The Day Of Second Chances (33 page)

Jo bristled. ‘Are you saying that I let her come in here and steal my husband?'

‘No; he made his foolish choices all by himself. I am saying that now that she has done it, you have no reason to let her assume that she is in control here, where you live.'

‘Well, I …' She thought of how Tatiana had known where the glasses were, and where the vases were kept. ‘I'm trying to be nice.'

‘There's niceness, and then there's insanity. Do you think that Lydia is upset about something?'

‘I'll go and check.' Jo put her sweet peas in water, picked up the porcelain vase with Lydia's flowers and went upstairs with it. Faintly from the living room she could hear Oscar asking again, ‘What's a whore?'

Oh God. She'd deal with that later. She knocked on Lydia's closed bedroom door. ‘Sweetheart? Are you all right?'

No answer.

‘Did your exams go OK?'

Stomping feet, and the door opened a bare inch. ‘My exams were fine, there's nothing wrong with my
exams
, don't worry. Can I get a little privacy for like five minutes, please?'

‘OK,' said Jo. ‘But Oscar picked these for you, to say congratulations.'

Lydia's hand came out and took the flowers. She made to shut the door again, but Jo put her hand in it.

‘I'm making chicken cacciatore,' she said quickly. ‘And you don't have any exams tomorrow morning, do you? Do you want to ring Avril and ask her if she wants to come for tea, as a celebration?'

‘Avril didn't have exams today.'

‘Well, that's fine, she can come anyway.'

‘Avril has a boyfriend.'

Jo bit her lip. ‘Oh. I … I understand.'

‘You don't understand anything.'

‘But I do, sweetheart. I thought we hadn't seen her around very much. Lydia, don't worry. Avril's not the type to forget who her friends are.'

‘Isn't she?'

‘No,' said Jo with conviction. ‘She's a nice girl, and you've been inseparable for ages. It's bound to feel strange when she starts seeing someone. But you can still have good times together, the two of you.'

‘Can we.'

‘Of course you can! Why don't you ring her anyway and see if she's free? She probably needs a break from revision, too. You don't want to work all the time, sweetheart, you'll just burn yourself out. You need to have a little bit of fun every now and then, you know.'

‘A little bit of fun?' Lydia's face was half cut off by the door, but she was regarding Jo incredulously. ‘You think this is fun? You think
any
of this is
fun
?'

‘I can see that it's very stressful, but it's only the beginning. You've got weeks of exams yet. Be a little bit easier on yourself, darling.'

‘I'll be easier on myself when you stop nagging me to have fun!'

Lydia slammed the door. Considering it had only been open an inch or two, the noise was surprising. Jo gazed at it for a few moments, then heaved a sigh and went back downstairs to send Marcus a sneaky text, and also to make up an innocuous meaning for the word ‘whore'.

MUM WAS RIDICULOUS
. How could someone always try to see the bright side? How could she think that everything could be solved by making someone's favourite dinner? Offering her sympathy and pats on the back as if she was five years old, empty platitudes promising that she and Avril would still have good times together when she didn't have a clue about how Lydia felt about Avril?

Lydia was aware that she was being unfair; her mother didn't know how she felt because she hadn't told her. But there was a certain wild freedom about striking out at her mother when she'd been worrying about veiled threats from her friends. And besides, she'd left her phone at home during her exam, and she needed to check whether Avril had rung. All the way home she'd been picturing scenarios about Erin ringing Avril and telling her that Lydia had kissed Bailey. Imagining Erin's vicious grin and Avril's eyes widening in horror. Trying to work out how she'd explain it, whether she could blame Bailey – which seemed unfair, but still, Bailey had been the one to talk, hadn't she? Or another story she could make up. They were acting out a film scene? She was actually just applying lipstick? She slipped and her lips met Bailey's?

She couldn't make up a story. She would have to tell the truth.

She should have told the truth ages ago, then she wouldn't be facing this now. Should have told the truth from the start. And given up the intimacy with Avril, the easy trust, the stolen touches and glances, all of which were precious, and all of which were based on a lie.

