Two days ago, I went out in defiant to tell Ian brooks about Richard. Ian was at Hebden, but I wasn’t sure he would know. I know he’s in contact with a few of his friends there, and I suspected he would have been told, but felt it my duty to make certain. He and his younger brother, Rory, are the only other survivors of Hebden green school I’m in contact with.
So off I went, picking up a beer en route to soften the blow, just in case. Fortunately, he was in, and answered the door. He didn’t know about rich, though. A curious experience, really, having to tell someone of a death. Quite shitty, actually. Either way, we had a long talk.
I resolved, then, that I need to trace my old friends. At uni, I have more friends than I can count: people who I really like, many who I love. Folk I know I could trust with my life. Yet I need now to track down my older friends; I need to keep contact. The news of Richard’s death knocked m for six, and it still hurts every time I think about it, so I have been apprehensive to search more lest I receive more sad news. But not to search is not to know.
Ian told me Dave Giles had died, but the others may still be about. I must now find them for the sake of my old class at school.