I knew I could get Lydia interested in Facebook, it would just require a bit of gentle persuasion. Although we had only been living together a short time I had quickly realised that telling Lydia what to do was the least effective way of getting her to do something.
The idea of getting her involved in social media hadn’t come to me immediately, but as I began my search for Jack Harrison, I realised just how many older people were online now and how much good it might do Lydia to start reconnecting with old friends.
There was of course also the chance that one of them might know of Jack’s whereabouts too. It was incredible just how many Jack Harrisons there were.
Now, as I pulled on my favourite jeans, I turned my attention to the fair this weekend. We had managed to get quite a bit done over the past couple of days despite Lydia’s sudden drama and I was hopeful that getting back into antiques would be just what she needed.
Peering out of my bedroom window onto the Circus below, I shook my head in wonder. Not for the first time I wondered what the hell Harry had been thinking hiding that letter from Lydia like that. I mean it was obviously him, from everything Lydia had said there was nobody else it could possibly have been, but I wasn’t about to sully her dead husband’s good name.
In a way I could understand it. If the love of my life suddenly got a letter from a presumed dead old flame, I would probably have got rid of the evidence too. I wondered why Harry didn’t do just that? He kept the letter, which made me think he wasn’t all bad. Perhaps he intended to show Lydia at some point, or perhaps he just forgot.
I turned away from the window and sank onto my bed. It was all too much to think about, but at the very least it was taking my mind off Cara and Brad. I still hadn’t been sleeping well most nights, and the very action of sleeping alone still felt weird. But then again, as Rachel had pointed out at dinner last night, it was far better to be alone than curled up beside a two-timing rat-bag.
The sound of the vacuum cleaner outside my door dragged me from my misery. I knew Lydia well enough by now to know that she only did that when she wanted something. For some reason she seemed to think this was a better option than simply knocking on the door.
‘Everything okay?’ I asked, pulling the door open to find Lydia vacuuming one spot relentlessly.
‘Ah, there you are.’ She smiled brightly, switching the vacuum cleaner off. ‘I need a bit of help. I need you to come into town with me. I’ve got a little bit of money left over from your first rent cheque and I want to go shopping.’
‘What for?’ I eyed her suspiciously.
‘I’m sick of all these old lady clothes,’ she said, tugging at her navy twinset. ‘I want something a bit more modern. I want to feel fresh; I want…’ she paused with a sudden gleam in her eye. ‘I want to wear jeans.’
My jaw dropped open in shock. Lydia was someone that took pride in the fact she had never worn jeans in her life. Where was all this coming from?
Two hours later and we were in Southgate ready to work our way back to town to some of the shops Lydia liked the look of. So far, our journey had been a roaring success. Lydia had not only purchased two pairs of jeans but she had also bought a very flattering understated leather jacket from All Saints, which I had to confess really suited her. Now she was after something other than a cardigan to keep her warm when we stood outside on our stall all day, but she had been unable to find something that was really suitable so instead we had taken a coffee break in Marks and Spencer. I’d tried to drag her into one of the trendier barista style coffee shops in Kingsmead Square but Lydia wasn’t having it, claiming she needed a slab of fruit cake and a coffee before she could buy anything else and she didn’t want to start being asked to give her name at the till when she ordered her drink, thank you very much. Given the magnitude of what we were taking on I didn’t have the heart to refuse so I jostled my way to the front of the queue and watched in amazement as she devoured the cake in two mouthfuls.
Afterwards, we walked up and down Stall Street and Union Street, then made our way back to Abbey Churchyard for a rest on one of the benches. As hordes of tourists swarmed around us, I noticed Lydia watching them intently.
‘What are they doing?’ she asked, her tone incredulous as she watched a couple of Americans take a picture outside the baths with a selfie stick, the warm spring sunshine perfectly highlighting their faces.
‘They’re taking a photo.’ I shrugged, following her gaze.
Lydia shook her head in amazement. ‘But they look bloody ridiculous! Surely they can see that? Why on earth are they swishing their hair around like a couple of show ponies? And why is that one on the left making her lips look like they belong on a duck?’
A giggle escaped my lips. Lydia had never made a secret of the fact that not only did she dislike all the tourists that poured through the city, but she also hated anyone that posed for a selfie.
‘They’re young,’ I said. ‘They just want to look cool for their Instagram feed.’
‘Well, they’d look a damn sight better if they stared into the camera normally rather than doing their best bird impression.’
With that she turned to me and stuck her lips out like one of the teenagers behind us, swishing her imaginary long hair back and forwards across her shoulders. I couldn’t help howling with laughter as she preened into a pretend camera lens.
All too soon the teenagers realised what Lydia was doing and scowled. ‘Is she okay?’ one of them asked in an accent that was pure New York.
‘Yeah, you know that to mock other people is, like, so rude,’ the other one said.
I glanced at Lydia who was still preening into the pretend camera and swallowed another giggle. I was about to open my mouth and say something when instead Lydia surprised me by getting to her feet and turning on the tourists. ‘It’s not me that’s rude, it’s you lot! When I was your age, I wanted to experience life not look at it through a damned camera! You’re being rude, you’re turning your back on life itself, as if you’re too afraid to experience the real thing. If you want my opinion the best thing you can do is throw that bloody thing in the baths over there!’
I hurriedly intervened. ‘So sorry,’ I babbled. ‘Care in the community, you know, be grateful you don’t have the NHS in America – this is the result. Come on Lydia, time to go.’
As I stood up, I began to half coax, half drag Lydia back along the street with me, fully expecting resistance but instead she accompanied me quite happily while the Americans shot daggers at us as we walked back towards the shops.
‘What was all that?’ I asked in astonishment when we’d rounded the corner back into the safety of the High Street.
‘What was what?’ Lydia asked innocently.
I rolled my eyes. ‘All that back there. You were lucky they didn’t call the police.’
Lydia let out a snort of disgust. ‘The police! No doubt they would congratulate me for getting a pair of tourists to stop staring at their bloody phones for a minute.’
No longer able to help myself I threw my head back and roared with laughter. Lydia did have a point. I too hated the way people took selfies so seriously and it used to wind me up no end when Cara would preen and perfect her pout before taking the photo. I glanced across at Lydia and caught the satisfied smile on her face. The events of moments earlier seemed to have done her the world of good. So what if a couple of passing tourists got it both barrels in the process? Still, I thought, Lydia did need to be careful. This devil may care attitude may be funny now but it could end up getting her in serious trouble.
I was about to say as much when she stopped suddenly in the street. ‘What are we doing now?’
‘Going in there,’ she said, pointing to a mobile phone shop. ‘It’s high time I got myself one of those phones.’
I stared at her aghast. Lydia could barely work the DVD player, what on earth was she going to do with a mobile? ‘Why? You always say you think mobile phones are the scourge of all evil. That you take pride in the fact you don’t want to be contacted at all times.’
Lydia’s eyes flashed with excitement. ‘That’s true, but Erin I want to join the twenty-first century. I don’t want to miss anything else.’
With that she stepped inside the store and pounced on the new display of smartphones. As I trailed in after her, I felt a mix of admiration and wonder – what on earth had happened to my housemate and landlady?