Page 12 of The Reunion

Because the only reality here is the one they believe. The one I can make myself believe in, too, for just a little while. Long enough to numb the sting of what could have been.

Walking up on the school stage like I own it, I don’t feel like a washed-up has-been whose whole life is a failure. I feel confident, comfortable, because this is exactly where I belong.

I feel like me. The Bryony who could have been. The ‘most likely to’ one.

I want to be her all the time.

The two plain white stage lights I set up here ahead of time catch perfectly on my outfit, which may or may not be (but, most definitely is) by design. My sequinned jumpsuit and I cast a sudden riot of colour throughout the room like a rainbow disco ball, even brighter and more dazzling than the coloured stage lights that are on the floor around the hall.

All eyes are on me and conversations lull instantly.

‘Hello, Class of 2014!’ I bellow, and a raucous cheer sounds out, amplified by the room’s acoustics. Arms lift into the air to raise paper cups, and some people clap.

I give them their moment, let it settle while I soak up the atmosphere. Ryan and his mates stamp their feet in the middle of the room, but it’s Steph and her girls who whoop the loudest. My eyes snag on Hayden, standing a full head above the group he’s with, and he looks way more relaxed than earlier – smiling, now, with a lopsided ease in the slope of his shoulders. I see some of the spouses and other halves who’ve come along with flushed faces and bright eyes. If they’re all having a good time, I’m considering it another win.

‘God, well, it’s been a while, hasn’t it? I think last time I saw you lot, it was in the field behind the pub off Parsons Lane on results night. Our last hurrah before we all set off for uni and went our different ways – and one last chance to get absolutely shitfaced on Strongbow cider and vodka we nicked from our parents’ liquor stash. Good times, right?’

The best of, actually.

It was all downhill from there.

‘And it’s so awesome to reconnect with everybody again now and see what everybody’s up to! All those big dreams realised, the weddings and kids and houses and careers …’

I point to a few people in the crowd in turn. Roisin, who was declared ‘Most Likely to Go Viral’, has a fairly successful plant blog. RJ – ‘Most Likely to end up on a Reality Show’ – well, he was on an episode of Watchdog after he ended up getting his credit card stolen. Mardy Mira With The Lipliner, ‘Most Likely to Change the World’, has been hugely involved in protests since leaving school, and is constantly sharing petitions on Facebook to try to drum up support (and has finally stopped mismatching her lipliner to her lipstick like some ill-advised fashion statement).

‘It’s amazing to see where life has taken us all. Thank you everybody so much for making the trip here tonight and coming along. I know that the old school hall isn’t where we’d picture spending an unforgettable Friday night, but …’ A polite laugh ripples through the crowd, and I smile. ‘Not to play teacher or anything and remind you about the fire exits or the no-smoking rules, but I just thought I’d pop up here and say a few words. Which, ah, now also includes a note that any designated drivers or sober people out there might want to stay away from the punch. Not that I’m naming any names, but, it looks like our future PM still has a naughty streak in him. Ryan Lawal.’

The rugby lads surrounding him all jeer, cuffing him around the head and shaking him with that weird brand of affectionate roughhousing that they clearly haven’t grown out of. He shrugs them off and straightens up to flash me that heartbreaking grin of his. God, we used to swoon over that smile.

(Judging by the blushes I notice on more than a few cheeks, we still do.)

‘Don’t tempt me with a detention, Bryony,’ he calls out, and winks. ‘Or I’ll show you just how naughty I can be.’

More jeers and laughs, but this time there are many high-pitched giggles from some of the women around the room. I probably would be one of them, if not for the fleeting panic that – he knows, he knows I’m a liar and I’m just a teacher, oh, God, it’s over.

But it’s just Ryan being Ryan, playing up to his adoring crowd and being a shameless flirt, and I breathe a little easier.

‘Give it up for our Junior Deputy Vice … Assistant Minister, Associate Something of State, whatever the hell you are, for Digital, Sports and Culture, everybody.’

Someone near the stage says the correct title of his department, but I ignore them in favour of a sarcastic eye roll and clap in Ryan’s direction. He gives a small bow, because we’re all in on the joke.

Because I’m obligated to, I carry on by reminding everybody of the fire exits and to not smoke, vape, or anything else inside the building, and please not to go off exploring old classrooms.

‘I am not having the headmistress phone me up on Monday and complain that some drunk ruffians defaced the whiteboards in the history rooms with drawings of penises. You’re almost thirty, do better. Again, not naming names – Freddie Loughton, Greg Willis,’ – God, I almost called him ‘Noodles Greg’ out loud, awkward – ‘Hassan Khalid … Ashleigh Easton.’

Everybody turns to pin her with a look, and it’s like we are back to being teenagers and someone getting told off in assembly, because a mocking, shocked chorus of, ‘Oo-oo-ooh!’ sounds out. I’m pretty sure we all remember that giant, extremely detailed, flaccid dick she drew on Mr Higgins’ board for us to discover one morning in Year Eleven biology.

Ashleigh, to her credit, takes a sip of her drink and raises one eyebrow, her mouth twisted up in a careless smirk. ‘I just wanted to make sure they knew what they were dealing with, anatomically speaking.’

One of Shaun’s mates – Two-Timing Josh – shouts, ‘We knew! Ryan proved that when he returned the favour!’

As the attention swings to Ryan, Ashleigh gives a loud snort. ‘Yeah. Hardly Georgia O’Keeffe. All he did was prove that he didn’t know the difference between the urethra and the clit. Small wonder he’s still single.’

I choke on a laugh, glee lighting up my face as my jaw drops. Ryan is lifting his hands up in surrender and shrugging affably, not even bothering to defend himself, and all I want to do is have everybody lift Ashleigh up on their shoulders while we applaud her.

I’m so adding her on Instagram and seeing if she wants to meet up for drinks at some point after all this.

Well. If I can stomach the idea of having one person – one very judgemental and ruthless person at that – know the truth about my life. I don’t know if I can stomach that; but I also know this is a lie I can’t keep up in person for longer than tonight. I know not everybody has led the life we expected them to, that we’ve all grown up and changed and that, for all tonight’s nostalgia, the reality is that we’re none of us who we used to be.

---