Time Makes You Bolder

January 2023

Mick was slowly pacing back and forth on his deck. Right hand holding his phone to his ear, left hand rubbing his pained temple. He'd taken it upon himself to organise a memorial for Chris; "A coming together of the Fleetwood Mac family, in celebration of her life," as he put it.

He'd prepared the invite list and called everyone individually. Lindsey was the only person still holding out, but then Lindsey was the only person who didn't consider themselves part of the Fleetwood Mac family.

"We only have 3 days, Lindsey, what's it to be?" Mick questioned, trying to keep his irritation in check.

"I'm still thinking about it," Lindsey bristled, rubbing his own aching temples.

"I can understand if you're anxious about seeing her?" Mick asked, his voice softening.

Lindsey let out a deep breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He wanted to see her. It's all he could think about. But he was certain she wouldn't want to see him.

A tickle in his chest snapped him out of his thoughts and triggered a wheezy cough. Followed by another.

"Still not shifted that, huh?" Mick's concern was evident.

"It's not so bad. The colder weather makes it worse."

That wasn't an outright lie, Lindsey thought. The colder weather did make it worse. It was just generally shit all the time too.

"Look Lindsey, she's still so inconsolable, I don't expect she'd even notice you were there," Mick added, hoping to reassure him, but doing anything but. "She called again last night, sobbing. You'd think there would be no tears left to shed."

Of course he's the one she calls now. Of course it is.

"I said I'll think about it," Lindsey replied, struggling to hide his frustration.

"Would Kristen come with you? If you didn't want to be on your own?"

You've met my wife?

"Er, no. I'm not calling her." He replied, matter-of-factly. "I will think about it, I promise."

"Alright, I'll leave you to it," Mick conceded. "You have all the details. I'm flying in tomorrow, if you need anything, please call me?"

"I will, thank you," Lindsey replied, suddenly desperate to end the call.

"Rest up and let those girls take care of you. I will see you soon, yes?"

"Bye Mick."

Lindsey hung up his phone, placing it back on his kitchen counter. His monthly calls from Mick had become more frequent in the time since Christine had passed. This was already the third call he'd received this week, and the umpteenth time Mick had tried coercing him to come to the memorial.

Truth be told, he wanted to go. Wanted to pay his respects to Chris. Wanted to see Mick. Want to see John. And while he really wanted to see Stevie again, he never imagined it'd be in these circumstances.

He was sure she still hated him. He had two recurring nightmares that had been disturbing his sleep these past couple of weeks. The first was of the fight they'd have and the painful barbs she'd throw at him, in full view of all their friends. The second was of her completely ignoring him; realising he was there but blanking him entirely.

He wasn't sure which dream was worse.

The urge to pour himself a tumbler of scotch grew stronger.

He didn't really drink these days. In his darkest moments, he had drowned his sorrows in the best way he knew how. But he'd established that drinking to excess played havoc with his medication and was too dangerous. He didn't want to kill himself, did he?