I didn’t tell anyone about the incident, apart from the police, for a long time. I had a passenger in the Jeep, we’d been shopping in the city, as we often did. Without a rearview mirror, she didn’t see the danger closing in. The first she knew, was when I started screaming, put the accelerator to the floor and swerved onto the verge. As the white BMW disappeared into the distance everything else was in slow motion. No one overtook me, even though my speed had dropped away. I wasn’t there for a while, I can’t describe it really. I returned to reality with my heart thumping, a fearsome pressure pain in my head and my friend gasping for breath whilst spewing forth unrepeatable expletives. It only took seconds to play out. There was no where to stop, so I carried on. The Jeep seemed non the worse for it’s unscheduled off road escapade and gradually what had been an empty road ahead of me filled once again with cars. It was what it was, a scary near miss. It wasn’t until later that night I read about the carnage he had caused.

It was to be over two months before I told anyone what had happened and it wasn’t until September that I felt happy driving again.

I once again returned to my garden. My sanctuary, my haven of calm. Spring had been lovely and warm and gave a promise of a long hot summer. I was spending more time watering and less time filling pots though. The first flowers out of bud now needed deadheading. I learnt a lot of lessons regarding which shape and type of pot suited which plants. As the summer wore on lockdown was fully lifted, although I still chose to wear a mask in the grocery store.

When I wasn’t out in the garden I was restocking our little business luxaeternagifts.com with wax melts, room sprays and reed diffusers. It had started to pick up again after more than a year of lockdowns, during which everyone thought they could melt a bit of wax, add a perfume and there you have it a wax melt! Unfortunately, for them, fortunately for us, there is a whole lot more to it than that. To make a wax melt with a really good scent throw is an art. It demands an understanding of the wax you are using, as each wax has a specific melting point to which it must be heated, as the wax then cools colour and perfume are added, sometimes together, sometimes separately. The timing of the stirring and pouring is crucial to create a product with not only a fantastic smell, but also a shine. Even the temperature of the room they are made in has an effect on the finished product. Which now has to be placed in an airtight container and left for a few weeks to cure. It is, all in all, a very relaxing process, to sit for a day creating little hearts full of joy. It was about July, when the girl I work with suggested instead of just attending craft fairs, we hold our own. Not only that, but we expand the range, tailoring to specific events, such as hen parties, weddings, pamper evenings, baby showers etc. In reality become events managers! With nothing to lose and a lot of spare time on my hands, I agreed and the madness began.

It was a fun summer. 7 was now 8 and we spent long hot days fruit picking, visiting animal parks, fun fairs, eating chips on the beach and then our favourite waste of time, the 2p arcades. What more fun can you had for just a few pounds? Will that next 2p be the one to tip them all over the edge? Will the plastic keyring ever fall? Then finding out what prize you have won from all the tickets collected. It was during this time though, I unfortunately lost control of my little pot garden. Things were dying in the heat. Plants were going to seed, others running wild. Suddenly there didn’t seem enough time in the day for everything. On top of the normal household chores, as well as the demands of the garden, there was now the task of organising our first craft fairs. Finding venues, learning how to advertise, getting ourselves known on social media and attending as many other craft fairs as we could. Seeing how they were run, meeting other local crafter’s. This was turning into a full time job. We each took on dedicated roles in the business, slowly, but surely we were becoming known.

Returning home, in late September from my holiday, I had a painful anniversary to mark and a decision to make. I had not, during this second year of lockdown, seen my childhood friend that I had been reunited with in September 2020. Although he had texted me on Christmas day, my belief that we had reconnected was short lived. His response to my Happy New Year text was just that he was working. I had continued to text through the year, but we never chatted. If he did reply it was only that he was at work, with someone, on holiday, or not in the mood. Typically, being me, I’d confronted him in June with the fact I was sad. I was sad that he’d gone from texting a couple of times a week, to never texting and ghosting. He then spent two days saying how sorry he was, how busy he was and how much he enjoyed receiving my news. He was good, I’ll give him that. I believed him, but as the months wore on, he was back to ignoring me. I decided enough was enough and stopped texting in August. That was six weeks ago now. I’d heard nothing from him. It would have been easy to just walk away, forget him, but unfortunately whilst spending time with my mother over the summer she had told me the most wonderful story of when she was young. Her last years at High School, when she met my father. She told of the group of girls she was friends with, how they all became friends, how they met their husbands how some stayed friends, but she also told of a bad break up and argument that had split the group. My childhood friends parents had been part of the group. His father was my Godfather, this much I knew, the rest I didn’t know. I knew the church played a big part in all our lives, but I did not know how deep the connections between the families was. I knew my friend was still in touch with other people from the group, as I’d asked him about them. I hadn’t seen anyone since we were children. I now knew why. As a writer I could see the romance, the heartache. Even my mother, who had never before taken an interest in my writing, said I should write the story, but was it mine to own? Was it fate that had made me contact my friend after decades of no contact. We’d last been together when I was 16. Was this supposed to happen? To reconnect everyone? Should I pursue it, or should I let sleeping dogs lie?

I decided to write my friend a letter. The news I had was far too much for a text anyway. I would write down everything I knew, include my news of the year and send it off to him with his birthday card and present in October. This I did, not knowing whether he would be interested or not. We’d had no contact now for over two months. He texted me early on the morning of his birthday………to be continued