A friendship deepened by despair

Kerry Fisher, 54, and best friend Pat have been through more than most. She shares their story about motherhood, grief and hope

- Julie Lucas

The pair have written a book about their experiences

Laying a picnic blanket out next to the River Avon, I spotted my friend, Pat, striding over. ‘There you are,’ she beamed, sitting next to me and pulling out a book. It was 1985 and we’d met when we’d started at the University of Bath theyear before. I was in awe of Pat. She was fiercely intelligent and always made me laugh. We were 19, carefree and sure our futures were bright. We had no idea about the tragedy life would later throw at us, or how much we’d need each other.

Pat and I shared a house for much of our time at university, experimenting with weird and wonderful fashions and learning to cook, with unusual results. I spent our third year teaching in France, while Pat studied in Barcelona, where I visited her at Christmas. We immersed ourselves in our studies and social lives, never taking life too seriously or worrying too much about tomorrow. After we graduated, Pat pursued a career in marketing while I taught English in Spain, but, no matter how much

‘We always picked up where we left off’

Kerry and Pat met at Bath university time we spent apart, we always picked up where we left off.

In the early 1990s, we both married, Pat to Jan, me to Steve. Our husbands were actually old school friends themselves and Jan had introduced me to Steve during a visit in 1989. Our parallel lives continued when Pat’s son, Greg, was born in March 1998, followed by my first child, Cameron, a year and a half later. Then, in June 2000, Pat’s youngest, Dom, was born, while my daughter, Michaela, arrived two summers afterwards. We’d gone from carefree students to busy wives and mothers living at opposite ends of the country. Still, we managed some weekends with each other and a couple of family holidays. At the beginning of summer 2017,