TW: death, medical
January 24th, 1974
Indigo was ecstatic. Years of trying to sell her art on the side outside of a gallery had gotten her up in the world. Her new job was all the way in London. Finally. She would leave Newcastle behind for good, leave the dingy apartment and days of wondering if she'd be able to eat all week.
She still thought of Christine every night, especially when her pain overcame her and she longed for Christine's soothing hands and gentle voice.
She wasn't stupid. She knew Christine must have forgotten about her, caught up in her busy city life with Fleetwood Mac. Indigo had bought every album they'd made, listening intently for her voice, her piano parts. They were well worn and her most prized possessions.
Part of her hoped they'd find each other again and reconnect as friends and lovers. That their "forever" was real. But she knew her life was no fairytale. It wouldn't happen.
That hurt the most.
Her little fantasies of them being together again kept her happy though, through hours of agony in the hospital trying to get painkillers strong enough to ease her symptoms, kept her strong through every diagnosis.
Fibromyalgia. Chronic fatigue. IBS. PTSD. Clinical depression. Allergy after allergy.
Symptoms of arthritis.
She cried after that one, wishing Christine was there to hold her hand as she tried not to sob in the waiting room, wishing to disappear as a little girl looked at her and clutched her fathers hand tighter.
But looking around her flat, boxes stacked by the door, she felt hope for the first time.
January 30th, 1974
It was nearly seven years since she'd seen Christine and over five since they'd last spoken. Yet as she watched the last of the mining towns fly past her on the train, she felt like it had been decades. Why couldn't she get over her?
In another life, she thought, this journey would be more pleasant. She would be moving to live with Christine forever. Or maybe they'd be going to London together after a little holiday by the beach. They'd be happy.
And she wouldn't have the earth-shattering pain in her wrist.
She was sat with the last of her belongings, a small suitcase in the overhead rack. She wouldn't be back for a long time. That made her perk up. This was real. She'd made it.
Somehow, she'd imagined this moment to be joyful.
March 2nd, 1974
Indigo felt like she was chasing a dead trail. She'd settled in, and her art studio in the city was nice. She shared it with a man called Frank, a graphic designer from Brooklyn. He was barely in, but when he was she felt for the first time in years as if she had a friend. They bonded over art and rock music, and after a while, she found out that he was also gay.
It felt nice to be out to someone. Frank often spoke about taking her with him to Brooklyn one day when they were rich, so she could see their gay scene.
"I know loads of lesbians," he had laughed, "Most of them have hair just like yours."
April 3rd, 1974
My best and only friend has died. I didn't know how scary this would be without him. But I was with him until the end. I don't know where this painting will end up, but I dedicate it to him.
Indigo cried as she finished typing out the words and taped it securely to the back of the canvas.
She didn't know how to cope. It had all been so sudden. She knew he was sick, but the hospital called her, saying he had hours and without thinking she arrived. They told her they were numbering patients with his symptoms, an unknown illness. He was number seven.
He had smiled, even as he struggled to breathe,
"Keep making art, Indy. Don't give up on it."
Indigo stood up, heart racing as she looked across the studio to his desk. She didn't want to touch anything but knew she had to. If she didn't, the owner would throw everything away.
Deciding to clear her head first, she walked down the street, looking in shop windows. They were all closed by now. She noticed a poster in one of the windows.
Fleetwood Mac: The Farewell Circuit Tour
Last dates available before their relocation to the US:
April 2nd, The Blues Room
Her heart fell.
She'd missed it. And her best friend was dead.
Was the world frowning on her today?
