‘Of course, whenever,’ she said. ‘I … I can’t imagine—’
Lawrence interrupted our conversation and handed me a drink. ‘This too shall pass,’ he said as he put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. I hugged him. With so many of our mutual friends present at the funeral, I knew it would be bringing back memories of his own loss. Sara hovered for a moment as if she wanted to say more, but then drifted away and I lost sight of her.
Back at the house later, Alice and Ethan absented themselves and went up to Alice’s old room. Anthony got caught up with relatives he hadn’t seen in a while. Katie and Susan poured more wine.
At last they were all gone away to their beds, apart from Lawrence who helped with the clearing up. Before heading off to the B & B he was staying in nearby, he gave me a sleeping tablet. I took it with gratitude, welcoming the temporary oblivion that it brought.
*
The next stage followed swiftly on as house guests left and Lawrence and Philippa helped with shopping, feeding, washing, cancelling bank cards, subscriptions, Michael’s gym membership, letting his dentist, doctor, pension people know, the DVLA, tax office, passport office … The list seemed endless and, at the back of my mind, there was always the feeling that Michael would be back soon. I’d hear his keys in the door, my name called and then there he’d be. But no. His absence had a presence all of its own and it filled the house. The phone calls stopped. The bereavement cards ceased. Silence.
No one prepares you for this, I thought as I looked through his wardrobes, buried my face in an old jacket, breathed in his scent. Susan advised me I’d have to clear his clothes out but not yet … not yet.
Chapter Ten
Sara
Present day, November
I’d researched every reality show I could find, in this country, in the States, around the world. I wrote down words that I thought were relevant to the over-fifties.
Health.
Mortality.
Finances.
Support tights.
Whatever this original idea was that was going to save my career, it wouldn’t come. I was getting desperate.
My mind drifted to Ally and Jo. Ally was understandably quiet at Michael’s funeral and I knew it wasn’t the time to reconnect, but she had sounded so subdued when I spoke to her on the phone afterwards too. Also understandable, but I wished that there was something I could do to let her know I was there for her and help her through her grief, if that’s possible. There’d been a great turnout of people at the church and I’d met Katie Brookfield when I was there. She was the author of my favourite books and TV series, The Bonnets of Bath, and I couldn’t help but be a little starstruck, despite the circumstances.
Jo, on the other hand, sounded as high as a kite when I called her. Probably from the post-cardiac medication. She didn’t make the funeral because she was still recovering from her heart scare. She kept on about seeing a light and floating down a tunnel and how it had changed everything. One thing that struck me when I spoke to both of them was that they had a good network of friends who had been there through their troubled times. It made me realize all the more that friends were what was really missing from my life, how rare and precious the old ones were. I wanted to be there for mine, if they’d let me, as much as renew our closeness.
I headed out to the shops to find another gift or something to send to them both. I was aware that I couldn’t expect either Jo or Ally to just pick up on our friendship and that we’d be back with the ease we used to have, especially at a traumatic time like this for both of them, but I could make inroads. While I was at the shop, I flicked through the racks to find a Get Well Soon card to send to Jo. I opened one with a picture of a cake on the front. Inside it said, ‘Friends are the fruitcakes of our lives. Some contain nuts, some are soaked in alcohol, some firm, some sweet but altogether, they make a great cake and are good to have in your life.’ I smiled. That summed our old gang up. Mitch was nuts, I was soaked in alcohol, least I was these days, Ally was firm and Jo was sweet.
Ping. A light-bulb moment. I had it. An idea for the TV series. Friends. Programmes about friends. That’s it. It had been staring me in the face the whole time.
I dashed back to the house where I spent the next couple of hours scribbling like a madwoman. By the end of it, I had a format worked out for six programmes.
I FaceTimed Nicholas. ‘I think I’ve got it – the idea for a programme.’
On the screen on my phone, Nicholas looked expectant. ‘OK, what’s the pitch?’
‘You know that programme Lost Lost Family?’
‘The one where people hunt down family members, find sisters and brothers they have never known?’
‘That’s the one. Well my series wouldn’t be looking for family, it would be looking for friends. Most people have that one friend in their life, maybe two or three, who they have lost touch with, in my case Mitch, Ally and Jo. People you grew up with, shared experiences with, loved, swore eternal friendship with, but then somehow lost along the way. So … a series about finding these friends. Partners will come and go, leave you, die, move on, children fly the nest, so the programme will focus on the importance of enduring and lasting friendships to see you through. It will also look at those friendships that haven’t worked, or that have let you down.’
‘I’m getting interested now.
