowing which issue to start with, Lydia had just said, “OK.”
Luckily, she was too busy to fret about it. Having had a phone call from Daphne yesterday, with a list of precise instructions, she’d spent all morning going backward and forward from Art’s house to Mandel Community Center, transporting bin bags full of the most extraordinarily random collection of stuff from Art’s wardrobe. Daphne hadn’t said where it had all come from, just that Art wanted to simultaneously declutter and do some good for the community. Given all the shenanigans at the nativity, Lydia thought it best not to delve any deeper. It might make her an accessory.
Thank goodness she drove a Volvo. Such a practical car, and perfect for this kind of job.
Lydia’s planned activities for the social club had, yet again, been hijacked. She wondered if she would ever be able to unveil the macramé plant-holder kits she’d stashed in the storage room.
She pulled back her shoulders and took a deep breath. It was time to rally the troops.
The room was more crowded than Lydia had ever seen it. William was there, of course, along with Anna and Ruby, but they’d been joined by around eight heavily pregnant women. Lydia had ambushed them on their way out of their antenatal class and persuaded them to come along to help.
Lydia had also bumped into Tim, who’d manned the tea stand at the nativity, on his way to set up the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
“Can you help?” she’d asked him.
“Of course! I’ll rally the friends of Bill. The opposite of addiction is connection!” he’d replied, smothering her in a bear hug. Lydia was getting a little fed up with people talking in riddles. Who on earth was Bill, and was he coming to help, too?
Luckily, although Daphne wasn’t there in person, Lydia was channeling her energy by wearing another one of her outfits: a military-style jacket from Alexander McQueen which, she suspected, had far more experience at this kind of thing than Lydia herself did.
Lydia had been reading a book called Make Your Bed: Little Things That Can Change Your Life…and Maybe the World by a former navy SEAL, so was picturing herself standing on the deck of her warship on the morning of battle, her marines assembled before her, waiting for her to unveil the plan of attack.
“Thank you all for coming today. I really am so grateful,” she said, out of habit. Then kicked herself. Lord Nelson wouldn’t have started his Battle of Trafalgar briefing like that, would he?
“We have two simultaneous battles to fight today,” she said, dropping her voice an octave. Was it her imagination, or had her audience all sat up a little straighter? “First, on the home front. These bags of items”—she gestured to the bulging bin bags which contained the contents of Art’s wardrobe—“need to be divided into three separate piles. One, things for the nursery on the other side of the hall. Two, things for the local charity shops. Three, things to be thrown away or recycled. The antenatal class will do the sorting with the help of Ruby. Anna will do runs on her scooter to the local charity shops.”
“Yes, ma’am!” said Anna, with an actual salute. “I have a trailer attached especially for the job, ma’am.”
“Good job, captain,” said Lydia. Then, worried she might have gone too far: “Also, if you find anything you’d particularly like to keep, please help yourselves, as a thank-you. Call it the spoils of war, if you will.
“The rest of you,” said Lydia, gesturing to the Alcoholics Anonymous group, “are going with William to Art’s house, to fight the second battle. It needs to be decluttered and cleaned thoroughly. At the end of the day, I’ll collect all the rubbish and recycling in the Volvo. Any questions?”
“Yes!” said Ruby, her hand in the air. “Where is Daphne?”
“Off somewhere spinning her web, no doubt,” said William. “But where’s Art?”
“He’s with Daphne,” said Lydia. “They said they had an important mission to complete and would be away all day.”
“Both of them? Alone? Together?” said William, looking alarmed.
“Isn’t that like putting a squirrel in a cage with a tiger?” said Ruby.
“Best way to die: Eaten by a tiger or being harangued to death by Daphne?” said William.
“I’d take the tiger any day,” said Anna.
“Poor, poor Art,” said William, shaking his head. “Hasn’t he been through enough?”
···
Lydia spent the afternoon shuttling between the two sites, checking on progress and providing direction, encouragement, and refreshments. She hadn’t felt such a sense of achievement in years.
At the end of the day, she bid everyone farewell—which wasn’t very professionally done, on account of her having become a little emotional and weepy—and loaded up the Volvo for a trip to the dump.
Was there anywhere quite as satisfying and cathartic as the council recycling center? Lydia removed each item from her boot and took it to the relevant skip, dividing everything into card, wood, metal, plastic, and so on. As she chucked the final item into its skip, with a little run-up and a vigorous overarm throw, she felt lighter, less encumbered. She imagined that she could just lift her arms and float home. But that would mean abandoning the Volvo.
It felt good to rid yourself of things you no longer needed, things that were weighing you down.
And, for the first time that day, Lydia thought of Jeremy.