Follow My Lead Episode 28
Lydia placed two bowls of pasta on the table.
Danielle unrolled her napkin.
“Thank you. Carbonara? Smells scrummy.”
They took turns to cook dinner, and while Danielle stuck to a regular roster of familiar dishes, Lydia had always enjoyed trying any new recipe she encountered.
Not that there was anything adventurous about tonight’s simple meal.
“The ham’s from the farm,” Lydia said, twisting black pepper over her food.
She had just picked up her fork when her phone rang.
She darted over to pick it up from the side table, but the name on its screen made her heart sink.
“It’s Basil.”
She let it ring and returned to the table.
Avoiding Danielle’s curious gaze, she picked up her fork.
“I’ll phone him later.”
She had been back to the city three times in quick succession to see Basil, and the girl couldn’t have failed to notice that she had returned from each visit in an increasingly quiet, thoughtful mood.
“Everything OK?” Danielle asked tentatively, and Lydia sighed.
“Fine.” She lifted a forkful of pasta, but it didn’t get as far as her mouth before she put it down again.
“When I phone him back, he’ll probably ask me to go to see him again.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Danielle ventured.
Lydia lifted the fork again and this time took a bite, chewing slowly.
“There’s been nothing remotely romantic about my visits,” she explained.
“I feel more like his counsellor!”
She had been full of anticipation the last time she had taken the train down.
She imagined they would have a relaxed dinner in an intimate little restaurant, maybe candlelight . . .
“This OK for you?” he had asked, ushering her into the same pizza restaurant as her previous visits.
“We have a lot of talking to do and we don’t want a waiter hovering.”
“Fine,” she agreed, turning away to drape her jacket over her chair to hide her disappointment.
They had ordered, then he had talked, almost without pause, about how awful he felt.
It was an echo of the conversations they’d had last time and the time before.
She’d made sympathetic and soothing comments whenever she could, but underneath was a growing sense of frustration.
Had he forgotten she’d just been through this herself? He was completely absorbed in his own problems.
“Not that he has many,” she observed to Danielle.
“He paid off his mortgage years ago and has no dependants, so he’s comfortably off.
“I think he’s suffering from a bruised ego more than anything. You have to get over it and move on.”
Her meal sat untouched as she wrestled with the dilemma.
“I thought I knew him,” she mused. “I didn’t expect him to be like this.”
“Your food’s going cold,” Danielle reminded her gently.
Lydia dug her fork in and ate several mouthfuls before she paused again.
“I don’t know what to do about it. I’ve tried to be supportive and offer advice, but it’s not made a difference.
“I wondered if I should avoid seeing him, to make him stand on his own two feet. But what kind of friend does that?
“After all, look at the way I’ve leaned on you and Cyrus to get me through this. Basil doesn’t seem to have anyone but me.”
The window was open and the sounds of evening drifted in. The melancholy hoot of an owl in the trees nearby was an echo of their mood.
A clatter signalled Cyrus dropping a wine bottle into his recycling bin.
Lydia smiled to herself.
The weird creak that followed was him sinking into the old deckchair he kept by the door to enjoy the evening air.
It was funny how well she knew him and the soundtrack of his life.
She couldn’t help contrasting his easy contentment with Basil’s defeatism, yet hadn’t Cyrus admitted to a morose period when he’d been made redundant?
She was honest enough to admit to herself that the spark that had flared between her and Basil had been dampened by the trauma. Had it been extinguished completely?