The Reunion (3 page)

“I’m glad I’m a grown up,” Bridget said. “Let’s eat.”

“Yes, good idea,” David agreed.

They entered a grand room with dark wood panelling, rich golden
velvet drapes and ornate chandeliers. There was a glass vase with a single
white rose on each of the round tables. The tablecloths were the maroon of
their old school blazer with matching serviettes neatly folded into the wine
glasses. They made their way towards the food, laid out on trestle tables at
the far end.

“I love roast lamb, don’t you?” David exclaimed as he
looked at what was on offer. “What a wonderful smell.”

“Actually I’m a vegetarian.”

“Oh, I am sorry.”

“I’m not.”

They joined the short queue and Helen and Sharon stood
behind them.

“Hello again, David. Recovered?” It was Helen.

“Yes thank you.”

“And who are you?” Helen asked, looking at his companion.

“Bridget.”

“Were you in our year?”

“Yes.”

“Bridget who?”

“Bridget Wilkinson.”

“Well I don’t remember you. Sharon, do you remember
Bridget?”

“No, I don’t.” With that, Helen and Sharon lost interest
and turned away to chat with the man behind them in the queue.

David handed Bridget a plate. She walked past the large
silver platter of meat garnished with strong smelling rosemary, past the roast
potatoes and the broccoli too, stopping at a small bowl. There was an untidily
written note on a folded piece of grey-brown cardboard behind it.
For
vegetarians only
. She took a spoonful of the pasta dish, added salad, and
then turned to wait for David who had paused by the lamb.

“I don’t think I’ll have this,” he said as much to
himself as to Bridget.

“No need to do that for me,” she said cheerfully.

“It’s not that. I haven’t had lamb since the night Jane
left and it’s brought back a flood of unpleasant memories.” He moved on to the
pasta and was about to put some on his plate when he saw the notice banning
consumption by meat eaters. He placed the serving spoon back in the bowl.

“Don’t be silly, David. Take some. I’ve hardly had any so
you’d be sharing my portion.”

He dropped a small pile of the sticky cheese-saturated
offering onto his plate. “Mm, looks lovely,” he said unconvincingly. He lifted
it up towards his nose. “Smells good too.”

They sat at a table in the far corner of the room,
Bridget eating while David stirred his food with a fork. Other tables filled
with their groups of six, but no one joined them until the queue had almost
disappeared. Then a man and woman approached, each holding a plate of food
piled high.

“Aren’t you David Willoughby?” asked the man, smartly
dressed in suit and tie. “I’m George, George Pickford.” He extended his arm and
David shook his hand. “And this is my wife, Patricia. Patricia Thwaites she was
then, weren’t you darling. We married soon after leaving school.”

“Hello, David. Nice to see you after all this time. You’re
looking well.”

Patricia, dressed in a long emerald green gown, bent down
and pecked him on the cheek. “Is this your wife?” she asked, looking across to
Bridget.

“No, this is Bridget. She was in our year. Bridget
Wilkinson.”

Patricia looked down at her with curiosity. “That’s odd,
I don’t remember that name and I’m known for my memory. Do you recall her,
George?”

“No, I don’t.” George peered down and examined her face
intently. “Are you sure you were in our year?”

“Well, I think I was,” Bridget replied, the sarcasm
missed by the questioners.

“Anyway,” George continued, “do you mind if we take a
couple of chairs and some cutlery? We want to join Samantha’s table, rather a
lot of catching up to do.”

The move was already commencing as he spoke, George and
Patricia edging backwards, each with chair in one hand and plate with cutlery
in the other.

“Go ahead, you won’t find any interesting conversation
here,” Bridget muttered.

She smiled at David. “I made a lasting impression, didn’t
I? Actually I’m glad we aren’t being bothered, I’m dying to find out more about
what happened. Only if you don’t mind telling, of course. In fact I’m being
absurdly nosey, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not. I don’t mind at all. I think I was up to
when Rachel stormed out. I was all set to tell her off for swearing because she
never does, at least not in front of me, but then I thought considering the
circumstances it was best not to. Anyway, when she left I carried on cooking,
and drinking rather too much wine. After a while Sam came downstairs.”

