Page 80 of The Two Lives of Lydia Bird

‘I will,’ I say, and again he falls silent.

‘It’s almost ten o’clock at night here,’ I say, settling back in my balcony chair. ‘There’s so many stars, Jonah, it’s a whole new level of brightness and beauty.’

‘I wish I could see it,’ he says, quiet against my ear.

‘I wish that too,’ I whisper, suddenly feeling a long way from home.

‘Go home soon,’ Jonah tells me. ‘Don’t spend too much time on your own out there.’

‘I won’t,’ I say. ‘You should get back to your pasta mountain.’

‘True,’ he says.

‘Say hi to Ryan Reynolds from me if you run into him.’

‘Will do.’ I hear someone speak to him in the background, and he asks for the bill, distracted.

‘Listen, I’ll let you get back to your day,’ I say.

‘Yeah, I should probably go,’ he says, then after a beat he adds, ‘Call me if you get lonely, okay?’

‘Thanks. I’ll remember.’

‘Get some sleep, stargazer.’ His voice is so clear he could be sitting beside me on this moonlit balcony.

‘Night, Jonah Jones,’ I say, and I click to end the call before either of us can say anything else. I didn’t tell him about the job offer.

Monday 22 July

New York, New York, so good they named it twice. I’ve just showered after a quiet morning people-watching on the beach, and now my stomach is alive with nervous excitement at the thought of seeing Freddie, of being in New York on honeymoon. I have no idea what we’ll do or where we’re staying, it’s all been a closely guarded secret. I could probably hazard an educated guess at a couple of things on Freddie’s itinerary; New York has been my number-one dream destination since my slightly obsessive Sex and the City addiction and I’ve dropped a million hints over the years of things I’d love to do if we ever go.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Horse-drawn carriage rides in Central Park. The Staten Island ferry. I know, I know, I’m a great big cliché and there’s a million other brilliant things to do, but I can’t help myself. Oh God, New flippin’ York! I’m going to be there today with Freddie.

I think fleetingly of home, of Elle and the baby and of Mum. I hope they understand how much I need this time away, that they don’t think me too selfish. I shake the niggling worry off my shoulders, assuring myself that they love me, they know me well enough, they’ll be okay.

I’m sitting in the middle of my pine-framed double bed, water in one hand, pink pill in the other, almost scared because I’m so desperate for everything to be perfect. I’ve always imagined New York to have this unique smell: brewed black coffee, sugar donuts, newsprint and taxi fumes, bagels and beer from bars where everybody knows your name. Okay, I know Cheers wasn’t set in New York, but there must be places just like it on every street corner. Or maybe cafes like Central Perk, full of sagging sofas and magazines and women with fabulous hair.

Oh New York, New York, hold on. I’m coming, at last.

Monday 22 July

‘I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.’

Freddie’s disconcerting words are the first thing I hear as I try to orientate myself. We’re sitting in a booth, and everywhere is too noisy and too bright. Freddie is opposite me finishing off a burger the size of his face and in front of me is a half-eaten plate of grilled salmon. We each have frothy milkshakes, and the logo on the menu helps me out: we’re in Ellen’s Stardust Diner. I check my watch quickly; it feels too early to be eating food like this. I guess you’d call it brunch.

‘We won’t want to eat again today,’ I say, hiding the surprise I feel at our restaurant choice. This place wouldn’t have made my wish list, but being fair, it’s Freddie’s honeymoon too, so it’s okay.

‘Save some room,’ he grins.

‘For …?’

He taps the side of his nose. ‘You’ll see later. It’s a surprise.’

I smile, glad to know that our day is balanced with things for both of us. And I’m being churlish; this place might not be on my list, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it. I flip the gratitude switch on in my head. Freddie booked New York to make my dreams come true, I can’t expect him to get all the details bang on. Besides, I can see how this is supposed to be fun. Neon lighting, disco balls and wannabe Broadway actors serving food while belting out show tunes. It’s stereotypical America with bells on. It just caught me off-guard, that’s all.

I watch Freddie (my husband!) for a few seconds through my lashes, trying not to make it obvious that I’m staring. He’s in his element in places like this, where the fast-paced, high-energy level chimes with his. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of his platinum wedding ring; still gleaming, yet to wear a groove of familiarity into his flesh. I check out my own hand and find my ring there too, a slender white-gold band beneath my engagement ring.

Oh. I bite the inside of my lip because it looks so perfect, exactly the way I’d imagined it would the day we picked out my trilogy diamond ring a few hours after Freddie proposed because I was too excited to wait.

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