With best wishes, in anticipation,
Lisa
We stared at each other in shock.
‘Wow,’ said Ally.
‘Exactly,’ said Jo. ‘Wow.’
‘As we suspected, she was adopted at birth,’ I said.
‘Maybe that musician guy was the father?’ said Jo. ‘He’s the only boyfriend I can remember her talking about. Can anyone remember his name?’
‘I can’t,’ said Ally. ‘The band was … Rose something, no, Wild Rose.’
‘Black Rose,’ said Jo.
‘I think he was Jack or John or maybe Jake,’ I said. ‘I could kick myself for not asking about him more at the time.’
‘I wonder why Mitch gave Lisa up for adoption,’ said Ally. ‘Whatever the reason, it must have been painful. Maybe that’s why she took the route she did, as some kind of escape.’
‘Like I did after Charles left. I threw myself into the world of TV. As long as I was working, I didn’t have time to think about it too much. It gave me a sense of purpose and belonging.’
‘We all need that,’ said Ally. ‘And, in my own way, I did the same; not so much as an escape, but when I went into publishing, the people there became my family, my universe. Later, when I started in a literary agency, that was another small family and I made it my business to get to know everyone in that world. I think we all need a sense of belonging.’
‘And the Rainbow Children provided that for Mitch,’ said Jo. ‘I bet she was hurt after giving up her child.’
‘In the meantime, we have two leads,’ I said. ‘Lisa and the band Black Rose. We can see if they’re still around and if the guy she was with remained in contact at all.’
‘He might not be the father,’ said Jo. ‘We don’t know anything about Mitch’s love life at that time, or he might be the father but Mitch never told him.’
‘True,’ said Ally, ‘maybe Lisa could tell us. If Mitch’s name was on her birth certificate, the name of the father might be on there too.’
‘OK, let’s check that first, then if it is the guy from the band, we can contact him,’ I said.
‘Why wait? We could at least google them now,’ said Ally. ‘Put Black Rose in search.’
‘Good thinking.’ I went to Google and typed in Black Rose. Hundreds of pages came up. ‘Oh look, they have their own Wikipedia page.’ I clicked on the link and up came the page. We read down, Jo and Ally peering over my shoulder.
‘Oh no,’ said Ally as we reached a paragraph about the founder members of the band.
‘Jack Saunders,’ I said. ‘That was his name. I remember now.’
Jo read the page out loud. ‘In 1973, Jack Saunders, original band member, was killed in a motorbike accident.’
We were all silent for a few moments. ‘Do you think …’ Jo started.
I nodded. ‘I do. Poor Mitch. The dates add up, unless she had some other boyfriend around then, but I only remember her talking about the one in the band, Jack. She said something about getting us together to meet him, that was just after we all went to college, but then when we met in the summer, she didn’t mention him as far as I recall.’
Ally nodded. ‘I wonder if he knew Mitch was pregnant?’
‘Or … if his death was the reason Mitch gave up her daughter,’ said Ally.
I was stunned by the revelations, and sad. How could I not have known my friend had been going through so much, and why oh why had she kept it from us?
‘Email Lisa again,’ said Jo. ‘Ask if there was a father’s name on the birth certificate, then tell her we’d all like to come and meet her.’
‘Will do,’ I said, ‘chances are, if she only had his name, that she doesn’t know that he was in a band. In the meantime, let’s have a good look through my old albums for photos of Mitch so that we can take some for her when we meet up.’
Another email pinged. ‘Lisa again,’ I said as I looked at the inbox. It was as if she was sitting at her laptop, as eager to find out about Mitch as we were. She’d written: My father’s name: Jack Saunders. Musician. I know he’s deceased. Did you know him too?
I wrote back: So sorry, none of us knew him, but we do know he was in a band called Black Rose. Let’s meet soon. Sx
Chapter Thirty-One
Mitch
June 1975
Spring turned to summer as weeks and months passed by in the commune in a haze of early mornings, early nights interspersed with cooking, washing, ironing shirts, studying, meditating.
Life felt like one long camping trip with a big, happy family, and I’d made good friends: Rosie, Andrew and Tom Riley from The Seventh Star, who’d finally succumbed and moved into the commune. We talked about the Age of Aquarius and thought we were bringing it in with bells on. In the times when I needed space, I’d take myself off to the allotment and dig the vegetable patch.
Tom didn’t last long. His love of marijuana, women and cheesecake won the day and he headed back out, but we stayed good friends. He went back to his flat in Notting Hill with an open invitation to hang out there if I wanted to get away.
Occasionally we’d have a visit from a travelling indigo sent to inspire us, keep us on the right track and teach us a new form of meditation.
‘We are all prawns in the chess game of life,’ said Aadir, an Indian indigo, which caused Rosie and me to do the silent shoulder-shake of laughter at the back of the room. It reminded me of being back in chapel with Ally, Jo and Sara.
One evening, Andrew came in and told me that there was a phone call for me. I went upstairs to the office. ‘Mitch, got you at last.’ It was my old friend Sara Meyers. ‘Where are you?’ she asked. ‘Where have you been?’
‘Me? Where