Feeling sick, Lydia picked up her phone from her bed. There were no missed calls and no messages.

Avril didn't know then. She sagged onto the bed in relief. She would still have to tell her, but she could do it in her own way. She'd say that she was lonely, and experimenting. She'd say she'd suspected for a while. She'd say she'd never had any feelings about Avril. Of course not. They were just best friends.

It would be horrible. It would be another lie. But at least things could carry on, not so different from usual. Things might even be better.

Her phone beeped, and she looked more carefully at the screen. There were over fifty Facebook notifications. As she watched, it turned to fifty-two.

Her hands were cold. She clicked up her profile. The first thing she saw was a comment from Darren Raymond.

Hey LL I hear your a lezza now is that how you know what pussy tastes like

Darren Raymond. Stupid joke. Nobody paid any attention to him. Except there were comments underneath Darren's.

OMG is she? That explains alot.

I always thought there was something between her and A

OMFG i never knew she is in athletics with me guys i get changed in front of her all the time this is gross

‘Gross?' Lydia spat out. ‘It's your fat arse that's gross, Becky.'

She didn't want to scroll down – fifty-two notifications, now fifty-three – but she did. There were pictures. Someone had posted the pic of her and Avril at Monica's party, their arms around each other's shoulders, identical cans of Strongbow in their hands, tongues stuck out at the camera. They'd put a thought bubble coming out of Lydia's head.

Nice tits.

Lydia scrolled down, helpless, taking in the malice and the doctored photos, the gleeful outrage and hysterical disgust.

i dont mind people being gay this is the 21st century after all but they should say so and not make us believe there normal people guys do you think her and Avril have been doing it all this time, thats hot!

She read every single one of them. Every single one, except that more were coming in. Then she dropped her phone on her bed and stood there, staring at it as if it were the problem, as if it were a venomous snake she was trying to work out how to kill.

She understood how the internet worked. She couldn't reply in any way without making it worse. She had to see Avril, but could she? Should she really? Avril had been tagged over and over again in the conversation. She hadn't said anything yet. Maybe that was because of shock, or because she was being loyal to Lydia, but then again, she hadn't rung Lydia either.

Maybe she was too busy snogging Harry. For the first time, Lydia found herself fervently wishing that Avril was in a park somewhere, behind a building, under a tree, with Harry Carter's hand up her top. She snatched up her phone again and rang her, but it went to voicemail. ‘Call me right away, OK?' she said. ‘Don't look online, just call me.'

She sent a text, too, to be sure, and then she pictured Avril not snogging Harry, but instead sitting with him and reading her phone. Not answering because she was too disgusted. Telling Harry about all the times she'd got changed in front of Lydia, all the times they'd shared a bed, the time they'd gone swimming naked together in the Rylances' pool at midnight, how they'd borrowed each other's clothes including bras and knickers.

She stuffed her phone in her back pocket and ran out of the house again, towards Avril's.

Her school shoes were rubbish for running but Lydia hardly noticed the clomp. She crossed a road in front of a car and only dimly heard the brakes squeal and the horn sound. At Avril's block, she leaned on the bell until the door buzzed open.

The door to the flat was ajar and Lydia knocked and went inside. ‘Avril?' Mrs Toller was sitting on the sofa, remote in her hand. She still had her work uniform on, or maybe she was about to start another shift. ‘Hi, Mrs Toller, is Avril here?'

Avril's mum squinted up at her. ‘She said she was spending the afternoon revising at your house.'

‘Oh. I – yeah, she popped out to get a book and I thought she'd come back here. Maybe she left it at school instead.'

‘Don't you have exams? Should you be gallivanting all over town?'

‘Just on a break. I'll probably meet her on the way back to my house. Thanks, see you later!'

Lydia checked the park and the shopping precinct. She checked the place by the river where they went sometimes, the playpark at the back of the end of Avril's estate. At Starbucks she caught a glimpse of a group of people wearing blue school uniforms, spread over the sofas at the back, and she left quickly before anyone from her school could spot her. She checked her phone again and there were no new messages but there were twenty-eight new Facebook notifications and she had nine new Snapchats. She didn't check any of them.

