Page 75 of The Reunion

Again, she may be correct on this occasion.

I push it at her and this time, she takes it. ‘It’s better than nothing. Keep the chill off, or something, anyway.’

She swallows thickly. ‘Thanks. Thank you.’

I grunt, when what I really mean to say is ‘you’re welcome’, but I guess I’m not used to saying those words to Ashleigh Easton, and I guess they stick in my throat or something. She wraps the fire blanket awkwardly around her shoulders like a shawl and starts trying to put her trousers back on. I follow suit, which is easier said than done, and I wonder if it would really be such a bad thing if I just gave up and walked out of here with them slung over my shoulder.

Give ’em all a show, at least.

Make sure everybody would be talking about this party for years.

I sit down, but that doesn’t seem to be working, then try rolling the leg up like I saw Ashleigh do, and bring it all the way up before unrolling it, but the fabric twists and get stuck halfway up my thighs and I lose my balance and stumble, and twist my leg again when I misstep, and fall hard back against the nearest bench.

‘Damn it!’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine,’ I tell her, even though we both know I sound anything but. It’s mostly frustration, though, the twinge of pain passing quickly. She must be loving this – I can’t even put my trousers on properly. She’ll dine out on this for years at my expense.

I finally get them on and sort out my belt, then pick up my jacket from where it landed in a heap on the floor. I shake it out and check my phone (which seems fine, despite having been sat in my waterlogged jacket for several minutes, just low enough on battery that I turn it off to conserve the little power it has left), and then I notice Ashleigh staring at me.

Or, you know. Pretend to only just notice it.

I raise an eyebrow at her. She huddles inside the fire blanket, hands together and wrists propped on the edge of one of the benches as she watches me with a frown. She doesn’t maintain eye contact very long, and I’m about to find something else to distract myself with so I don’t have to keep paying her so much attention, but then she glances up again and I’m trapped, those blue eyes rendering me immobile.

And then she says, ‘I’m sorry,’ and I think I’ve hit my head and started hallucinating.

‘What?’

‘I’m sorry. And I know it’s – it’s too little, too late, and you probably aren’t interested in hearing it, just like I said I wasn’t either, but, I thought, I still appreciated an apology, and … And you deserve one. I’m sorry, Ryan.’

I don’t really know what to say to that. I wasn’t prepared for her to …

Do I say thank you? Is that how this works?

Predictably, Ashleigh takes advantage of my silence to continue talking. ‘I’m sorry I was so mean to you at school and that I keep doing it now, even when you’re not giving me reason to. You’re right, I – I keep thinking the worst of you, and … “old habits die hard” is a really pathetic excuse, but it’s true. And I think it’s a sort of … self-defence mechanism? It’s hard for me to believe you take me seriously even after all this time, and—’

I interrupt her with a short bark of laughter.

She scowls at me.

‘You think I don’t take you seriously?’ I echo. ‘Easton, you’re the most serious person I know. You were fourteen going on forty, for Christ’s sake. Do you even hear yourself right now?’

‘That never stopped you!’

‘Yeah, because we were kids! That’s …’ I shake my head. ‘I already apologised. We were focusing on your apology here. But for the record, I have always taken you seriously.’

She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but doesn’t argue either.

‘I think I’m still trying to process the fact that you ever even tried to be nice to me, and weren’t just consistently taking the piss out of me. That you’re, um …’ She clears her throat. ‘Not doing that now, either.’

I suck my teeth and pull a face. ‘I probably was, to be fair. But like, only about half the time. Alright, maybe … Maybe like, two thirds of the time.’

Ashleigh gives me a flat look, but there’s something indulgent in it, in the slight curve of her lips and the tilt of her head. She says, ‘Anyway. I’m sorry – and I mean that.’

‘Okay. Er, thank you, then, I guess.’

‘You’re welcome.’ The words seem hard for her, too, and I crack a more sincere smile over that. Then Ashleigh takes a breath, stands upright, collects her shoes and bag, and makes for the door.

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