Fresh Start

Part Five – The Proposition

The drawing room of Campus Manor buzzed with awkward chatter and clinking cups of tea. Lindsey finally sat down, letting Barry take centre stage.

Around the circle sat several familiar faces of Brookside Close:

• Ron and Bev Dixon
• Marty and Jan Murray along with Anthony and Steve
• Tim O’Leary
• Mike and Rachel Dixon, weighed down by the shadows of debt.
• Nikki Shadwick, quiet but watchful.
• Ruth and Sean Gordon.

Max and Jacqui Farnham had flatly refused the invite. “We’re happy where we are, thank you,” they’d said down the phone before hanging up.

Barry cleared his throat. “Right. I’ve called you all here for a reason.” A ripple of curiosity circled the room. “But first,” Barry continued, “I want honesty. Since leaving the Close, have your lives been happy, bad, or somewhere in between?”

The answers came, hesitant but telling:

• Nikki: “Bit of both.”
• Steve Murray: “Mostly bad.”
• Marty and Jan: “Bad.”
• Tim O’Leary: “Mostly bad.”
• Ruth and Sean: “Happy.”
• Ron and Bev: “Bit of both.”
• Mike and Rachel: “Bad.”

Barry nodded slowly. “So most of you reckon life’s gone downhill. Marty, tell me why?”

Marty sighed. “It’s the neighbours. Break-ins, abuse, hassle. The Imelda case continues to follow us wherever we go.”
Jimmy piped up from the corner, mug in hand. “Sounds like you’ve had a rough time of it, kidder.”

Barry cut in, steering the meeting back. “Well, I’ve called you all here to make a proposition. You all remember Cinerco. The company that forced you out, bought up the Close and left it to rot?” There was a chorus of groans and mutters. “Go aye, as if we could forget!” said Nikki.

“Well,” Barry said, “they’re finished. To cut a long story short, it was all a scam. Callum Finnegan was behind it all.” Gasps filled the room.
“What? That crazy get?!” asked Ron. Bev nearly dropped her tea. “Never! That nasty piece of work? Didn’t he blow up the Millennium Club before he got himself shot?” Barry smirked. “Yeah. Trouble is, he wasn’t as dead as we thought. But that’s all taken care of now.”

Ron whistled low. “You came face-to-face with Callum again? Blimey.”

Barry’s expression hardened. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is this – I’ve taken back control of the Close. The houses were a right mess, but I hired builders and decorators and fixed it all up. It’s as it was…better, even.”

The room went quiet.

“So here’s my proposition,” Barry said. “I’m offering you your homes back. A return to Brookside.”
Nobody spoke. The silence seems to go on forever, as the group took it all in.
Barry leaned forward. “Well? No one got anything to say?”

Jimmy cleared his throat. “Why don’t we go and see for ourselves? Might help folk make up their minds.”
Bev stood, clapping her hands together. “Why not. Let’s have a look.”

Outside, engines started, doors slammed, and a convoy began to roll south.

As Barry and Lindsey pulled onto the motorway, he muttered, “Strange. Everyone seems unsure about returning.”

“Maybe,” Lindsey said softly, “because Brookside’s never been ordinary. Think of all the things that happened there. Not just the births, deaths, arguments or relationships, but the cult, the explosions, the sieges, that strange TV channel that only ever seemed to play the same children’s programme on a loop. Then there was even the time a virus spread around.” Barry raised an eyebrow at the mention of the virus. It had been a weird moment, after all. Lindsey continued “People still remember what happened at the end with Jack Michaelson.”

Before long the fleet of cars all passed the sign that read: WELCOME TO LIVERPOOL.