Her feet brought her reluctantly back home. She wasn't stupid, she knew what she had to do. She had to close down her Facebook, delete Snapchat. No, she had to keep them, so she had evidence. But evidence for what?

She had to tell her mum.

The thought brought a certain relief. She'd tell Mum. And Mum would be surprised, but she'd be on her side. Mum would help her figure out what to do.

Inside the house, Granny H was on the sofa with OscanIrie. Oscar was pretending to read them a book. ‘Are you all right, Lydia?' said Honor without looking up.

She could tell Granny H, too. Granny H would be furious on her behalf. Honor couldn't do anything – Lydia wasn't even sure that Granny H knew what Facebook was – but she'd be righteously angry. She'd call Darren Raymond extraordinary names.

If she told Granny H and Mum, Lydia could be at home and relax into the truth. Not always on guard, not always hiding behind a mask.

She tried to imagine it: all that honesty.

‘Where's Mum?'

‘She's in the garden, I think.'

Lydia nodded and headed for the back door. She knew what she would do. She would find her mum, probably weeding, her hands in gloves and soil. She'd kneel down beside her and she would hug her and her mother would envelop her in her arms. Just like she used to do when she was a little girl, when Lydia believed that she could make everything all right. She would tell her everything, out there in the garden near the roses. Her mother would give Lydia her full attention, like she used to. That time before she married Richard, when they used to talk about her father, when it felt like it was just the two of them against the world, when it felt like it was going to be that way for ever. And it hadn't been; her mum had chosen Richard instead. But maybe this time, it could be.

Lydia had it all planned out in her head by the time she stepped out of the back door and onto the grass. And then she stopped, because her mother wasn't by the rose bush. She was by the back hedge, near that part that was gappy, with a man. They stood close to each other, talking. His hand was on her elbow; hers was on his shoulder.

The man was Mr Graham. From school.

As she watched, Mr Graham inclined his head and kissed her mother on her lips. Mum wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her closer.

For the first time, a sob rose in Lydia's throat. She choked it back and turned and ran. Not into the house: around the side and down the street again, in the opposite direction. Within ten minutes she was pounding on Bailey's door.

Bailey opened it. As soon as she saw Lydia she looked down and to the side, half a smirk on her face.

‘Why did you tell them?' Lydia was out of breath, more from emotion than from sprinting.

Bailey didn't answer; she just kept on looking to the side. She had eyeliner on.

‘Who did you tell first—Erin? And then the others? Why? Did you want to make friends? Is that it? You offered them a juicy bit of information about me so that they'd like you?'

‘I don't see why you're so upset,' said Bailey. ‘
I'm
not the one who's been keeping secrets about who I really am.'

‘I tried to help you! I stood up for you. I was nice to you when nobody else was.'

‘Yeah, because you wanted to
attack
me. In my own
bedroom
. It's gross.'

‘Because I felt sorry for you.'

‘Because you thought I was perverted like you, and you thought I didn't know anybody so I would lie for you, too.' Bailey met Lydia's eyes now, and her face was twisted and pink with righteous disgust. ‘All I did was tell the truth. If you have to face the consequences now, it's your own fault. Not my problem.'

‘But Darren Raymond. Becky Alderman. Everyone knows. You told
everyone
. All those filthy things they said about you, and now they're saying them about me. Don't you even care?' She reached out to Bailey, not sure if she wanted to grab her or shake her or hit her, anything to remind Bailey that she was real, she was a person.

Bailey flinched back. ‘Don't touch me!' she yelled. ‘Don't touch me, I don't like it!'

She slammed the door in Lydia's face.

THEY WERE RANGED
against her outside the school building the next morning. A wall of blue jumpers, grey skirts and trousers, sitting, standing in clumps, leaning against the wall. All of Year Eleven was taking the English Language exam. Lydia passed through the school gates alone, her shoulders self-consciously straight, her chin high.