Follow My Lead Episode 19
Lydia sat on the train, smiling as it hurtled towards the city. Her book and magazine lay ignored on her lap.
She was mesmerised by the countryside outside the window, an Impressionist painting of green, brown and gold.
Tiny villages, farmhouses, level crossings with queues of cars waiting – they all passed in a blur.
It lulled her into a pleasant reverie of anticipation for the day ahead.
First on her agenda was one of her favourite pastimes – a leisurely browse round a new exhibition at the central art gallery.
With a coffee stop in their little café, that would take most of the morning.
She had made contact with her old yoga friends, hoping for one of their fun lunches, but no-one was free.
Only her friend Julia had offered to “schedule her in” for a quick coffee.
Lydia smiled as she remembered the phrase.
Was it out of sight, out of mind? She couldn’t help comparing their responses with Cyrus’s friendship.
If it were him, she knew he’d make time to make an old friend feel welcome.
It highlighted the differences between her old city life and her new, temporary life.
Even her work colleagues had tended to be transitory, she recognised now. It was the nature of the job in a fast-moving business.
Except for Basil, of course. He was, she realised, her oldest and longest friend.
The fields gave way to elegant homes set in grand gardens, then smaller new builds in compact estates, then redbrick terraces, packed close in tiers, jostling for space with warehouses and office blocks.
Lydia gathered her belongings together. They were nearly there.
The train pulled into the station and she exchanged a mischievous smile with a young guy in headphones as they both tried to be first on the button to release the door.
“Sorry! I’ve been away and I’m excited to be back,” she explained.
“Then knock yourself out.” He grinned and stepped back.
“Have a great day,” he called as he swept past her on the platform.
Noise and bustle enveloped her.
The main pedestrian route from the station took her along a path that looked down into the car park.
She peered over the wall, watching cars circling desperately for a space, horns honking at anyone who hesitated.
It prompted a thought that had already vaguely crossed her mind: should she buy a car?
It would make it easier to get around the Thornville area without being dependent on Danielle, as she was just now.
That reminded her: she’d promised to text Danielle when she arrived.
She paused, smiling apologetically as the crowd milled around her. No-one met her eye or returned the smile.
She’d forgotten how it was.
Most folk weren’t looking where they were going, their attention focused on phone screens.
It was a middle-aged woman doing exactly that who cannoned into her and sent Lydia’s phone tumbling from her hand.
“Excuse me!” Lydia called.
The woman didn’t even glance at her.
“Here you go.” Another woman, smiling cheerfully, had picked up her phone and handed it back to her. “I don’t think it’s broken.”
“That’s lucky. The last time I dropped it the screen cracked,” Lydia replied. “Thank you.”
But she was talking to herself. The girl had already moved on.
That was another thing she’d forgotten about the city. Everyone was in a rush.
Not like Thornville. She liked the way people there had time and an inclination to chat.
Her text to Danielle and a funny one to Cyrus sent, she made her way to the art gallery.
Its exhibition space was home to a pleasing mix of traditional and modern paintings by familiar names – the kind of municipal collection most cities have. She had visited it often and knew it well.
This time, though, her destination was one of the lesser rooms, showing a selection of works by Norman Rockwell and Andy Warhol, two of American art’s greats.
She had booked her ticket, and toured the exhibition with relish.
However, as she strolled around, she began to notice something about her fellow visitors.
While many were, like her, mesmerised by the art on the walls, she got a different sense about some others.
It was in the way they posed before each one and discussed it too loudly.
It was as if they were there to be seen rather than to appreciate the art. How odd that it had never struck her before.
She didn’t let it intrude on her own enjoyment, and she lingered until it was time to meet Julia.
They giggled, they gossiped, they caught up – yet it all lasted barely 45 minutes before Julia “had to dash off.”
With an exchange of air kisses and promises to do it again, she whizzed out of the bistro, leaving Lydia looking at her watch.
She wasn’t meeting Basil till he finished work, so what would she do now?
A quick search on her phone turned up the matinee performance of a film she wanted to see. That would do nicely.