‘Friends for ever,’ said Jo. ‘We didn’t keep our promise to her, did we?’
‘It’s not too late,’ I said as I glanced at Ally. ‘And there’s another rule for the list: it’s never too late to make a new start and make changes.’
‘It took my experience in hospital to kickstart that,’ said Jo. ‘Anything is possible, and finding Mitch is one of those things.’
We took one last look at the old landmark, then got back in the car and headed off again.
‘Apparently, even our old school has changed, it’s now a sixth-form college,’ said Jo as we drove along.
‘I wonder if they still have to wear that same disgusting uniform,’ said Ally. ‘Remember those purple felt hats we used to wear? Like plant pots turned upside down.’
‘And boaters in the summer,’ said Jo. ‘I doubt they have to wear them if it’s a sixth-form college now. They can probably wear their own clothes. We looked a right load of ninnies in those hats. You got detention if you were ever caught not wearing one.’
‘Or if your skirt was too short. It had to be exactly on the knee,’ said Ally.
‘Mitch used to turn her skirt over at the waist as soon as she got out of the school gates, and her hat went straight in her bag,’ I said.
‘Probably why she was always in detention,’ said Jo. ‘She was the rebel in our group.’
‘A pretty well-behaved rebel,’ said Jo. ‘None of us could be anything more with those nuns who taught us.’
‘Same old gates,’ I said as we drew up outside a pair of tall, wide wrought-iron gates with a long brick wall on either side. ‘I always thought it looked like a prison from the outside.’
‘Felt like one on the inside,’ said Jo and groaned.
The car stopped and we got out onto the pavement.
‘Oh god,’ said Ally as she pointed inside through the railings to the neatly manicured garden in front of a chapel on the left and the red-brick building at the back. ‘Doesn’t look much different in there, though, does it?’
‘I feel fourteen years old,’ said Jo, ‘and worried I haven’t done my homework. Those nuns were terrifying. I was always in trouble. I remember Mother Christina summoning me, looking at my feet and telling me that untidy shoes were a sign of an untidy mind. I was mortified.’
‘And Mitch getting detention when Mrs O’Riley saw all the love bites on her neck when checking for name tags,’ I said.
‘We were an innocent bunch really, though, not a clue about the wider world, or boys, or what was to come,’ said Ally.
‘Remember how we used to do our Diana Ross and the Supremes routine at lunchtimes?’ Ally asked.
‘And Mitch was always Diana Ross,’ said Jo.
‘She had the best voice,’ I said.
‘Baby love …’ Jo started.
Ally and I joined in and we went straight in to our age-old dance-step routine as Ajay grinned from behind his camera.
‘TV gold,’ he said.
‘I don’t think I’ve laughed as much since we left,’ I said. ‘Another rule should be to take every opportunity to embrace our inner child with friends, laugh our heads off and act like idiots. There are far too many times in life when you have to be serious and responsible.’
‘Exactly,’ said Jo. ‘And acting like an idiot is something you’re very good at.’
‘Ow,’ I said, but Jo had been grinning when she’d said it so I grinned back at her, happy that the easy familiarity and teasing we used to do with each other was starting to return.
The school gates were locked and there didn’t seem to be anyone around to ask to let us in, but we could see enough through the rails to remind us of the many years spent there.
‘I still remember the smell in there,’ said Jo. ‘All those dark polished wooden floors, the scent of lavender beeswax …’
‘And school dinners, yuk,’ I said. ‘The food was disgusting, that sponge with hundreds and thousands sprinkled all over it.’
‘And semolina pudding that looked like frogspawn,’ said Jo.
‘And pans and pans of cabbage that had turned to slime,’ said Ally. ‘God I hated that stuff. The dining hall always stank of it.’
I did remember. So much of it came flooding back – years of lining up for assemblies, classes, masses where we’d sit on the back row in chapel, shoulders shaking as we tried to suppress the giggles we always got in there, working hard for exams. But, most of all, I recalled our friendship. Despite the discipline, detentions and fear of the nuns, I’d loved going to school because it meant days spent with Ally, Jo and Mitch. Each morning, we’d discuss details of what was going on in our lives, from homework, what was on telly, to make-up, our hair, new bands, boys. As long as I had my friends, my world back then was a good one.
‘When you searched for Mitch on Facebook, did you look to see if the school has a page?’ asked Ally.
‘I didn’t. Good idea,’ I said. ‘Most schools have one so that old pupils can post messages or memories. There might be someone on there who could help. At the very least, we could leave a message on there.’
Jo got out her phone and did a search. ‘Yep. Found it. There is a page …’ she scrolled down. ‘I can’t see anything dating back further than when it turned into a sixth-form college, though.’
‘Maybe there’s another page or site or something for old pupils,’ I said.
‘Worth a look,’ said Ally, ‘though I wouldn’t get your hopes up too high. We three were the people closest to her, and if we don’t know where she is, I don’t imagine anyone else from our old class does.’
Ally wasn’t going to
