Fresh Start

Part Six – Back to the Close

The convoy of cars crept into Brookside Close, engines low, tyres crunching on the freshly laid gravel. The houses stood proud again, windows gleaming, gardens trimmed. It was almost eerie, the Close reborn after years of decay.

Marty stepped out first, breathing in the cool Liverpool air. “You know,” he said, looking around, “it actually feels good to be back.”
Ron joined him, hands shoved in his coat pockets. “Agreed. Brings back a lot of memories, this place. Good and bad.”

Later that evening…

The families all gathered in the refurbished Corkhill living room at Number 10, the heart of the Close. Barry stood before them, clipboard in hand.
“Well?” he asked. “Have you decided?”

Ron looked at Bev to check that it was all right, who nodded in return. He turned back. “We’re moving back.”
Marty and Jan exchanged a glance. “Same here,” Marty said. “We were happier here than where we are now.”
Tim and Steve piped up next. “What about the parade?” Tim asked. “Under my control too,” Barry assured them.
“Then we’ll take one of the flats,” Steve said firmly. Mike spoke up for his family. “We need this, Barry. The debts are choking us. We’ll take the bungalow.” Rachel smiled with relief. Barry turned to Jimmy. “And you, Jim?”

Jimmy rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve thought about it long and hard. I’ve loved the life up in Newcastle, but… this is home. Nikki and me, we’ll take Number 10. Not as a couple,” he added quickly, “just as mates.” Nikki nodded. “Brookside without Jimmy isn’t Brookside. It feels right.”
“Although we’ve not always seen eye to eye, I have to agree.” chipped in Ron.

Barry looked to Ruth and Sean. “And you?”

Ruth’s voice trembled. “I need time. Every room in that house reminds me of Mum and Dad… and losing them. I can’t decide yet.” Sean squeezed her hand.
Barry nodded gently. “I’ll keep Number 5 empty for a while longer then until you’ve made a decision.”

He checked his clipboard. “So, that’s the Dixons in Number 7. The Murrays in Number 9. Jimmy and Nikki in Number 10. Mike and Rachel in the bungalow. Tim and Steve in the flats. The rest… for later.” He ticked the final box. “It’s settled.”

As the families began to leave, Barry handed a card to Ruth. “Give me a call when you’ve decided.” he said and gave her a gentle pat on the back.

Jimmy got up from the sofa and slipped quietly out the back door to see the infamous garden. He stared across at the familiar fences, the patched lawns, and the place on the patio where ghosts lingered. Lindsey followed, touching his arm. “Dad… are you really sure?” she asked softly. Jimmy’s eyes glistened. “This Close has been in my family for decades. I’ve loved the comfort of Newcastle. But servants doing all the graft? That’s not me. I need to get back to my roots, to my hometown.” He wiped his eyes, it was clearly an emotional moment being back at Number 10. “You don’t mind do you?” Jimmy asked.
“Course not. You’re my dad after all.” She gave him a hug.

Barry poked his head out. “We ought to get moving. Plenty left to do.” Lindsey mouthed to him: Give us a minute.

Jimmy gave her a watery smile. “Don’t worry, love. I’ve got Nikki to keep me in line. It’s time for you and Barry to live your own lives without me getting in the way.” They both walked back into the kitchen, shutting the door behind them, and headed towards the front of the house. Jimmy put on his favourite denim jacket and headed outside, as Barry starting locking up.

A few days later…

Across Liverpool, cardboard boxes were being loaded into vans. Marty cracked a grin at Anthony. “Feels a bit like déjà vu, all this, eh, son?”
Anthony half smiled back. “Only with a few differences… our Adele’s married with kids in another country, and Jan’s here instead of Mum.”
“And last time we were moving into Brookside, you hadn’t killed a schoolgirl or taken part in a national singing competition.”
“Steve!” Marty cut in, glaring. “We’re not supposed to talk about that, we agreed, remember.”
Steve shrugged as he lifted another box into the van. “Just saying.”

Changing the subject, Jan said to Anthony “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to Jen, before we leave?”
Anthony looked slightly embarrassed. “I’d rather not. Not now anyway. I’ll Whatsapp her later.”

“You know what we should do?” said Marty. Last time we moved, we sung a song, remember? We should totally relive that moment again.”
Jan laughed. “Marty, it’s a cheesy idea, but what’ve you got in mind?”

Anthony grinned. “How about – we’re moving back to Brookside!” He belted out the tune, Marty and Jan joining in and climbing into the front of the van.

We’re moving back to Brookside,
We’re moving back to Brookside,
Na, Na, Na, Na,
Na, Na, Na, Na,
We’re moving back to Brookside,
We’re moving back to Brookside,
Na, Na, Na, Na,
Na, Na, Na, Na,

That evening…

Brookside Close was alive again. Lights glowed in windows, doors slammed. Everyone may have been a bit older and wiser since the last time they walked down the cul-de-sac, but it was good to see everyone getting along and happy. Before long, the remaining empty houses would surely be filled with new young families from all walks of life, ready to experience whatever life in Brookside Close would hold for them.

Inside Number 10, a buffet spread courtesy of Barry kept the families chatting, laughing, clinking glasses, whilst music played in the background. Ron stood, raising his glass of wine. “Here’s to a new era of Brookside.” The toast rang out, glasses lifted high.

As the party went on, Barry slipped out into the night. He paused by his car parked at the end of the Close, to looking back at his achievement and where he’d got to in life from all those years ago as a teenager back in 1982. He wondered how many other people would have done something like this for a community of people? He’d given the Close another chance. Barry reached for the handle on the car door. As he looked up one last time, standing in the middle of the Close were the ghosts of Bobby, Sheila and Damon. They had their arms around each other. Bobby’s voice was clear: You’ve done us proud, son.

Barry smiled faintly, got into his car, and drove away back towards Newcastle.

The streetlight outside Number 5 flickered. The house sat empty for now, its windows black. Barry had promised to leave it untouched until Ruth and Sean had made up their mind. But in the dead of night, a figure slipped through the back gate. A torch beam swept across the kitchen. A window creaked open. The figure crouched down, phone pressed to their ear.

“Yeah. I’m inside. Place is spotless. Someone’s put serious money into this Close.” A pause. “No…I just saw him leave. He doesn’t know I’m here. Not yet.” The intruder smirked. “Tell the boss it’s ready. Brookside’s ripe for the taking.” The intruder slipped back into the night, unseen.

Brookside was alive again. But something, or someone, was coming. The Close never stayed quiet for long.

To be continued?