Rosie nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But no more secrets, OK?’ said Rosie.
Mitch smiled. ‘Sure. But you guys – Ally, Jo, Sara – have you been in touch all this time? And why contact me now?’
I filled her in on the TV programme idea and how that had led to reconnecting with Ally and Jo, ‘and of course, we had to find you.’
Her face became still, betraying no emotion. ‘Ah, so I was the fourth one?’ said Mitch.
‘We don’t want to film,’ chorused Jo and I.
‘Not any more,’ I continued. ‘The TV programme was the catalyst to finding you, but they can find someone else for the sixth programme, I’ve already told them that. The important thing was finding you, and we would have done that regardless of the TV series.’
Mitch hesitated. ‘Let me think about it, Sara. You’ve given me a lot to take in, I can’t think straight or make any decisions. But yes to meeting Lisa. So she knows that you’re contacting me today?’
‘She does,’ said Jo. ‘She’s at home, waiting to hear how you want to take it from here.’
‘We thought it would be too much to have her here today as well,’ I said.
Mitch nodded. ‘You’re probably right, although I can hardly wait now that I know she wants to make contact. Oh, dear girl. Please tell her what I’ve told you. I wish I hadn’t had her adopted. I think about her all the time and would love to meet her, more than anything. Please ask her to forgive me.’
‘We will,’ I said, ‘and I’m sure she’ll understand.’
Mitch sighed then sat up straight and smiled. ‘Onwards, amigos.’
‘Onwards,’ said Jo. ‘I want to climb into my computer screen and give you an enormous cyber-hug.’
‘Me too. Blue skies? Sunshine? Mitch?’ said Ally, and turned to Sara and me. ‘Road trip, ladies?’
Jo laughed. ‘More like plane trip. I’m in.’
‘Me too,’ I said. ‘We’ll set it up, Mitch. Watch this space.’
Chapter Fifty
Ally
Present day, May
Flights have been set up for a week’s time. South Africa here we come. I was grateful because it would be a further distraction from the empty house that awaited me back in Devon.
As I busied myself with picking out summer clothes, choosing photos to show Mitch of the last forty years (we’d all agreed to take a selection), I had two interesting invites.
One to stay with Katie Brookfield at the village just outside Bath, or alternatively to rent the cottage owned by Rebecca – aka The Duchess – whilst she was still in Italy. I liked the set-up Katie had going with her friends, but I knew I wasn’t ready for that yet. Katie and her friends were in their eighties, I was almost twenty years younger. I would go and stay with her, though. Those old ladies were a lively bunch and time spent with them was always reviving.
The other invite came in a letter out of the blue.
Dear Ally,
I have a proposition! Nothing ventured, nothing gained as they say, whoever ‘they’ are. You may balk at it. You may not. I’m hoping not. I’m writing in the first instance so that you can have a think about what I have to say and I will call in a few days to hear your initial response.
You have lost Michael. I lost Emily. It’s crap, isn’t it? All those well-meaning friends and their invites, but you and I both know someone is missing and it will never be the same again. It won’t. We’re on our own. We return after the dinner party to a silent house. We wake in the morning, or middle of the night, in an empty house, and all the invites and friends dropping in during the day can’t prevent that.
So. Rambling a bit.
I have a house in Sussex. You have a house in Devon. If you’re anything like me, you’re rattling around in it. What are our options? I’m sure you’ve been considering a few. Live with one of the kids in a granny or granddad flat? No thanks. Retirement village or apartment? I’m not ready for that, and who knows what the others there would be like? We could take in lodgers? Airbnb so that there’s life in the place? Don’t think so. I don’t think I could do the breakfasts with a cheery smile. I’d be Basil Fawlty personified.
Here’s what I’m proposing. We’ve always got on. We’ve holidayed together without falling out. I’m not looking for love. No one will ever replace my darling Emily. Nor am I looking to replace Michael for you, and I’m pretty sure that’s the last thing on your mind, anyway: I know what you two were to each other. What I am suggesting is this – we share a house. Mine, yours, or we pool resources and buy something together where we both have our own space or wing or whatever, separate bathrooms definitely, kitchens too if you’d prefer that, but a house where I’ll be around somewhere in the background, mowing the lawn in the summer, and you’ll be around doing your thing too, pruning roses, reading or cooking. I know you like to cook. We’d have someone to go on a city break with, travel with. We’d have someone to ask, ‘Fancy a movie or a walk or a meal out?’, without having to phone around. That’s one of the things I miss, that ease I took for granted of being able to walk into the next room and say, ‘Hey – the sun’s shining, let’s go for a hike.’ Or, ‘Just seen in the paper that there’s a Hockney exhibition on. Get your coat.’
What do you think? Our beloved partners have died, gone and aren’t coming back, but for us, life goes on and we don’t have to be alone. We could be companions. You might meet
