Page 46 of Save Me (Maxton Hall #1)

Cautiously, I watch her friends. James and Wren are talking; Camille’s practically in Keshav’s lap, and whatever she’s whispering into his ear is making him smile.

Opposite them, Alistair downs half his pint in one.

His eyes are bitter, his brows frowning.

He might be answering the question Wren just asked him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Camille and Keshav, who are flirting right in front of him.

It’s bad enough that Keshav won’t admit to being with Alistair, but on top of that, he’s smooching with a girl in public, and that sinks him totally beneath respect in my eyes.

None of the boys seems to have noticed that Lydia hasn’t come back.

I hesitate a moment but then excuse myself and stand up.

It’s obvious that alcohol levels around here have risen in the last hour.

People are yelling at each other so loudly it’s almost drowning out the music, and hardly anyone gets out of my way as I squeeze past. Once I’ve finally made it across the room, I sigh with relief.

I head into the ladies’ loos and look around cautiously.

There are several cubicles, and miraculously, all but one are open.

I hear a quiet sniff through the door. And then…a loud choking.

I knock hesitantly and then realize that it isn’t locked. It opens a little, but I don’t have the nerve to just walk in. “Lydia?”

“Leave me alone,” she croaks.

I remember the Monday after the party when she sat with me at lunch and apologized to me. She was nice to me, just because. Now I have the chance to repay that. “Can I do anything to help?” I ask quietly.

No answer. Instead, I hear Lydia gag, followed by an unappealing splashing sound. I hurry to the sinks, pull a few paper towels from the dispenser, and run them under the tap. Then I cough gently before holding them under the toilet door to Lydia. “Here.”

The towels vanish from my hand.

I crouch there, unsure what to do. I don’t want to leave Lydia on her own in this state, but I don’t know how to help her either.

The toilet flushes, and, after a while, the door opens a crack. I can see a tiny bit of Lydia’s face. It’s just not fair. Despite her watery eyes and flushed cheeks, she still looks so pretty. I can see so much of her brother in her face.

But this is definitely neither the time nor the place for thinking about James.

“Should I get you a glass of water or something?”

“No, that’s OK. I just need a few minutes for the walls to stop spinning.” She leans her back against the wall. Then she shuts her eyes, and her head drops forward.

“Too much to drink?” I ask.

Lydia shakes her head almost imperceptibly. “I haven’t been drinking at all,” she whispers.

“Are you ill?” I try again. “There must be an emergency pharmacy around here somewhere. If you aren’t feeling better.”

Lydia doesn’t reply.

“Or…” I suggest hesitantly, “…is it nerves? Are you anxious about tomorrow?”

Now she does look at me. She looks kind of amused but deeply sad at the same time. “No,” she says. “It’s not nerves. I had both my interviews today, and they went fine.”

“That’s great,” I say cautiously, seeing that Lydia doesn’t look all that thrilled. On the contrary, suddenly her eyes fill with tears again. “Why aren’t you happy?”

She shrugs and lays a hand on her stomach. “It doesn’t matter how they went. I’m not going to study here.”

“Why not? Don’t you want to?”

Lydia gulps. “I do, actually.”

“So what’s the problem? If the interviews went well, then I’m sure you’ll get in.”

“That’s not what I mean. I just don’t think…I’ll be able to study here.”

I don’t get it. “Why not?” I ask in confusion.

She doesn’t reply. She looks down and stares at the hand on her stomach. She starts to slowly run it over her blouse—or rather, over the little bulge beneath it.

I wouldn’t normally have thought twice about it. Everyone has a roll or two on their belly when they sit down. But most people don’t stroke those little bulges. And they don’t look at them with the loving expression that is currently spreading over Lydia’s face.

It suddenly clicks, and I inhale sharply. “You really weren’t drinking,” I whisper.

A tear runs slowly down her cheek. “Haven’t for months.”

I remember the drink she asked James for at Cyril’s party but then left. And of course, I’m remembering the day I caught her with Mr. Sutton. There’s a lump in my throat.

“Is it…?” I don’t dare finish the question, but there’s no need. Lydia knows what I’m asking and nods.

“I don’t know what to say,” I admit.

“That makes two of us.” She dabs at the corners of her eyes with her fingers.

“How far along are you?” I whisper.

Lydia gently strokes her belly. “Twelve weeks.”

“Who else knows?” I ask.

“Nobody.”

“Not even James?”

She shakes her head. “No. And I want to keep it that way.”

“Why did you tell me then?”

“Because you wouldn’t stop asking questions,” she says at once. Then she sighs. “Besides, James trusts you. And he never trusts anyone.”

I bite my lips together and try not to think about what that means. “At some point, in the not too far distant future, it’s going to be less easy to hide,” I say, nodding at her belly.

“I know.” Her words sound so broken, so sad, that I’m engulfed by a wave of sympathy.

“You can always talk to me anytime you want. Even over the next few weeks and months. If you don’t have anyone else, I mean.”

Lydia eyes me skeptically. “Why should I?”

I tentatively stroke her arm. “Seriously, Lydia, I mean it. This is a big deal. I get it if you don’t want to talk, but…” I look at her stomach. “You’re going to have a baby.”

She follows my gaze. “It’s weird to hear you say that. I mean, I know that, but nobody’s said it out loud before. That made it feel a bit more real.”

I totally understand what she means. Once you say a thing, you give it space to unfold and become real.

“Do you want me to walk you back?” I ask after a long while.

Lydia hesitates, and for a few seconds, she just looks at me without a word.

Then she nods and smiles carefully—for the first time this evening.

I don’t know whether she genuinely trusts me, but if she doesn’t, that might change in the future.

I know the two biggest secrets in her life, and I have every intention of keeping them.

I’m not going to go behind Lydia’s back.

Anything but. I can imagine that she might need a friend in such a tough time.

I get to my feet and hold out my hand to help her up.

“You know I was just puking over the toilet bowl, right?” she asks.

I screw up my nose. “Thanks for reminding me,” I reply, but don’t pull my hand back.

With a smile, Lydia takes it.