The Unfinished Business of Eadie Browne: the brand new and unforgettable coming of age story from the bestselling author by Freya North

Author:Freya North [North, Freya]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Headline
Published: 2024-01-31T16:00:00+00:00

11.55 a.m. 15th June 1999, the motorway

Out of the window, the Midlands pass by in a blur of fields and cooling towers and radio masts. People ride horses over the motorway bridges and monstrous construction vehicles churn up the land. It’s a strange stretch of road.

‘Do you think we can stop? At the next services?’ I ask.

‘Bloody hell – she lives!’

‘Huh?’

‘You’ve been in another world,’ my husband says.

He’s right, I was miles away travelling at speed on a parallel motorway through memories.

‘Was it last year or the year before that the Haçienda finally closed?’

‘Where’s that come from?’ But he has a think about it. ‘Must be a couple of years ago now?’

‘I think you’re right,’ I say.

‘You know they’re going to demolish the old building?’ he says. ‘They’re going to rip it down and redevelop it into flats for yuppies.’

That makes me sad even though it makes sense.

‘Apparently, they’re going to auction it off,’ he says. ‘The bricks. The bogs. The bollards,’ he laughs. ‘You could literally own the dance floor.’

‘Best hotdogs in the world,’ I reminisce. I’m really hungry. ‘Can we stop at the next services?’ I say again. ‘Do we have time?’

I remember, now, my friend the hotdog seller. What was his name? He knew my name – why couldn’t I remember his? ‘They beat him up, you know.’

This startles my husband. ‘Who?’

What was his name?

‘Eadie – who?’

‘Outside the Haç one night – bastards from one of the gangs. They trashed his stall and beat him up. Back when Manchester was becoming Gunchester.’

‘Is that where you’ve been these last miles? Back there and then?’ There’s tenderness to his voice. He says hey. He says hey sweetheart hey, though I wasn’t aware of my tears.

‘That’s where I’ve been,’ I say, wiping my eyes and blowing my nose. ‘Back there in the past.’ Perhaps we don’t have time to stop. We really can’t be late. Not today.

‘I could do with a coffee,’ my husband says and he changes lane and heads for the services.

‘Thank you.’

There’s peace between us, a quiet relief for the time being.

‘Strange, really,’ he muses. ‘I love the music of the Madchester scene – The Mondays, The Roses, The Charlatans still amongst my all-time favourite bands – but the Haçienda? I hated that place.’

‘I know you did,’ I say. ‘I get it. I do. But just for a while there – for me—’

He’s indicating to come off at the services. ‘—for a while it was so special to you,’ he says. ‘I know,’ he muses. ‘I know.’

‘It’s so long ago,’ I say. ‘It was another life, a former me. An unformed me.’

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