Chapter Four
Lydia’s Diary, Eight Years Old
Dear Diary,
Lily died today. Ren was picked up from our house. They went to the hospital.
Mum got a phone call and fell on to the kitchen floor. Dad hugged her really tight, but she was still crying. I watched from the dining table, where I was doing my cats-and-dogs puzzle.
Ren wasn’t at school. I kept asking Mum if he could come over. She said he was really sad. I said that was the point but she just smiled in that way grown-ups do.
On Friday, after school, Ren was sitting at our dining table.
He looked quieter, and smaller. I ran over and hugged him tight.
He let me. Even though it’s a bit weird for boys and girls to hug, he didn’t push me away.
We finished my puzzle together, not talking much.
Then, we watched Spy Kids because it’s my favourite, and I told him he looked just like the boy in it.
He didn’t say anything, but I think he liked that.
Later, when Dad took him home, I saw him and Ren’s dad hug on the driveway. Grown-up hugs always last longer than kid ones. I think they might have been crying, but I wasn’t sure.
Ren waved at me through the car window before he went back inside his house. I hope he comes over again soon.
Love,
Lydia
Lydia
A burst of light hit my face, hitting my corneas.
‘Wakey, wakey!’
Mum, in her signature Skechers and silk blouse, flung the window wide. A gust of air swept over me and I burrowed under the duvet.
‘Come on. We’re doing things my way now.’
‘Mum,’ I groaned. ‘Leave me alone.’
She picked up a pink thong from the floor and tutted, ‘Lovely.’
‘Lev Mh Ahlne,’ I groaned into the pillow.
‘Was that “Mum, please save me from my pit of despair since I lost my job and got dumped?”’
I sat bolt upright, my bird’s-nest hair sticking up. ‘I did not lose my job. My contract wasn’t renewed.’
A very pathetic technicality.
‘And have you called that chap – the CEO? The one you were pals with?’
‘His name is Niall.’ I shrank back. ‘And no, I haven’t.’
‘You should. From what I hear, you practically ran the place.’
‘That’s not how it works, Mum.’
She crossed her arms. ‘You know, Ravi’s storage unit at the industrial estate is free. You should look into it. It would make a marvellous gym.’
‘Mum,’ I sighed. ‘You know why I can’t.’
‘Why not?’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Your father agrees you’d be marvellous. We could help if you needed it—’
‘You know I couldn’t. You know why,’ I said gently.
‘Oh.’ She waved a hand. ‘You worry too much. We could find you a good accountant—’
‘Mum,’ I said, a little more sharply than I meant to. ‘You know it’s not just about an accountant.’
She sat on the bed beside me, running a hand down my matted hair.
‘I know, love. I know you struggle with numbers and you always will. Your teachers told me as much.’ She said it softly, and I almost wanted to cave into her chest and let her rock me.
Her lips tugged up in the corners. ‘But you have people to support you. People who love you. We wouldn’t let you fail, you know that. ’
A headache threatened at my temples. We’d had this discussion a handful of times.
Mum and me. Dad and me. Mum, Dad and me.
It always left me thrumming with anxiety, because they didn’t get it.
I couldn’t run my own business. I couldn’t even do my four times table, for fuck’s sake.
I couldn’t count coins without the feeling that someone was grabbing me by the throat.
I certainly couldn’t be responsible for thousands of pounds, for wages, for suppliers relying on me to get it right.
I didn’t want to risk that – risk that failure, or, even worse, risk having to rely on others.
No, all I needed was to rely on myself and what I could do.
And that certainly wasn’t running my own business.
But no matter how many times I explained this, it seemed like no one fully understood the all-encompassing shame I carried around about my disability.
The looming feeling that it was silly, even trivial.
Oh, you’re scared of the oogy-boogy numbers.
There was one person who took it seriously from the start.
But I couldn’t say his name out loud.
‘Thank you, Mum,’ I said, hugging her around her middle, as I used to when I was a kid. ‘But it will be fine. I promise. I’ll find a new gym.’
I pulled back, gesturing around the room. ‘Besides, I haven’t got out of bed in a week and you want me to hop up and open a gym?’
Mum clicked her teeth. ‘Well, I suppose it would be motivation to get up and get dressed.’
‘I don’t need my own gym. I need to apply for jobs.’
‘Not in this mess, you won’t.’ She angled her head. ‘Come on.’
She wasn’t taking no for an answer. I flopped back on the bed and groaned.
Half an hour later, and some more mithering from my mum, I was clean-ish.
I’d not bothered to wash my hair because who could be arsed?
