Lydia
Lydia
“Right, is everyone clear?” said Daphne, pointing at them somewhat aggressively with her piece of chalk. They’d borrowed the children’s blackboard from the nursery next door, and Daphne had been outlining the plan, titled “LYDIA’S REVENGE,” and the roles each of them were to play. She’d made them all repeat the instructions she’d given them until she was satisfied they’d remembered every detail.
Daphne was almost unnervingly impressive. So clear, logical, and persuasive. Anyone would have thought she’d been outlining complex strategies for years.
The problem was, Lydia couldn’t even remember agreeing to the idea. Had she? It was her name in block capitals on the top of the blackboard, but she felt as if she’d just been swept up by the fast-flowing momentum of the whole thing, without a chance to think, let alone disagree.
“Are we really certain about this, Daphne?” she said. “Isn’t it a little over the top? I’m sure the problems in our marriage were as much my fault as…”
She was interrupted, not for the first time, by a chorus of “IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT, LYDIA,” from her seniors.
“He’s not going to come to any actual physical harm, my dear,” said Art. “His punishment is entirely in proportion to the crime. Now, I have a little something for everyone.”
Art opened the bag that was sitting on his lap and produced six brand-new walkie-talkies, which he handed round. Lydia picked one up, turning it over in her hands and feeling like Kate Fleming in Line of Duty .
“You have to make sure you’re tuned to channel three—then, so long as you’re in range, we can all communicate with each other,” Art said. “Also, don’t forget to take photos, which you need to send to William. Surreptitiously, obviously.”
“Uh, Art, don’t take this the wrong way, but where did you get these walkie-talkies from?” said Lydia, who wasn’t going to have her fingers burned twice.
“From a shop,” said Art who, judging by his expression, had actually taken it the wrong way. “Don’t worry. I paid for them.”
“With my money,” added Daphne.
“Why don’t we just use a WhatsApp group?” said Lydia.
“A what group?” said Ruby, which rather answered her question.
“Have you seen how slowly Anna and William type?” said Art. “Anyhow, walkie-talkies are more fun, and you get to say ‘Over and out,’ ‘Do you copy?’ and ‘Roger that.’?”
“ Roger that ,” said William, giggling. “Could be misleading. Ow!” He rubbed his forehead, where he’d just been hit by a piece of chalk, lobbed with impressive accuracy by Daphne.
“This is no time for your childish schoolboy puns,” she said. “Right, let’s synchronize watches. It’s four p.m. That’s T minus two hours. Everyone, get to your stations and we’ll meet back here when it’s all over.”