Hi Bex, I was thinking the other day about when we first met. Do you remember? I can remember how I used to hear you laughing in The Jolly Angler’s pub – that was before I even knew you. There must have been a reason for me hearing your voice, don’t you think? I remember saying to someone: “who is that girl?” You were only 19. We shared a house in the second year of university: that was an interesting way to get to know someone, don’t you think? The house was so retro! Do you remember the patterned velvet flock wallpaper that Sam had in her bedroom, and the fake wooden panels on the walls of the living room (not even on the floor). It was hideous! The entire garden was cement. You said that it was such a waste. You’ve always loved gardens haven’t you? And decorating! You were the first to decorate your bedroom: to cover the wallpaper in white paint, to pull up the carpet and paint the floorboards. Didn’t you worry about getting into trouble with the landlady? No, you’re right: it was way better afterwards, so she wouldn’t mind. Once you did it, we all did. You had a very individual sense of style! One day, in that particular house, we found ourselves alone together. Can you remember that day? We sat on the sofa talking: the day we actually ‘met’ spiritually (as I like to say). Was it the same for you? I think it was: you were always very philosophical about life. We talked for hours: about ley lines and space ships; about God and whether the Earth has a conscious identity. About art and music and how amazing the subconscious mind is supposed to be. I also remember you saying your brother Chris believed in an alien intervention in human evolution. I thought that sounded plausible, if not probable! I don’t think you were that convinced. Our spirits were kindred. All together, we’ve shared quite a few houses haven’t we? Our little ‘gang’ of three: me, you and Sam Norker. Always together, always laughing. We shared cooking, CDs, books and gossip. We shared happy times and a few sad times. We went shopping in Portobello Market and Greenwich; and clubbing: ‘Plastic People’, ‘The Bug Bar’, ‘The Fridge’ and plenty of other places I cant remember. You two girls were always very fond of G.A.Y. on a Saturday evening I recall: didn’t one of you shake hands with one of the singers from Sister Sledge? Or was it Bucks Fizz? I don’t know, but it was hilarious at the time. You used to love dancing, and singing: Nina Simone wasn’t it? “I loves you Porgy”. Always on a Sunday morning. In 1997 we took a rented flat in Vauxhall: I remember asking you for your share of the deposit before you’d even seen it. “what’s it like” you said “it’s great” I replied “It’s got bars on the windows though”. “Oh” you said. “well, if you’re sure”. From that flat we discovered London. We would get on a bus – any bus headed in the ‘right’ direction and get off somewhere: we wouldn’t know where. We would just walk. Walk and talk. We would find alleyways and old bookshops. Art galleries that you had to ring a buzzer to ‘ask’ to be let in (or in our case, ring and walk off). Museums, palisade squares. Secret gardens (were they public? I have no idea, but you said we should look anyway: what harm could it do?). There were plenty of pubs: dark pubs – Dickensian and crooked, All Bar One (they were everywhere at the time); Irish pubs, Literary or Photographic pubs. Guiness pubs, pubs with famous actors, with ‘wannabes’ and ‘used-to-be’s. Our un-mapped routes around London showed us that all life was there for the taking: waiting to be discovered. You said you felt alive. I’m very glad about that. I also felt alive: but I think you saw that anyway didn’t you? We were soul mates after all. Do you recall that evening we saw fireworks over central London? We’d walked from the South Bank via Green Park toward Covent Garden and we just HAD to find where they were coming from. We traced them to Neal’s Yard: that bohemian enclave of vegetarianism tucked away from Shaftesbury Avenue. In the Yard we ran into a crowd of people that were all looking up to the sky through criss-cross strings of Japanese lanterns. Some of the people were crying, some of them smiling and hugging each other. We also held each other, realising almost immediately that we’d unknowingly stumbled into the celebration of someone’s passing. There was that almighty bang and the sky was illuminated with colours. It was like a dream: a living dream. We both said we felt ash fall into in our eyes. Well listen, I know you’ve got somewhere else to be right now, and I didn’t know how to else to say these words, so I’ve given over to someone more eloquent than I am: I thank you for the place where no one goes but you and I; for the secret field, the tree, the rock, the corner in the house, where I may go and find myself again and, in finding me, find you. What longed-for peace creeps in upon my heart, when, hidden in this secret place, I listen to the silence and slowly lose that tightness that held me fast, unhappy and afraid! In time I find I can look around at your quiet things, the leaf so very near my head, the lines on the board beneath my feet or the bird that scolds a bit because I’m here and flies away. And when I’ve looked at those awhile and rested in the hush, I know that you are near and I can find myself again.