A Vintage Friendship

onions. The herbs were Fi’s area on the Saturdays she worked there. Her space was like an old-fashioned sweet shop, with floor-to-ceiling shelves with tall glass jars full of exotic-sounding leaves and powders. I’d never heard of basil or oregano until I worked there, and would drop the new words into conversation whenever I could to show that I too was hip when it came to herbs. All the music played was a nod to the Sixties: Grateful Dead, Richie Havens, Jefferson Airplane, Crosby, Stills and Nash, The Doors, Carole King and Joni Mitchell played on a loop on the sound system. I ate lentil stew, drank chamomile tea – though I thought it tasted like cat’s pee, even with honey. I spent what money I had on clothes from Biba, a great shop in Kensington, and felt as if I was right at the centre of the London scene. I had found a new tribe with the people I worked with and did my best to fit in and forget the past year.

On the bus home, I glanced at the leaflet that the sweet-looking man in the street had handed me. ‘Change is coming. You can be a part of it. To discover how to have peace of mind and live on a more harmonious planet, come to meet the Rainbow Children at St Luke’s Church, Notting Hill Gate. Every Friday night 7 p.m.’

I put the leaflet in my bag. I liked what it said; in fact everyone who worked at The Seventh Star believed in creating a more harmonious world. I’d often thought that I’d like to put something back into the planet, but I had no intention of going to the meeting. There was always something happening on a Friday night – a movie, a band on locally, or a party where I could hang out with the crowd from the shop.

Around this time, my parents went to live in New Zealand. It had been on the cards for a long time, ever since Mum’s sister Maggie had emigrated out there five years before. The plan had always been that Mum and Dad would join Aunt Maggie and her husband once Fi and I had left home and were established. We were invited to go with them.

No way, I thought. A million miles away, trapped with my parents, hearing my father’s disappointment and my mother’s regret? Not high on my life plan. Fi didn’t want to go either. She was well into her course, didn’t want to change halfway through, or leave her friends and fellow students. We both declined the offer and away they went, Dad in an almighty sulk about Fi’s and my decision, to the other side of the world.

Weeks went by and I forgot all about the peace meetings. However, one Friday evening, the flat was quiet. Fi and Lesley had gone to a gig in Camden and I came across the leaflet in my bag. It’s the sort of thing I’d have gone to with Sara, Ally and Jo, I thought as I was about to put it in the bin. When in sixth form, we’d prided ourselves on being open-minded about other cultures, philosophies and beliefs. But those girls were gone from my life for the time being, all busy doing their degrees, meeting new people. We chatted on the phone occasionally, caught up on news, but I still couldn’t bring myself to talk about Jack or the loss of Sara Rose and the calls only confirmed that we’d all moved on; not just them from me but, from what I could make out, from each other too. So much for our promises to be friends for ever. Ally’s life was Oxford, Jo’s Brighton and Sara was at Exeter. They’d made new friends, as had I, so I thought, why not go and listen to what these Rainbow Children have to say? If nothing else, it was a way to fill an empty evening.

*

The meeting was held in a church hall. The scent of incense wafting out into the warm summer evening announced to the public that they’d found the right place. Inside, a crowd of people were already seated, many dressed in bright colours or with rainbow-coloured scarves or jumpers, some with eyes closed, a look of contentment on their faces as though gazing on some beatific vision. I was struck by how peaceful it felt in there.

I took a seat at the back so I could make a quick escape if I needed to and, so as not to look out of place, I closed my eyes as well. I was just nodding off when I heard someone begin to speak. I opened my eyes to see that a man with sandy-coloured hair was at a microphone at the front. He looked to be in his early twenties and was dressed in a green suit with a fabulous rainbow scarf around his neck. He had a radiance about him as if he’d been polished inside out and had found a shampoo that actually did what the ad claimed – gave shine and gloss. His looks were such a contrast to the usual men I met of his age, many of whom had a pasty look about them, as if they didn’t get enough fresh air. This man looked all-American bright though his accent was northern. He introduced himself as Andrew.

‘Everything in this life is changing,’ he began, and went on to talk about change being the nature of our universe. The message resonated. This man was speaking my experience. It was true; everything had changed for me – Jack, my family home, my friends.

Other speakers followed him, highlighting the imbalance of wealth on the planet. There was so much I agreed with as I listened.

‘The peace you are looking for lies within you,’ said a dark-haired woman who was dressed in orange and without make-up. Could have fooled me, I thought. Not within me, anyway. Inside me feels lost