‘Exactly.’
‘Could make great TV.’
‘Each programme, we take someone—’
‘A celebrity,’ said Nicholas.
‘Exactly, they would bring in more viewers. Each week there’d be a sports person, an actor, musician, rock star, maybe a politician or an author. We can see who’s out there who might like to take part. Get some researchers on it.’
‘And of course you’d front it.’
‘I’d love to, and Gary seemed keen if I had the right idea. The more I thought about it, the more I realized there’s so much material. Friends can heal but also hurt, men’s friendships can be different to women’s, plus the series could look at advice from counsellors on the importance of friendships, how to make them, where to find them.’
‘Sounds good. Keep it varied.’ Nicholas grinned. ‘Sara, I love it, and I can tell you’re fired up. I think you have something here. Write it up as a proposal, a few pages, and I’ll look it over then we can send it to Gary. Well done, I knew you could do it. And, on a more personal note, where are you up to with your search for your friend? I assume that you’re going to ask the two friends you are in touch with about the programme—’
‘Jo and Ally.’
‘Yes, see if they’d be up for taking part.’
‘Taking part?’
‘Of course. As well as fronting, you could be one of the celebrities looking for an old friend.’
‘Mitch?’
‘Mitch. Rope the other two in and see if they might be game.’
I shook my head. ‘I doubt it. I’ve been in touch with them recently and both are going through difficult times. Ally has just lost her husband, so it’s maybe not the time to broach it but … I do wonder what she’s going to do now.’
‘Maybe this could be just the thing – a distraction, an adventure. And Jo?’
‘Jo’s recovering from a heart procedure, so she may be reluctant too.’
‘You can always ask them. Nothing ventured and all that. Sometimes losing a partner or something like a hospital stay can be one hell of a wake-up call. Was for me when I came close to losing James when he had his scare, and the same for him when I was unwell. It might be perfect timing for both of them. They can always say no. Where are you up to in looking for Mitch?’
‘Still no further forward. I looked on Facebook and Twitter and couldn’t find her, at least not with the surname I knew, but I’m sure there are other ways. If Gary does go for the programme idea, then no doubt he’ll get top researchers in and Jo, Ally and I can do what we can to try and find her in our own way.’
‘Get on it, Sara. And it’s made me think too. Some of my old friends, where are they now? Probably in rehab or in their graves.’
‘Cheerful.’
‘My middle name.’
*
I did what Nicholas advised and spent the next week working on the proposal. It went off to Gary and he loved it, put it to his committee who gave it the thumbs up and assigned a budget to put it into development. He asked me to front it and potentially have my search for Mitch as part of one of the programmes.
Next on the agenda was to go and see Jo and Ally, see how they were and, if it felt appropriate, maybe try and persuade them to take part.
Happy days. I was back in employment. Back in the game.
Chapter Eleven
Jo
Present day, November
A prophet has no honour in his own country, so the Bible says. Yeah, tell me about it. I told my nearest and dearest about my out-of-body experience at the hospital, seeing the light, my astral pal. Hah! The looks on their faces.
‘Not out of your body, you were out of your mind,’ said my daughter Kirsty.
‘Must have been the drugs,’ said her husband Will.
‘But I wasn’t on any then,’ I replied.
‘Whatever you were on, can you get me some?’ said Jason, my sixteen-year-old grandson as he checked out my medication. ‘Hey, this looks interesting.’ I had to grab the Glyceryl Trinitrate out of his hand before he sprayed some on his tongue.
‘You weren’t well. Clearly whatever you experienced was a result of your medical condition,’ said my son Graham.
Apart from Jason, they looked at me with the same expression, as if I’d lost my marbles. It was very frustrating. What I’d experienced had been real, not imagined, not drug induced, not a hallucination.
As well as having seen the light, I am now bionic or robo-woman, as Jason called me. I had a couple of stents put in during my hospital stay. Amazing things, tiny metal mesh tubes that open up any blockages in the arteries. Angioplasty. ‘Saved your life,’ said the nurse in charge. ‘Ten years ago, you wouldn’t have made it.’
So, all good, apart from my family and friends thinking I am away with the fairies. Six to twelve weeks recovery time, that will be nice, and apparently I’ll be fit to go for another thirty years. And I’ve shed seven pounds already. It’s the new ‘have a heart attack diet’. I might market it and write a book. A radical if not extreme method to lose weight – chest pain, hospital food and no appetite.
While I’d been lying in my bed, I thought a lot about my old school friend Mitch Blake. She’d talked about seeing the inner light, and the need to find calm, when she joined a commune back when we were in our early twenties. I thought she’d lost the plot but she was talking about what they now call ‘mindfulness’. It’s everywhere – in books, magazines, classes springing up all over the place; the hospital even recommended it to reduce stress – as if it’s all new, but Mitch was on about it a long time ago. She was