So I just threw it up in a bun. Meanwhile, Mum had begun cleaning the whole flat and made surprising progress.
With a bin bag in hand, she cleared the pizza boxes and noodle cartons from the living room.
I remembered crying as Julia Roberts stood before Hugh Grant, a wide, tragic smile on her face.
I’m just a girl. Standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.
Love was bollocks.
‘You look better,’ Mum said, inspecting my bun. ‘Could’ve washed your hair.’
‘Mum!’
‘All right, all right. Baby steps. You’re lucky I didn’t invite the whole lot up.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘Who is “the lot”?’
‘Operation Sunshine. Ren said—’ She stopped herself mid-sentence.
My stomach dropped. ‘Ren? Mum…’
‘No, no. He’s not here. I know you two are like chalk and cheese… God knows why. You know, a lot of people thought you’d end up together one day.’
Heat rushed to my face, my heart kicking into overdrive. Does she know? I fought the urge to deflect – to steer us away from anything Ren-shaped.
‘Right,’ I said, forcing my voice sharper. ‘Because bisexual women are just secretly into men. Only men.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘As if they’re so annoyingly irresistible, we must all fancy them.’
Mum gave me a level look, folding her arms. ‘That is not what I meant, and you know it. I don’t give a shit who you shag.’
Guilt throbbed at my temples. I knew that. Mum and Dad had never blinked at who I dated. But I was raw, and the high horse was right there.
‘I know, Mum,’ I muttered.
She kissed my forehead. ‘I just want you to be happy.’
Ugh. Cue more guilt.
‘Now.’ She pushed the door open. ‘Chop, chop.’
We stepped into the stairwell and, when she opened the front door, five familiar figures waited. Amy, Claire, Gen, Kat, and her best friend, Willa.
‘Operation Sunshine is go!’ Mum declared, clapping. ‘I’m off to work. Claire, see you at book club next week.’
‘If I finish that dreadful World War II book,’ Claire muttered.
‘Peter is never picking again. It’s a bloody doorstop,’ Mum nodded, waving as she vanished into her car.
‘What are you guys doing here?’ I stared at the five women in front of me. ‘It’s a Tuesday morning.’
‘Wednesday, actually, love,’ Claire corrected. ‘We took the day off.’
Amy smiled proudly. ‘We cancelled our memberships after that toad sacked you.’
‘And I’ve told anyone who will listen,’ Gen said. ‘Quinn is in bits, bless him. He sends his love.’
‘Oh, and Mrs Daniels gave Craig a piece of her mind in the cafe the other day – in front of everyone!’ Claire laughed. ‘It was quite a scene. So don’t think we’ve forgotten, Lydia.’
‘Guys,’ I said, my voice croaking. ‘You don’t have to do that. Cancel your memberships or become vigilantes. I don’t want you to lose your love of the gym—’
‘We can find another gym.’ Gen cut me off.
‘We can’t find another Lydia,’ Claire said, pulling me in to her side. ‘You know, I never liked that man. He always looked so slimy.’
Claire let me go and I was pulled into a hug from Kat, the top of her curly ginger hair brushing my chin.
‘We’re so sorry, Lydia. Liam wanted to come,’ Kat said. ‘I told him it was girls-only.’
‘I’d like to see him try reformer Pilates,’ Willa said dryly.
I froze. I could almost smell the pine of the machines, the smell of eucalyptus and the soft click of springs.
My happy place, now turned into a reminder of what I’d lost.
I choked out. ‘Guys, I appreciate this, but I’m not up for Pilates.’
‘Ha!’ Gen barked. ‘Since when did you let us get away with that?’
Kat jabbed a finger. ‘I did hungover yoga for you.’
‘And when I cried over that guy with all the snakes—’
‘Fifty snakes,’ Gen and I said solemnly.
‘Fifty snakes,’ Amy shuddered. ‘You picked me up. Made me rage-lift to Taylor Swift, and I forgot all about it. Now it’s our turn. We are your Lydia today.’
I looked around at the expectant faces. All of them were waiting for my enthusiastic ‘Hell, yes!’ and I should be proud.
They were preaching what I’d coached into them for the past few years – pure positivity.
Look on the bright side of life. Get up and out, and seize the day.
But it was one thing practising what I preached when I wanted nothing more than to climb back into my hovel and rot there for a few centuries.
Just smile, Lydia.
I could smile for one day and give my friends what they wanted – a revived Lydia with all the bells and whistles. I stood up straighter, plastered on a smile, and faced them.
‘Okay, let’s go.’ I ignored how my stomach sank.