In Another Life (1993-1996)

What's The Story?

"A job?" I asked as Ben paraded around the kitchen, checking for ingredients.

"Get the Delia Smith book out, wouldn't you? Yeah. A job at the amphitheatre not far from here." He said, pulling out spices and herbs as we went

"That's amazing. Hang on, I thought your mum didn't want you going into acting and stuff?" I asked. It had been a heated debate, with his parents expressing their worries about how an acting career could leave him unhappy and with an empty pocket.

"Yeah, well, you know, lets keep it between us?"

"Sure." I helped him get the vegetables boiling slowly and started cutting up a chicken caucus for the main course. "So do you know where you're applying?"

"I've decided Manchester." Another regular topic of conversation. University. I had considered leaving it a year due to work commitments, but there was no doubt that I was going. Just probably not with Ben.

"Manchester? Cool." I said. Ben wasn't looking at me and was rummaging around in the back of a cupboard.

"Yeah, I thought so. What about you?" He said.

"I don't know. Would it be better to get the uni out of the way and then carry on with the Nights after or play on the hype we currently have and go uni when I'm older? I just don't know." I said. I sighed and I heard him do the same.

"I think that school should be more important? Why don't you use the time to write some new stuff for the album?"

It was a good point. He was always full of good ideas. What would I do without him?

"I'll think about it?"

"Yeah." There was a bit of silence, which seemed to last longer than it should've. I began to panic slightly. "So, erm, chicken with veg and red wine gravy?"

"Yeah." Ben answered. "Shit. We don't have any red wine. What now?"

"I know." I said. I hurried to the phone.

"Liz?" I said when she picked up.

"What?"

"Do you have any wine?"

"Nice to hear from you too. I do in fact. Want me to drop it off, I've got something to tell you. It's big."

"Well, if there was a time to get pregnant, Liz, now is a brilliant time." I said.

"No I'm not. And what do you mean?" She said, sounding worried. "No, in fact, tell me later."

"Kay, bye." I said and hung up. I walked back into the kitchen "Liz has it sorted."

"Oh good." Ben said, turning and grinning. He was a bit more composed and looked cheerful again.

Quarter of an hour later, the doorbell rang and I answered it. The Watsons stood framed in the door, carrying 3 bottles of red wine and each rattling a set of keys . They had done something.

"What's the wine for?" Liz asked as she and Arthur removed their coats and followed me into the kitchen.

"The gravy." I said, motioning to the hob where the brown liquid was simmering away.

"So, what was that thing about pregnancy? You're not are you, cause I certainly am not."

"No. God no. I was, well, I was thinking that maybe the Nights should go on a short hiatus. We could write new and better material? Its just, I want to go to university, and I'd like to go with Ben. Obviously, we can still do some gigs, and Knebworth is coming up, but just no big tours. I could take a gap year after. And then go back in 1997." Liz smiled as I stammered to a close.

"Yeah. That sounds ideal. Don't deprive yourself of something like that for a career that could fall beneath our feet anyway. Plus, Arthur and I have some aforementioned news." On cue, Arthur lifted and jingled the keys once more.

"Yeah, what are they for?" Ben asked, wiping butter across his forehead as he stressed over the pastry.

"As you know, festival season is fast approaching." Arthur began.

"And everyone is piling into tents or hotels." Lizzie continued.

"So we thought that maybe we should buy..."

"With my percent of the Nights profit..."

"A...

"CAMPERVAN!" They said proudly in unison.

"Wow." I said.

"That was unexpected." Ben agreed.

"It's round the front." Arthur said.

"Want to come and have a look?"

"Hang on Liz, how did you even get it here? These streets are packed?" But Liz ignored me and lead us outside, Ben still with a greasy smudge of butter near his temple.

The campervan sat in its proud, white glory over the drive of our house. Liz unlocked the door and we stepped in. The interior smelt like a new car, fused with the sent of incense that Liz had piled in the corner. The furniture was awful. A mix of aubergine and turquoise that seemed to burn your retinas.

"Don't worry, we're going to decorate. It's going to be a proper little hippy den when we've finished. Now where's that wine." Liz said.

As the dinner sat cooking away, the four of us sat in the campervan, drinking wine and discussing all the mischief that would occur on the holidays that would definitely be coming.

"We should go for a walking tour down Hadrian's Wall with it?" Arthur suggested. Liz shook her head.

"Does it involved walking large amounts of miles at a time?"

"Yeah. It's a walking tour, Liz." Arthur said.

"Definitely not. I want somewhere at the sea with cheesy little stalls that will sell me 10 friendship braces and a stick of rock for a pound." She murmured, leaning back on the rotated drivers seat and taking a large gulp of wine.

"Whitby then?" I suggested. Liz looked up.

"Is that the place where Dracula was from?"

"Yeah.

"We'll go there then." She said.

On her third glass of wine, Liz realised that Arthur and herself had to be somewhere. Ben decided it was time to remove the chicken from the slow cooker and put it in the pie base to bake. The Watsons left.

"Bye, you mad old pair!" I said, as Arthur drove the campervan from our drive and back to wherever it had came from.

"Come on then, mum and dad will be home shortly and we both need to pointlessly dress up." Ben said. We walked back into the old house and I smiled at how lucky I was.

In what seemed to be another life, another world, a boy sat in a waiting room. He was pale and blonde and had blue eyes that shone, sometimes dangerously, from his deep set sockets. The clock on the desk read 20th May 2012. 12:02. His eyes flicked to his phone every few minutes and then back to the reception desk. The way he sat, with his feet turned towards the exits and his hands tense on the arm rest, suggested a man who was read to flea at the drop of a hat. He was waiting for a signal. And half an hour later it arrived.

In the meantime, the receptionist called him over.

"Who are you here to see?" She asked, her voice sounding tired and worn.

"Evelyn Night."

"What's your name and what is the nature of your visit?" She continued.

"I'm James Hall and I'm here to say goodbye." Then, as if on queue, James' phone beeped in his jacket pocket and he took off towards the youth ward.