Page 21 of The Reunion

I wander towards the tables to get a refill on my drink, if only to look like I’m moving with purpose, and let my eyes skim around the room. It’s funny to see old cliques re-forming: the A-level art girls have gravitated towards each other and every so often one of them will peel away to go flirt with somebody while the others watch and hide shrieks of laughter behind their hands; the rugby lads are laughing at some bawdy joke, all sprawled out on a pile of chairs near the stage, and some of the more serious kids from orchestra are in a close cluster by the balloon arch, eyes intent and gestures wide as they talk.

People call to me as I pass by, and a thrill runs through me at it.

My eyes snag on the poster of myself that’s hiding my picture on the staff board and the excitement dies quickly. They wouldn’t be half so excited to chat if they knew what a failure I’ve become. What a sad, sorry state my life is in these days. They wouldn’t be so interested in hearing stories about the times I’ve cried myself to sleep or the heartbreak of moving home to my parents’ and accepting I’d never be famous or well known or successful – a pain so deep and raw that it still confines me to the cocoon of my duvet some days even now.

Nobody wants to hear about that. Even I don’t want to know about it.

It’s better this way. Much, much better.

Standing alone at the edge of the hall with a fresh drink in hand, surveying everybody, I allow myself a little breather to wallow in the self-pity and reaffirm my plan to keep pretending. When I notice Hayden making his way towards me, I peel away and head for the group with Ryan and some of the lads, knowing he won’t follow me there.

I don’t think Hayden knows anything, but I do know he’s smart enough to work it out, if I give him enough openings.

So, that’s easy. I just won’t do that.

Ashleigh seems to be happy to prove to people how well she’s done for herself almost like it’s to spite them for ever doubting her or looking down on her; I don’t know if Hayden has a similar streak in him, these days, but I don’t want to risk it.

I slip into the group just at the perfect moment. There’s a lull in conversation and as people turn to murmur hellos at me, Ryan throws me that drop-dead lovely grin of his, which reaches his eyes and feels like its own kind of spotlight shining on me.

‘There she is! Woman of the hour! Helluva party, Bryony.’

‘Please.’ I turn my head to flick my ponytail back over my shoulder. ‘Like you’d expect anything less. Don’t you know who I am?’

He laughs, and since I didn’t greet him properly earlier – haven’t actually so far at all, tonight – I step across the circle to give him a one-armed hug and kiss his cheek. Ryan’s arm feels solid around me, his hand warm on my waist, and he draws back slowly. Purposefully. Lingering.

Hmm. That’s interesting.

‘Always a pleasure to see you, Bryony,’ he says, with a wink that makes it very clear that he’s flirting a bit.

Which, I mean, of course he is.

But still. I guess we haven’t grown out of that, either.

‘Miss me?’ I tease, but the response is like a default setting. The slanted, closed-lipped smile I offer him is only because I’m on autopilot. This is what my character would do and say, this is the role I’ve taken on tonight, old habits drawn around me like a favourite dressing gown. Ryan and I were both pretty well liked and ran in the same circles together at school; we went to prom together and everything. We were never a Steph-and-Shaun kind of thing though. Beyond a few sloppy, drunk kisses at parties and casual flirting in the common room, we were only ever just friends. It was never anything serious.

It isn’t now, either, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t still a bit of fun.

I couldn’t have stuck having a boyfriend who wanted to share my spotlight, anyway. The whole ‘power couple’ thing never appealed to me – I’m too much of a one-woman show.

‘Absolutely,’ Ryan says, a bit loudly. A woman giggles behind him and his head ticks towards the sound, eyes darkening for a moment before he smiles again. He stands a little straighter, rearranging his limbs slightly – the roll of his shoulders, the shift of his weight from one leg to the other before a brief wince steals across his face and he thinks better of it. I remember his left leg was the injured one, and wonder if it’s rude to ask about it.

Just as I’m weighing up the question, he says, like he’s announcing it to the whole group, ‘Hear you’re doing pretty bloody well for yourself these days, babe. Still doing theatre and that?’

‘I take on roles in movies and TV, sometimes, too.’

‘Oh, yeah? Anything we’d have heard of?’

‘Probably.’ I laugh and everybody follows suit. ‘I’m in a great position where I get to choose the projects that sound most interesting to me. It’s totally enriching.’

And also not … technically a lie. Well, apart from the ‘great position’ part.

‘I’ve got a few things in the works,’ I add, which is also not exactly untrue. There’s a movie coming out soon that I had a very, very tiny part in (so much so that I don’t know if I’ll even be in the final cut), but it was low budget and there hasn’t been much fanfare about its upcoming release. And I’ll be back on the circuit to pick up work as an extra soon, after term finishes in a few weeks.

‘Sweet,’ says Ryan. ‘Reckon we all keep an eye out for you on the silver screen. Waiting to see your name in lights one day, or your face on the side of a bus.’

My smile feels rigid, and it’s like the words turn my bones to lead. I’m overcome with the urge to sink into the floor and wrap my arms around my head, block out the party and disappear into the dark until sleep pulls me under. He conjures up the images from the dreams I used to cherish, which poison and plague me now.

If he weren’t such a decent guy, I’d think he was laughing at me.

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