~

“Dad, Adrian’s invited me round. He’s got the new Wii
football game, you can be any team you want and pick your own players. Can I
go? He said I could stay over.”

“Well, I suppose so. Have your dinner then I’ll drive you
there. No it’s best I don’t drive, I’ll call a taxi.”

“No need, he said I can eat there and his dad can pick me
up. He’s on his way back from something and has to pass this way.” As if on cue
there was a ring at the doorbell. “That’ll be him now. Bye dad, see you in the
morning.”

And Sam was gone. As the front door closed the phone
rang. David lifted the receiver.

“Dad, I’m staying at Hannah’s tonight. Will you call me
tomorrow? But only when mum’s gone because I don’t want to see her.” There was
a pause. “Are you OK?”

“Yes, I am. Thanks.”

“Good, see you tomorrow then. Must go, bye.”

David served up and sat in uncomfortable silence in the
kitchen, picking at the lamb, potatoes and carrots.

On the fridge there was a photo of the four of them –
mother, father and two children – smiling during their summer holiday in
Brittany. It had rained for much of the two weeks, but that day the sun had
burst through. They’d rushed down to the beach and the kids had splashed around
in the sea. David had enjoyed watching them play, for once without the
inhibiting need to be seen as cool that teenagehood usually brought. Jane had
sat reading a novel. She looked happy enough those few months earlier, but now
he knew that wasn’t the case. Why hadn’t she tried to talk things through
rather than deceive him? A young English couple staying at their hotel had
walked by just as David was about to take a photo of the two dripping children,
one each side of their mother. All smiles. ‘Join the others’ the man had said,
so David handed over the camera and there was the result on the fridge. Four
beaming faces. The backdrop of the sea and to the left, the edge of a craggy
low cliff. A bright blue sky. Others running around on the sand behind them. A
multi-coloured ball on its way down into a bikini clad woman’s outstretched
hands. And a seagull, top corner right. Funny what you can see when you look
closely. Until that lonely dinner he had only been aware of the four of them. Smiling.

David poured out the last dregs from the wine bottle and
lifted the glass to his lips. Dizzily, he tilted his head back to drink. Now
the wine tasted rough and acidic. He stumbled upstairs and still clothed,
dropped down onto his double bed for one.

He slept intermittently, dreaming of being in a hurry and
having to do something with great urgency. He was unclear what that something
was. He knew action was required but he couldn’t engage in it. He struggled to
get the unknown task accomplished as the ringing and knocking persisted and
grew louder. Now awake he sat up unsteadily to the sound of continued banging
coming from below. He stood, made his way downstairs and opened the front door.

It was Jane. “I’ve been standing here for more than five
minutes ringing the sodding bell. I left the bloody house keys at Jim’s.”

“Come in. Fancy a coffee?”

“No, not now thank you. To be truthful I’m nervous about
talking to the kids, but I appreciate I have to do it. Are they upstairs?”

“No, they’re out.”

“What do you mean ‘out’?”

“They’re staying over. Rachel’s at Hannah and Sam’s with
Adrian.”

“But you knew I was coming over to speak to them this
morning. How could you do this, David?”

“They decided last night and just went. I was…”

“You were what? Spiteful? Vindictive? I suppose you’re
going to tell me you tried to stop them but they pushed past you.”

“I was, I was a little drunk, I wasn’t thinking
properly.”

“I can’t believe how selfish you are, getting drunk when
this is so important. When are they due back?”

“No idea. Actually Rachel said she didn’t want to see
you.”

“And I suppose you let her get away with it. Your
attitude’s appalling.” Jane strode into the kitchen. “Maybe I will have a
coffee.”

As she walked she disturbed the uneven squares of paper
scattered across the floor. She stopped abruptly and peered down. “My letter. How
dare you! You tore up my letter!”

“It wasn’t me, it…” David began as Jane swivelled round
to face him. But then he had second thoughts. Why should he betray Rachel? A
rare surge of anger sent his heart racing as he shouted. “Perhaps if you’d
waited yesterday and had a conversation with them there and then, it would have
been more sensible than a letter!”

