Sara Meyers. Me. What kind of friend had I been to some of these people? A good one at times, I liked to think, but a distant one who hadn’t made the effort in the past years, so basically a pretty crap one. I used to value my friendships highly, had rules I tried to adhere to about staying in touch, being there for the ones I cared for but I’d fallen short of my own standards. No regrets? That was usually one of my mottos but I did have regrets: I regretted that Mum had gone. Before her illness took hold, we used to have long chats about our lives, hopes, relationships, news, books and gossip. Although there physically for many years before she died, the mother I knew disappeared to the point she didn’t recognize me any more and often thought I was her sister. I missed the woman she had been – capable, curious and engaged with the world. I missed her maternal care and concern.
That Anita had died. She was still alive when Charles left and was there with endless support and sympathy, as I was for her through her illness. It was our unspoken code that we had each other’s backs.
Charles, also gone. When we were together, our table had always been full of mutual friends for long Sunday lunches, summer barbecues, cosy winter suppers. We made a good team, sharing the shopping, him doing the mains, me on starters and puddings. When he left, friends divided like guests at a wedding, taking sides – his and hers – and I lost the heart for entertaining. It never felt the same.
Three of the closest people to me had gone from my life in a decade and a part of me had closed off, unable to deal with the reality of losing those I had loved and being left behind.
Ally and Jo were still there, good friends and, though not in London, not really too far away. I should make a lot more effort to stay in touch.
So regrets, yes, I have a few, as the song goes. I could see, looking back, that I had hardly been the model friend, maybe not even the model wife. There were times when I’d done that typical TV personality trick of disappearing up my own backside. How were my next chapters going to be as I sailed into my late sixties, seventies and eighties and didn’t have the distraction of work? And no real pals to hang out with? I didn’t want to be alone, and yet who would be there for company and care? To laugh and cry with? I sensed a tsunami of gloom about to rise up and consume me, so I did what I often do when doom threatens. I got out my laptop, found a ‘dance along to Bollywood’ clip, pressed play and shimmied round the sitting room for ten minutes. Despite the uplifting music, though, I couldn’t escape the underlying feeling that I’d made a mess. I was in my sixties and a Billy No-mates. Friendship is a two-way street, one of my old rules, I reminded myself. Both make equal effort. You get in touch, they get in touch. I should do just that. True friends don’t let distance or work get in the way, so I should pick up the phone and let those I care about know that I’m still here and haven’t forgotten them.
Chapter Four
‘Some of those people weren’t your real friends,’ said Nicholas the next day, after we’d caught up with our news. ‘Plus people grow apart, move on when you find you suddenly have nothing in common any more. Sometimes it’s not personal.’
We were sitting at a popular breakfast spot just off Ladbroke Grove, enjoying the autumn sunshine on an outside table where we could people-watch as well as chat.
‘Yes but thinking about various friendships and why we’re no longer close, I know some of it has been my fault.’
‘Then do something about it. It was tough for you to lose one of your best friends to illness and another to—’
‘Charles.’
‘To Charles, and OK, so you don’t currently have a Thelma to your Louise, but you’ve got the time now, you can start again.’
‘Thank god for you,’ I replied. ‘At least you like me.’
He made a mock-puzzled face. ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’ he asked, then laughed. ‘What about your brothers?’
It was my turn to laugh. ‘Patrick and Henry? Not people to turn to in a time of crisis, and anyway, they live so far away. Henry’s in Norfolk and Patrick is in Iverness. It’s very much a one-way street – you know what it’s like with blokes. I call them and we have a catch-up at Christmas and birthday and that’s about it.’
Nicholas sighed. ‘That’s why friends are essential. As the saying goes, they are the family you choose. Old friends then? What about those school friends I’ve heard you talk about?’
‘Jo, Ally and Mitch. I was thinking about them the other night – well, Jo and Ally anyway, I have no idea where Mitch is now.’
‘What happened to them? Where are they now?’
‘Jo’s in Wiltshire, Ally in Devon. Jo has a big family and menagerie of animals living with her. Ally married her soul mate. We’ve been through phases, sometimes seeing little of each other then a lot then less again. After Charles left, I was the single one, I guess that changed things a fair bit, for me anyway.’
‘You’ve been very focused, had a fantastic career, not many people can say that.’
‘True and I worked hard to get where I am but success could be problematic sometimes.’
‘How so?’
‘Earning more than some friends, being able to eat out in nice places. Do I offer to pay or is that patronizing?’
‘Was that a problem with Ally and Jo?’
‘There was a time I was earning a lot more than them. One year I bought them expensive gifts at Christmas, lovely things. I
