Page 4 of The Reunion

It’s weird to see the change. Weirder still that it feels weird. It’s been ten years – of course things wouldn’t have stayed the same here. As much as I hated trudging across to German class in the pouring rain, and how freezing it was in winter, and the musty smell that clung to the place no matter what Frau Jones did with Febreze plug-ins … I feel kind of sad, to know that it’s gone.

Which is stupid, obviously, but the nostalgia hits me so hard that I barely even pay attention to what Aisha is saying about something someone’s just posted on their Instagram Story.

Time slows down as we make our way up the stone steps and through the main reception, past the rows of lockers that lead to the cloakrooms and toilets. My head swivels towards each thing I used to know so well – like the wall where they still have a big board tallying house points. (My old house, Dickens, is currently lagging behind in last place, which seems about right – not everything around here changes, I guess.) I look off to the right, to the cloakrooms, my mind following the path to where I used to hang up my coat and bag for PE or sports clubs, and that time I snuck into the girls’ to snog Steph, and the overwhelming stench of Impulse sprays that coated the air in there. We pass a corridor on the left that I know leads straight to the maths and geography rooms, with a staircase at the end of it coming out at the back of the school to the art and DT block.

It’s like I’m sixteen again, mucking around in the hallways between classes with my mates or claiming a radiator by the window at lunchtime in winter, ready for when Steph and her friends arrived and she’d give me a kiss and thank me for saving them from frozen bottoms. I smile at the memory – I’m looking forward to seeing Steph again. Congratulating her on everything she’s achieved, and even her new man. I hope she’s doing as well as she makes out on social media; she deserves that.

A phantom school bell peals through the halls and, for a moment, the people around me are in itchy black jumpers and blue ties, hair gelled up and school bags swinging from their shoulders.

I blink, and the only sound is the pulse of pop music coming from the hall and the quiet chatter of my fellow ex-students and their partners, who are dressed in varying degrees of casual-and partywear.

I suddenly feel underdressed in my jeans. Like I should’ve worn a suit, or something. Like Mr Grantham is going to leap out from a corner with those wiry glasses perched on his bulbous red nose and scold me for not having my top button done up or my shirt tucked in per the school rules, and if he catches me looking like such a layabout again, that’ll be detention.

I shake it off when Aisha squeezes my hand.

She’s grinning at me. ‘This looks so cool! Why didn’t you say? I thought it was going to be some sad, boring old thing in a gym!’

There are strobe lights flashing inside the hall, and laughter pouring out from it. More like a party than a get-together.

I manage a smile. ‘Bryony was organising – and she never did anything by halves. She did promise us a spectacle. An event.’ I try to say it with enough of an air of grandeur to mimic the girl – woman – herself, but I don’t think Aisha will truly understand unless she meets her.

I realise that a bit of a queue has formed and, craning her neck to look, Aisha tells me that everyone seems to be getting greeted one by one on their way in, which makes me snort, because yeah, that sounds about right. Sounds very Bryony.

The queue moves forward steadily, not forming too much of a bottleneck. I’m not expecting to find Bryony herself manning the door, checking people in. Her chestnut-brown hair is dyed so dark it shines purple. She’s in a rainbow-striped sequin jumpsuit that shows off her cleavage and makes her look like she belongs in a nightclub, not a school hall. The lights bounce off her outfit, turning her into a human disco ball.

Her eyes slide to mine and I watch the question in them gutter out as recognition takes its place. She clicks her tongue and flips her long ponytail over her shoulder. ‘Ah, I know you! Shaun! You haven’t changed at all, have you?’

A laugh slips out of me and I move to hug her. Bryony squeezes me tight. ‘Speak for yourself! Hey, this looks amazing. How’d you pull it all off?’

‘Oh, you know.’ She flicks her head, ponytail swishing, and winks at me. ‘I know some people who know some people. It wasn’t so hard.’

I introduce her to Aisha, and Bryony dazzles her with that same smile that used to bag her orchestra solos and leading roles in the school plays and saved her from ever getting in trouble for being kind of bitchy – like that time she told Ryan his new haircut made him look like an army reject and called him the ‘colonel’ of the rugby team until it grew out. I imagine it’s the same smile that has her sailing through auditions now, too.

‘I’m so glad you guys could make it,’ she tells us, and for all I know about Bryony being a great actress, I can see that she’s sincere. ‘There’s a guestbook just inside, and help yourself to food and drinks.’

‘Thanks,’ I say, but Bryony catches my arm as Aisha wanders on ahead of me into the hall.

She arches an eyebrow at me. ‘Steph’s here, you know.’

‘Uh, yeah. I figured.’

She grins and lets me go. I don’t have to look to know she’s watching me like this is her new favourite soap opera; she always used to love stirring up shit and then seeing how it played out, like that whole mess with Josh and Thea.

Walking into the hall, I don’t pay attention to the lighting or the décor or even stop to laugh at the fact that she’s rolled out a literal red carpet for us – I’m just thinking, Did Steph say something about seeing me? Is she nervous? Why would she be nervous? It’s been forever.

But then, as Aisha and I collect some drinks, I see her. Blonde hair in soft, delicate waves down her back, her body rounder, cheeks fuller than they used to be, and looking drop-dead gorgeous in a strappy, bright purple dress. It flares out from her waist and teases along her mid-thigh, the fabric swishing gently as she moves, gesturing animatedly as she talks. There’s a man at her side I’ve seen on Facebook and she’s surrounded by a gaggle of girls that I recognise just from the back of their heads – as a group, they’re unforgettable, and it’s like no time has passed, seeing them all together like this.

As she’s talking, Steph’s eyes move around the room, and her gaze lights on me.

My heart stops beating, and I swear even the world stops turning. Is she going to ignore me? Run over to hug me? Do that awkward wave when you’re not sure what else to do and go back to her conversation? Make a point of touching that guy on the arm or chest as if to drive home that she’s not mine anymore?

I’m all too aware of Aisha standing beside me, and wonder if I should be sliding an arm around her waist, wonder what Steph thinks of her – of me and her, together. I want her to know how well I’ve done for myself and how happy I am and – I also do not want her to be noticing Aisha at all in this moment.

I don’t know why her reaction suddenly matters so much to me. I was okay about seeing Steph. Looking forward to it, even; we shared a lot of the same friends at school, moved in the same circles. We’d been friendly even before we were an item, and the break-up was hardly some big, vicious bust-up where we both said and did unforgivable things. It was pretty amicable, all things considered.

But seeing her across the school hall …

It brings back a lot of memories. A lot of feelings I thought were left well and truly in the past.

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