Page 33 of The Reunion

‘Um, I’m pretty sure everyone knew you were dating that Scottish girl from Love Island.’

‘Keeping tabs on me?’

She ignores the grin I throw her, and looks far too smug for comfort before pointing out, ‘Twenty million people saw you with her in that TikTok. You know, the one of her throwing a tantrum at that nightclub and pulling some poor girl’s hair? Hardly keeping tabs when your girlfriend goes viral.’

I hide a wince. That was two years ago – I thought everyone had pretty much forgotten about it by now. In my defence, I was trying to calm her down and smooth things over after some catfight with a frenemy, but trust Ashleigh to make me feel guilty for even being involved.

Out loud, I boast, ‘Hardly newsworthy that I was even there when partying with celebs is a pretty standard night out for me. Part and parcel, when you’re as notable as I am. Not that you’d understand, of course. I don’t imagine you’re chatting to Will and Kate at the polo, or grabbing drinks at a bar with the likes of Richard Ayoade or Daniel Radcliffe.’

Neither of which is exactly normal, even for me, but she doesn’t need to know that.

Ashleigh only levels me with another self-satisfied smirk though, and says, ‘No, you’re right. I’m not rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous – because in my line of work, I’m busy helping real people with real problems.’

She waits through the beat of silence where all I can do is think, touché.

‘Besides,’ she continues, ‘I don’t see you being the face of a ground-breaking ITV documentary about the incredible breakthroughs being made to combat degenerative disease—’

I cut her off with a chuckle. ‘I don’t see you doing that, either.’

‘Well, it’s not been released yet.’

‘That documentary got axed before it even made it to production. Legal issues, right? Something around risking the spread of misinformation when some drugs hadn’t passed – what’re they called, clinical trials, or whatever?’

Ashleigh’s lips press into a fierce pout and she side-eyes me. How’s that for touché, I think. She says, ‘How would you know that?’

Maybe because she alluded to it on an Instagram Story, which led me to find the pretty impressive rant she posted about it and certain elements of the industry on LinkedIn.

I shrug. ‘I heard from someone attached to the project.’

She levels me with such an accusatory look that for a second I think she sees right through me, but she only harrumphs and struts ahead.

It is way too much fun to one-up her like this.

I wonder what else I know about her life for the last ten years that I could throw back in her face like that? But I also wonder what she knows about my life in that time that she might try to levy against me, and if it’s worth it when I’ve already won this round.

Nah, better to quit while I’m ahead.

God knows Ashleigh Easton is a force to be reckoned with. I don’t want to try my luck.

Stuck walking behind her, I notice how tense her shoulders are, and try not to look too long at the smooth, creamy skin or the smattering of freckles across it. I never thought of Ashleigh as freckly.

I shake the thought away now, trying not to wonder how far those freckles go.

She reaches the door to the library before me and hesitates, gripping the handle but not opening it, and I wonder if she’s going to chicken out. Maybe she’s secretly hoping it’s locked so she can give up on this and get back to the party – away from me. Maybe, back to Freddie.

But then she throws open the door, looking a bit surprised that it isn’t locked, and storms inside. The lights flicker on as she strides past the banks of desks with computers, beyond some sad-looking beanbags and all the way past the stacks to the trophy case on the other side.

There’s a thump, like a book falling, and I think I hear someone whispering, but I don’t see anything when I look around. Probably just the pipes, or the door.

Either that, or someone else snuck off and was trying to hook up with their other half in the library. I smirk to myself at the thought, wondering who would be bold – or maybe just drunk – enough to do that. Didn’t Steph and Shaun used to snog up here all the time? I guess someone could have taken a leaf out of their book.

I didn’t, obviously. That’s not why I suggested to Ashleigh we come looking for our old awards.

This is just – good old-fashioned rivalry, that’s all.

I don’t get a proper look at the rest of the library but, aside from being modernised, it doesn’t look a whole lot different to how I remember. Not that I spent much time in here, admittedly. This wall showcasing photos of year groups or staff over time looks more or less like I remember – photos from the seventies and eighties, mainly. Relics of a tradition that hasn’t been maintained.

The trophy cabinet is new, though. It’s a huge glass monstrosity now, not the vintage piece with sagging shelves and nicks in the wood. It’s well organised and so full that it’s a little overwhelming to look at – but I find what I’m looking for quickly enough.

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