She sat on a chair and watched him, willing him to do something, move anything or open his eyes, but after twenty minutes she knew it was a useless request, another pointless, one-sided conversation.
She left well before there was any likelihood of Anita appearing. Some days she could tolerate a conversation with his mum; other times, like tonight, she really couldn’t, because she couldn’t bear to look at the woman who’d kept Theo this way when he never would’ve wanted it. Lydia almost hated her for that, but reversing the roles, Anita almost hated Lydia for wanting the opposite. Perhaps neither of them had any right to make any decision on behalf of Theo. Perhaps nature and medicine would be the deciding factor and determine all their fates.
At home that evening, Lydia took out a readymade lasagne from the fridge. It was lazy and it wasn’t cost effective, but since Theo hadn’t been here, the pleasure of cooking had evaded her. It felt wrong to pour a glass of wine, sing along to music and make a meal that only she would enjoy. Most often than not she ate in front of the television, something she and Theo rarely did unless they had takeaway and were watching a movie. Usually they sat at the small, round kitchen table and chatted until late and Lydia could barely keep her eyes open a second longer.
She’d give anything to talk to Theo right now, to sit across the table laughing and joking with him like they used to.
She ran a finger beneath his message on the blackboard and her mind was back on the morning of the accident, the intimacy by the Christmas tree; the tree that she, Sally and Gerry had taken down in silence. She wanted to touch the message itself, the last thing he’d written, but she couldn’t, and she didn’t want to erase it, she didn’t want to get rid of another part of him.
She caught sight of the Tupperware container in the corner of the kitchen, filled with the chocolates they’d both so patiently tied on each branch of the real tree that had long since died and been taken away to be made into mulch. It’d been torture to resist them at the time with Theo reminding her not to sneak one when he wasn’t looking, but since the accident she hadn’t wanted a single one, so there they sat. If she didn’t move them before the summer they’d melt into a pile of goo as the sun streaked across the kitchen in its usual fashion.
When the phone rang, she still had a hand resting on the tub of chocolates. It was Sally.
‘Answer me something.’ It was the first thing her friend said to her.
‘What’s that?’
‘What have you got for dinner? I want to know exactly…it’s important.’
Bewildered, she played along and told her friend, ‘Lasagne, and I’ll have salad on the side. Why?’
‘Not enough detail,’ Sally said simply. ‘Home-made or shop bought?’
‘Shop bought.’
‘Have you cut your own tomatoes and cucumber for the salad?’
Lydia thought of the bag of lettuce in the fridge. She hadn’t thought to buy anything else to go with it. ‘I would have to say no.’
‘Is the oven on? Is it in yet?’
‘No.’ Lydia was laughing now. ‘You’re off your rocker, you are. What’s going on?’
‘Step away from the lasagne, Lydia.’
‘Okay…’
‘When was the last time you went out, to a pub, had a good old laugh?’
Lydia sighed. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘You’ll possibly hate me for what I’m about to say and that’s why I haven’t said it before now, but it’s been two months, and life has to go on in some shape or form.’ She paused, clearly unsure whether to continue. ‘It has to, Lydia. I know it’s tearing you up inside seeing Theo like this, but how about it? Just me and you, not a big crowd.’
‘But your ankle is still dodgy,’ Lydia claimed. ‘I’m not carrying you anywhere.’
‘It’s much better. I’ve been icing it and resting, so I think I’ll be able to manage. And Gerry is going to the local for a quiz night. So how about it? We’ll go to a restaurant of your choice – nobody is spending money in February after Christmas so we’ll get in easy. We’ll open a bottle of red and you can cry into a lasagne made by a chef on the premises.’
Lydia took a deep breath and slotted the lasagne back in the fridge. Because her friend was right, she needed to do something or she’d go crazy with the way she was existing right now.
*
They chose to go French, and the second they were through the door Sally requested the wine list and without asking Lydia a single thing she ordered a bottle of Merlot.
‘Thank you,’ said Lydia.
‘I know you like your Merlot.’ Sally chinked her glass against her friend’s the second the waiter left them to it. With her short-cropped blonde hair and blue eyes she was the complete opposite of Lydia. They’d once spotted themselves in the reflection of the window at university and laughed at how different they were: one short – Sally at a mere five foot – and the other tall at almost five foot seven; one with the palest of blue eyes and the other with eyes such a deep brown you could barely see the pupils unless you went up really close; one with curves and tanned complexion, the other with her petite build and only freckles colouring her skin in the height of summer.
‘I didn’t mean thank you for the wine.’ Lydia took a generous sip. ‘Although I do appreciate it. I meant thank you for being so bossy and making me come out tonight. You were right to insist and to be pushy.’
