Page 8 of The Reunion

So why do I care now?

Why do I want them to like me?

I don’t. I don’t care about that. I don’t need to be the belle of the ball and centre of attention. I’m not vying for prom queen. I just …

Is it really so bad, that I want to prove to those kids who did look down on me, that I’m someone worth looking up to, now? It doesn’t make me a bad person to want that sort of vindication, does it? Just – human.

My phone buzzes somewhere inside my bag and I know it’s probably Hayden, following up on the SOS text he sent a few minutes ago. I promised I was almost here; he’ll be wondering where I’ve got to.

With a deep breath, I snatch up my bag, roll my shoulders back, and tell my reflection to get it together.

Bryony squeals when she sees me, even doing an excited little dance. ‘Bitch, look at you! You came to play! Um, hello!’

Equal parts embarrassed and gratified, I strike a little pose and give her a spin before walking the rest of the way to give her a quick hug. Bryony was always a hugger, so I imagine that’s why she’s stood at the door accosting people on their way in. That, and the glory of playing hostess tonight.

I’ve barely spoken to Bryony in ten years beyond a few civil exchanges on social media, but between her ‘bitch’ greeting and the warmth of her embrace, it feels like no time at all has passed – and like we’re closer friends than we actually were at school. Not that we ever were friends at school – merely classmates, peers. Maybe, I think, we’d actually have a good relationship these days, if we met now.

‘What about you? Look at you! You look fabulous. This is gorgeous,’ I tell her, admiring her sparkling jumpsuit.

‘This old thing?’ She tosses her ponytail over her shoulder like it’s all no big deal, but glows under the praise. She sniffs, a party bloodhound, and arches an eyebrow. ‘Someone snuck a cheeky pre-drink in, I see.’

I cover my mouth, trying to smell the tequila on my own breath. I’d had a mint afterwards, but I guess nothing escapes Bryony. She did used to know everything about everyone, so.

But she giggles and stage-whispers, ‘You’re not the only one. Freddie Loughton and all that lot, they went to the pub beforehand. Raising hell over a pint of Guinness, I don’t doubt. Classic rugby lads – they never change.’

My smile falters a bit and my eyes dart past her, into the hall.

But I say, ‘Are most people here, then?’

‘Looks like it! I’m going to give it five more minutes then come join the party. I’ll come find you and we can catch up properly, yeah?’

‘Sounds good,’ I say, because it really does. Bryony already seems so much more approachable and laidback than I remember from school. Her life looks so glamorous online, with all the travelling and acting jobs and volunteer work she does. I’m pleased it all worked out for her, but I’d also love it if I could stick by her side until some of that easy confidence rubs off on me. Or, at least until I remember that I’m a confident person – usually.

I weave through the crowd in the school hall with my head held high. Aside from the cloying layer of bleach that clings to the air and the scuffed flooring, the place is transformed. Trust Bryony to strike just the right level of cheesy nostalgia and unironic fun.

I make a beeline for Hayden. He’s easy to spot since he stands a good few inches above most of the men in the room, with his lanky body and ginger hair. I catch sight of his expression before I reach him – the terse smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes, the way he’s mentally counting down like he does when the girls are being naughty and kicking up a fuss, and he’s trying to decide between letting them get it out of their system or stepping in and putting a stop to it.

He must sense me looking, because his eyes start to rove around the room, away from the conversation that’s so clearly not holding his attention, and light up when he sees me. He pulls a pained face, eyes crossing as he rolls them in a cartoonish show of melodrama that sets me giggling. I half debate going to mingle first, and make a gesture to him to convey that.

‘I will end you,’ he mouths at me.

Yeah, it’s probably time to put the poor guy out of his misery.

I step into the group – a random assortment of people I wouldn’t normally have seen together in our school days – and say hi to everyone, and do my best to end their conversation by crossing the space to hug Hayden. He wraps an arm around me in a firm, familiar squeeze. I like how affectionate he’s gotten in the last few years; it’s sweet.

‘So much for five minutes,’ he hisses in my ear, and I nudge an elbow into his ribs. Hayden gestures towards me with his paper cup. ‘Um, everybody, you remember Ashleigh, right?’

One girl jokes, ‘How could we forget?’

The others all join in laughing, and I don’t know if she was trying to be nasty or if I’m reading too much into it in my newfound paranoia, but I give them all a beaming smile, like even if it was an insult, I don’t give a shit. I drop my weight onto my back leg and readjust the strap of my clutch bag more comfortably on my shoulder, relieved that I opted to dress up as I do a quick survey of the group.

I know it doesn’t make me better than Elise Chambers that I’m dressed like I’m on my way to an expensive, exclusive bar and she’s got a frumpy handbag resting by her foot and her skinny jeans are a bit faded, but it feels good. She laughed at me for still wearing one of those plain pink Angel bras from the M&S teen collection when we were in Year Ten, like my underwear was any concern of hers, so I don’t deny myself the satisfaction now of seeing her swallow her awe at my outfit, or how her body language shifts just a bit into something put-out and defensive.

A little of my usual confidence starts to trickle back in.

It helps when Hayden shoots me a grateful smile and takes the opportunity to make his escape. He hands me his drink on his way, mumbling something nobody else especially listens to about how he’ll get himself another and be back.

We both know he won’t be back.

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