FROM LOVE TO HATE IS BUT A STEP
I hated Lydia Crowley from our very first year at primary school simply for her natural skinniness. That skinny cow was my best friend.
Colin Barrington, notorious for failing a year and always getting rubbish marks, came up with silly nicknames for us back when we were in Year 9. He used to call Lydia Miss Markham. Every time she walked into class, hed warm his hands together as if hed got them tucked up in a muff, then start singing in a cheerful voice:
Five minutes, just five minutes! Is it long or is it short?
Lydia would break into this smug smile, strutting down the aisles with her bony hips swaying like she was walking down a catwalk.
Me? Id try sneaking in after the bell, half bent over so nobody noticed. Didnt always pull it off. And whenever I didnt, that idiot Colin would boom:
Gooooood morning, Miss George!
And then hed belt out From distant hills the river Thames flows!
My face would burn bright red. Tears would roll down my cheeks and soak my very un-girlishly large chest. Lydia would always stick up for me though, chucking textbooks at Colins head, calling him a fool, laughing that sparkling laugh of hers the sort of laugh you only hear from women who are completely sure of their looks. Everybody just knew Colin fancied Lydia like mad, and nobody could work out why little goat Lydia Crowley was mates with big cow Lydia Sanders. Im Lydia Sanders, by the way.
And you know what? I couldnt really work it out myself either. Sometimes Lydia would get genuinely narked off with me and shout,
Dont be daft, Sanders! Somehow you can get As in everything but dont get this you dont be friends for a pretty face or a skinny figure. Youre a nice person, Lyd. Come on! Not everyone can be thin! Look how many famous people are chubby and everyone loves them!
But I didnt care about celebrities. I didnt really care about anyone except Barrington. And it was clear that Colin only cared about Lydia. The way he looked at her He never once looked at me like that. He always turned away from me, the same way people turn away from beggars when they havent got a quid to spare and cant be bothered with guilt. Thats what it was like either he made a joke at my expense or he ignored me completely.
Just before Christmas, I persuaded my parents to let me change schools. Mum wrote a note and picked up my forms from the office. After the holidays, a brand-new beginning was waiting for me. The only thread left was Lydia.
She got properly mad, properly upset with me. Called me a traitor, stormed off and slammed the door. Of course, she didnt stick with that for long. She came charging back and started jabbing at our doorbell.
I yanked the door open, grinning ear to ear and then froze. There was Barrington, standing there, looking like thunder, snow everywhere, coat open, no hat, completely soaked:
Whats wrong with you, Sanders? Why the heck are you swapping schools in the middle of the year? Exams in five months and youre legging it? Im talking to you, Sanders!
I could hear his words, but it was like they werent in English. I was just thinking how I wanted to remember this forever: Colin Barrington himself standing in our hall. He looked good all rosy from the cold and eyes shining. And for some reason, that made me suddenly braver and I shot back,
Whats wrong, scared you wouldnt find another soft touch to take the mick out of?
What did you just say? Barrington growled, teeth clenched, Whered I get another one like you, Sanders? Youre the only nutter like that in all of England! He grabbed my arm, yanked me onto the landing and wouldnt let go.
No, it wasnt a hug. Hugs are gentle. What he did was nothing of the sort it was all desperation, as if someone was trying to take me away from him and he was refusing to let go. One huge hand pressed my head to his chest, scratchy jumper and all, not letting me budge. The other hand held onto my back. I was caught. Oddly, I wasnt scared. I felt brilliant. Like you do in dreams, or when youre lost in daydreams. But how did he know about my dreams? Was this some joke? Surely he couldnt have guessed? Maybe he did? That thought was suddenly terrifying and I started to sob. I bawled and bawled for what felt like forever. When the tears finally stopped, I started to calm down. I sort of hiccupped a couple of times and was confused at first about what was happening. Barrington was holding me softly now, swaying me like a little girl:
Just cry, Lyd my mum always says, if you need to, you just have a good cry. She also says Im an idiot. Says, if you like someone, you go tell them proper. Lyd, I came to tell you Im an idiot. Lyd, I like you, yeah? You listening?
And I get nervous around you. Youre the clever one, gonna end up doing medicine and me? Lucky to scrape into the local college. What if your folks think Im no good for you? Their daughter with a daft boyfriend? But Im not thick! I just dont care about sines, cosines and all that rubbish. I want to be a mechanic. I love cars. And well, I love you.
What about Crowley? I mumbled.
Crowley? Oh, shell be my best mate at the registry office in a couple of years! I looked up into the eyes of the boy whod tormented me all these years and whispered,
I hate you
He just grinned, Thats good its only a step from hate to love. Youll come round.
So thirty years passed.
We never really celebrated our wedding anniversary. But the day our family started? That was our special day. Today, that makes thirty times weve celebrated it. At first it was just the two of us. Then us and our daughter. Four years later, our son was there too.
Tonight, well gather again with all our nearest and dearest. Our son will bring his girlfriend. Im waiting for my lovely old mate Lydia Crowley with her husband and son. Only this time, our daughter wont be at the table for a very good reason. Shes been busy since last night, working on a very special present for us. Early this morning, she gave birth to a baby girl. Lydia Crowley, shes called her and now, Lydia and I are grandmothers together.
