Fresh Start

Part Four – Game Over

Barry ended the call to Merseyside Police. “Yes, three down. In a derelict building. Best send someone quick.”
He pocketed his phone and crouched beside his kit bag. From it he pulled two planks of wood, nails, and a hammer.
Lindsey frowned. “Barry… what the hell are you doing?” “Tidying up.” he replied.

Minutes later, a crude sign hung from the gate outside the Cinerco HQ. The spray-painted message read simply: FOR SALE. Barry shouldered the bag. “Come on. We don’t want to be here when the bizzies arrive.” Barry put his arm round Lindsey and they both headed toward their cars.

Lindsey’s car carried Toby to the hospital, his groans fading as exhaustion took him. Barry followed behind, but halfway down the road he pulled over, parked, and unzipped the kit bag again. This time he drew out just the red spray can. Across the weathered Cinerco sign, he scrawled two words that glared in the darkness:

GAME OVER.

Only then did he drive away, tyres hissing on wet tarmac.

One week later, back in Newcastle…

Jimmy was back to his usual habits: late nights, endless cups of tea and rambling about what was wrong with the world these days. He was Lindsey’s dad though, and she wouldn’t have him any other way. Toby had been patched up and returned to work. Lindsey kept busy, her daughter Kylie was visiting to discuss plans for her upcoming hen weekend, but Barry had stayed behind in Liverpool. The Close was his obsession now.

He walked its silent pavements, past the boarded windows covered in graffiti. There was a mixture of dampness from where they had been flooded years before and the stink of squatters’ fires. An occasional rat could be seen running across the patchy grass. Memories flickered with every step: laughter, betrayals, explosions, lives imploding behind those red-brick fronts. But Barry had a vision. He carried in his pocket a stack of photographs. Jimmy’s old snapshots of every room, every house before the flood and the chaos. He showed them to builders, decorators, anyone who’d listen.

“This is how it was. This is how it will be again.”

Three months later – Liverpool

Across the city, milk floats still rattled through the streets at dawn, though fewer people left bottles out these days. For some residents now living in different areas, important letters were being dropped through letterboxes. Ron shuffled into the hall, bills clutched in one hand, Josh’s gaming magazine in the other. One envelope stood out containing a Newcastle postmark. He tore it open.

Dear Mr & Mrs Dixon,
You and your family are invited to a small get-together at Campus Manor, Newcastle, on Sunday 2nd November 2025. Transport can be arranged if needed.
Yours sincerely,
The Owner

Ron raised an eyebrow. He checked the calendar on the wall, before shouting. “Bev! You fancy a trip north?”
Bev appeared in the doorway to the kitchen in her pink fluffy dressing down and slippers. “Depends who’s paying.”
Ron smiled. “Looks like our Barry’s at it again.”

Meanwhile, back at in Newcastle…

Barry stood over Jimmy’s shoulder as he typed. “How many others do you still keep in touch with?” he asked.
“Most of them. There’s a Facebook group where everyone shares their memories. What do you want me to send?” replied Jimmy.

Barry handed him a note with the details. “This. Tell them it’s important.” Jimmy squinted at the paper. “A reunion, eh? Bold move, lad.”

Barry simply replied. “It’s time.”

A week later…

“Have you heard whether anyone’s coming?” asked Lindsey walking into the living room, glass in hand.
“Not a soul.” sighed Barry. “I thought I was doing something good, and seems like no one can be bothered. Wasted my time.”
“Don’t be so pessemistic love.” replied Lindsey. “You never know, some might still come.”

Elsewhere on the motorway, Ron and Bev were on their way to Newcastle.

“You’re gonna have to stop.” moaned Bev. “It’s no good, I need to go.” Ron pulled into the car park of the service station. As soon as the car stopped, Bev hopped out and quickly tottered off in her high heels towards the entrance of the main building. Ron got out as well, locked the car and followed behind. Just as he reached the door, some familiar faces almost bumped into him.

“Well, well, well.” said Marty. “We’re going to have to stop meeting like this!” Marty was with Jan, and Anthony.
“Don’t tell me you’re headed to Newcastle as well?” Ron quipped.
“Looks that way,” Jan said, pulling a letter from her coat. Ron pulled out an identical letter from his back pocket.

Soon Bev joined the rest of them, and they all had a brief catch up before piling back into their cars and carrying on northwards toward the mansion.

Campus Manor, Newcastle

Lindsey was busy making the final preparations for the meeting, counting the seating, checking the canapes were ready, ordering the servants to prepare trays of tea. Before long, the first cars rolled up: the Murrays, the Dixons, then Tim and Steve, still hustling, still joking.

Ron asked Tim, “What have you been up to?”

“Not much,” he replied. “‘Deals On Wheels’ or should I say ‘Heels on Wheels’ failed, so we’ve been bouncing around other jobs. I’ve done a bit of modelling, Ste’s done call centre stuff but we’re doing sound.”

At the heavy oak doors, Ron pressed the bell. Footsteps echoed inside. The key turned. The door creaked open.
Barry Grant stood framed in the doorway, grinning. “Alright? Come in.”