“I’m not going to listen to this.” Jane headed into the
hall and opened the front door. She turned, exuding hate in her eyes, in her
voice and via the index finger pointing at him. “How dare you tell me what I
should be doing! You can’t imagine what I’m going through, you inconsiderate
bastard.”

David had known her for over twenty years. It struck him
now for the first time that she had never been able to admit she was the one in
the wrong. And it was happening again. According to Jane he was the one who was
selfish, inconsiderate and spiteful, when it was she who was walking out on
him.

“And now you’re smiling!” she shrieked.

“You have their mobile numbers, I suggest you phone them.
Oh and Jane…”

“What?”

“I hope things don’t work out for you.”

He sensed surprise and perhaps even a little fear in her
eyes before she turned and slammed the door.

“Well, I did feel rather guilty after she’d gone, but at
the time it was like a release of tension.”

“I can understand that.”

The woman dressed in adult school wear was making another
announcement. She had climbed onto one of the table tops and was swaying perilously,
stiletto heels and alcohol not helping her to maintain balance. “It’s time for
the music! A back to the ‘80s disco in the bar. Non-stop hits so let’s rock,
rock, rock.” She started to dance on the table and sent the vase with its
solitary rose crashing to the floor. “Roger, where’s Roger? Help me down will
you, it’s not safe up here.”

Bridget stood. “I suppose we’d better mingle a bit. Shall
we dance?” She took hold of David’s hand and pulled him towards the music. Ghostbusters
was blaring out and those already dancing were lifting their arms into the air
and chanting ‘Ghostbusters’ at approximately appropriate times.

“Not this one Bridget, I can’t stand it,” David pleaded.

“OK, let’s see what’s next.”

“This is better,” David said as Madonna’s
Like a
Virgin
began. They moved to the centre of the room and leapt about in
similar fashion to the other partygoers. The dance floor got crowded and every
so often there was a ‘Sorry. Oh hello, David’ as they bumped into another
couple. Eurythmics and Thompson Twins hits followed Madonna.

“Now let’s slow it down for all you lovers out there,”
the DJ announced. “It’s from 1984, it’s Cars performing
Drive
.” There
were sighs and screams of ‘I love this!’ as the first sad chords were struck. Bridget
put her arms round David’s neck and he responded by placing his hands on her
waist, lightheaded with the warmth of her body against his. He wanted the
closeness to linger but she pulled away at the end of the song.

“Let’s get a drink,” she suggested.

Together they walked to the bar. David ordered another
Bud and a glass of house white which he handed to Bridget as Bill Thatcher
approached.

“Well, if it isn’t me old mate David again. And who’s
this? Rather a neat looking bird for someone like you to be hanging around
with.”

“I’d rather not be defined as a bird, most people stopped
using that word about twenty years ago. My name’s Bridget and will you get out
of the way so we can get past.”

“You what?”

“Just piss off out the way will you, or else I might
accidentally spill my wine all over your ugly face.”

“You what?” he repeated, standing his ground.

“Or does your repertoire extend to hitting females?”

Bill had a puzzled look, unsure how to react.

“You look confused, Bill. Oh, it must be because
repertoire is rather a difficult word for you to understand. It comes from the
Latin, repertorium, but of course you were far too thick to be in the Latin
class at school. Well let me put it another way. Either hit me now or fuck off
out of it.”

With that she turned and walked past Bill with David
following her.

“Bloody hell, Bridget. There I was thinking you were an
exceptionally delicate and polite woman, but then you manage to intimidate the
school bully. Rather high risk, but well done.”

“I’ve had years of practice.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a long story.”

“As you said a while back, it’s a long evening.”

“Not now, maybe another time. But I’d love to hear more about
what happened to you. Let’s go somewhere quieter.” Led by Bridget they left the
bar and reached the reception area. “We can sit down over there,” she
suggested, pointing towards two vast red leather armchairs. They sank into them
and placed their drinks on a smoked glass coffee table littered with back
copies of
Country Life
.

Bridget continued. “You still haven’t answered my
original question. How come you ended up here tonight?”