I went back the following week, and the week after, and the week after that. I didn’t tell Fi or Lesley where I was going and they didn’t ask. We all did our own thing – off out to yoga or dance classes, to a concert or the cinema, plus I didn’t want to cramp Fi’s style by following her round. She’d been good enough letting me come and live with her.
I felt soothed in the hall, welcomed and wanted. I liked what the speakers said. They talked about the need for change on the planet. They talked about respect for others. I began to recognize the regulars, among them a tall, Byronesque-looking man with a mane of dark wavy hair who I recognized from the café at The Seventh Star where he worked. He stood out from the others in their rainbow-coloured attire because he dressed in jeans and a three-quarter-length red chenille coat. We got talking on the way out one night, and I told him that I had a bedspread made from the same fabric as his coat. He laughed at that. We didn’t speak for long though. No one did. People were there to listen. It was a place where I could go and sit; soak up the atmosphere, with no demands made. I didn’t feel alone when I was there. I didn’t feel the loss of Jack or Sara Rose. Everything that the strangely intense people said started to make more and more sense, and I felt I might have found somewhere I could belong. I sat, thirsty for the words I was hearing. I wanted the peace they had and was prepared to do whatever it took to get it.
Chapter Twenty
Sara
Present day, January
As the train drew in to Manchester Piccadilly Station, Jo got out her lipstick and a mirror and applied a red smear to her lips.
I felt a stab of nostalgia as I gazed out over familiar red-brick landmarks and remembered a time when the city had been my home. Work on the programme was well under way. Katie Brookfield was signed up, and the plan today was for Ally, Jo and me to visit old haunts, to bring to life the times we had spent as friends with each other and with Mitch in our teens. Already they’d helped me compile some more rules of friendship on the train journey.
‘How long is it since you’ve been here?’ I asked Ally and Jo as we got up and gathered our coats and bags from the overhead rack.
‘Decades,’ said Jo.
‘Same,’ said Ally.
‘I haven’t been back for a long time either,’ I added. ‘After Dad died and Mum moved closer to me, then into the care home, there was no reason to come back.’
Jo grinned. ‘Until now. I’m looking forward to our trip down memory lane,’ she said. I noticed she had lipstick on her teeth.
I pointed at her mouth. ‘Lipstick,’ I said.
‘Oo, thanks.’ She quickly rubbed it off as the train stopped and we alighted. ‘Add that to your rules of friendship. Good mates tell each other when they look a prat and have lipstick or spinach on their teeth—’
‘Or chin hairs that need plucking,’ Ally added.
I laughed. ‘Noted.’
Our new pal Ajay, a tall man with a dark goatee beard, had travelled up the day before and was waiting at the end of the platform to greet us. ‘I thought we’d start the filming at St Mary’s, your old school,’ he said as we headed for the escalators down to the car park. ‘We’ve got a car and driver for the day, so we can go on from there to places you used to hang out. Then finally we’ll head for the street where Mitch used to live.’
Yesterday, Gary had come up with the additional idea that we should go knocking on doors on Mitch’s road. ‘Even though her parents have gone, there’s bound to be one neighbour who remembers them and might know where they are or even where your friend is,’ he’d said.
Minutes later, we were on our way in a people carrier with Peter, our driver at the wheel.
‘I hardly recognize this place,’ said Ally, staring out of the window as we rode through the streets towards Hulme and our old school. Blocks of flats had gone up, familiar shops replaced with curry houses, cafés, grocery stores with fruits and vegetables spilling out onto the pavement, the atmosphere much more cosmopolitan than it had been when we lived there.
‘Me neither,’ said Jo.
‘What happened here?’ I asked when we reached a road lined with houses on either side. I remember this being a busy high street. Where are all the old shops?’
‘Yes,’ said Jo, ‘there was a Boots, a hardware shop, and there was a handy newsagent’s there. I used to get Black Jacks …’
‘And I’d buy Coconut Mushrooms,’ said Ally. ‘I loved them.’
‘My favourites were those Rhubarb and Custard sweets that cut the roof of your mouth—’ I started.
‘And those Sherbet Fountains and Fizzers,’ Jo interrupted. ‘God knows what was in them, they used to fizz for ages.’
‘All demolished to make room for new housing,’ said Ally as she continued to stare out. ‘Hey, isn’t that where Woolworths used to be?’
‘It is! Peter, please stop here,’ I called to the driver. ‘Ajay, we need footage of the bus stop …’
‘Bus stop?’ Ajay asked as the car stopped and we piled out.
‘God, it’s still here,’ said Ally as she approached the stop.
I turned to Ajay who had started filming. ‘This is where we waited for the bus home, every night for seven—’
‘Years, yes! Where Mitch made that speech on our last day of school—’
‘And we all made our promises,’ Jo added.
Ally laughed. ‘This magnificent and noble bus stop – that’s what she called it, or something like that …’
‘And we promised to stay in touch, be friends for ever,’ I said.
We were all quiet for a moment as we remembered that day. It felt odd to be standing
