Chapter Twenty-Seven
January 2017
Lydia hauled her suitcase through the front door of her terraced house, out of the rain and the cold and the February dreariness that had welcomed her back to the UK. Already she was missing the clear blue skies of Andorra, the snow-capped mountains, the holiday atmosphere. But most of all she missed Jonathan.
She put the kettle on and took out the photograph she’d slipped into the inside section of her rucksack. It had been taken the day of the mushing and there were her and Jonathan all bundled up in blankets in the sled ready to go, his arms around her protectively, her hands holding onto his. She stared at the picture. It was a long time since she’d smiled so much and she’d never forget that day.
She poured the boiling water onto a cranberry and raspberry infusion teabag and let it steep, stirring the spoon round and round slowly to get the flavour moving, mesmerised by the photo she’d positioned upright against the tiles.
As she drank her tea at the table, she waded through the pile of post she’d scooped up from the doormat: bills, junk mail, a postcard from her sister which made her laugh – it was from Chester where she’d been trawling the bridal shops to get inspiration before she dragged Lydia along to try everything on.
Binning the post she didn’t want or need and leaving the bills until later, Lydia finished her tea and looked at the suitcase waiting patiently in the hallway. No time like the present, she decided. She opened the lid and took out piles and piles of clothes. She hadn’t done any washing for the last few days of her holiday so now it was time to sort the lights from darks and deposit the first load in the machine. When the doorbell rang she trotted down the hallway, glad of the interruption, and found Sally on the other side.
‘Welcome home!’ Her friend shook out her umbrella and rested it against the wall beneath the tiny porch roof over the front door. ‘It’s so great to see you.’
‘Come in, it’s revolting out there!’ Lydia took one look at the rain lashing down worse than it had been half an hour ago and Sally followed her through to the kitchen. She flicked the kettle on again. ‘Tea?’
‘Would I ever say no?’
‘Fruit or regular?’
‘Regular please, with a splash of milk. So come on, tell me all about the “work trip”.’ She put the last two words in air quotes, which was understandable given not all of it had been business. A lot of it had been pleasure.
‘It was surprisingly good.’
‘Did you ski?’
Lydia made herself a camomile tea this time. A second cup in quick succession was unusual but it was good to gossip with steaming mugs of tea between them. ‘I did.’
‘Really?’
‘I knew I had to so I got it over with on the first day. I had a lesson and I managed a fair few trips down a green run.’
Sally gave a cheer. ‘Wanna rethink coming with us when we go?’
Lydia shook her head. ‘No thanks. I had a shiner of a bruise on my left buttock for a few days and that was enough for me.’
‘So what else did you do?’
Lydia talked about mushing, the thrill of being pulled on a sled through the snow. She told Sally all about the Caterpillar vehicle, the shopping, the snowshoeing. And she couldn’t be more complimentary about the spa day. ‘You’d have been in heaven,’ she told her friend.
Sally blew across her tea. ‘Wasn’t it lonely? You know, doing all that by yourself.’
Lydia shrugged.
Sally put down her cup and just when Lydia thought she’d have to tell her more, she spotted the photograph. ‘Who’s that? He looks familiar, do I know him?’ She leapt up and grabbed the picture. ‘He’s gorgeous! So he was what you were up to when you were away?’
Lydia opened up a packet of shortbread and offered it to Sally when she sat down again. ‘It’s Jonathan Maynard.’ She held a shortbread finger but couldn’t bite into it just yet.
‘The guy who does charity events, skiing?’
‘The very same. I showed you his picture in a magazine once, when you were showing me pictures of the holiday you wanted to book. Remember?’
‘Aha! I do remember!’ She suddenly clapped a hand across her mouth. ‘Did you and he…?’
Lydia’s smile faded. ‘Oh God, am I a terrible person?’ Now she was home, the reality was beginning to dawn.
Sally’s hand covered her friend’s. ‘No, you’re not. But you are if you don’t tell meeverything.’
