“Then I don’t see what’s stopping you from having a party for you and your babies.”
A slight smile spreads over Lydia’s face. “Would you come to a baby shower?”
“I’d love that. And I bet everyone else would too.”
“Ophelia is dying to host it. I don’t know where she finds the time, but in the last few days, she’s knitted a whole bunch of little hats and a blanket!”
“That’s so cute.”
“Uh-huh, but I have to tell you, knitting isn’t one of her strengths. The blanket is so scratchy you could use it as a dish scrubber.” She smiles. “But it doesn’t matter. I still love it.”
“I’m so glad to see you this happy. It feels like your time with Ophelia is really doing you good.”
“It is. It was meant to be some kind of punishment. Dad definitely didn’t expect us to get on this well.”
“That kind of sounds like you could see yourself staying longer.”
She nods. “I’ve been thinking that. It’s so good to be with someone who gets me like she does,” Lydia says. “But on the other hand, it’s not fair on her to mess up her life like this. She’s got enough to do without me.”
I walk over to my wardrobe and open it one-handed. “And how’s Mr. Sutton?”
Lydia just laughs. “You really have to stop calling him that!”
I pull out my brogues and head back to my desk. I cautiously lean the phone up against a water glass. “He might always have been Graham to you, but not for me. It’s so weird to suddenly call him by his first name.”
“We’ll get you used to it,” Lydia says gently. Then she bites her bottom lip before going on hesitantly. “Graham…asked me if I want to move in together.”
I pause with one shoe in my hand and look at the phone. “And?”
Lydia nods, and a smile spreads over her face. “I think I could live with that,” she whispers.
Right now, there’s such a difference from the Lydia I found crying in a pub toilet in Oxford that I feel warm around the heart.
“I’m happy for you both,” I say honestly.
“Please don’t tell my brother,” she adds hastily. “He’ll just ask me a thousand more questions that I don’t know the answers to yet.”
“My lips are sealed.”
“How’s he doing, anyway?” she asks.
I slip my shoes on and do up the laces as I think about the question. “Good, I think. But you know the way he bottles everything up until it eventually all explodes.”
Lydia sighs. “Sounds familiar. How’s he dealing with the thing with Dad?”
“Anytime I speak to him about it, I get the feeling he finds it uncomfortable. I’m trying to respect that. I’m trusting that he’ll come to me when he wants to talk.”
She nods. Suddenly, she looks thoughtful. “There are times when I could shake him when he goes all silent.”
I lace up the second shoe, thinking about what she said. “At the bonfire, he spent ages talking to Wren. The main thing is that he’s speaking to someone. It doesn’t have to be me.”
“I bet he just doesn’t want to worry you after everything that’s happened.”
“Not a clue.” I stand up, take a step back, and twirl. “What do you think?”
“Very nice! Did Ember make that skirt?” Lydia asks, narrowing her eyes slightly.
“How can you tell?” I ask, looking down at myself. It’s dark blue and very full, with little flowers embroidered on the hem that you can only see from close up.
