Friend Request Page 16

  ‘There you are,’ she says to Pete. ‘Louise, hi, you look great.’ She kisses me automatically on both cheeks. ‘Isn’t this fab? Oh my God, look, there’s Emma Frost, she’s huge! And Graham Scott has got the most god-awful beard. And did you see Mr Jenkins on the door? I swear he tried to touch me up when he helped me put my badge on, didn’t he, Pete?’

  Pete shrugs.

  ‘Do you remember all those stories about him, Louise? Natasha Griffiths, wasn’t it? Ooh, I wonder if she’s here. Pete, can you get us some drinks? More wine, Louise?’

  As Pete ambles off to the bar, Sophie turns to me.

  ‘Have you seen Sam yet?’ she asks with ill-concealed curiosity.

  ‘Not yet. I see him all the time though. We have a child together, remember?’ Emboldened by the glass of wine I’ve already knocked back, I shoot back. ‘Why have you brought someone you hardly know with you?’

  Sophie’s face falls. ‘Did he tell you?’

  ‘Yes, but only because I asked him how long you’d been together.’

  Sophie looks embarrassed, and I can’t believe I might have found the chink in her armour.

  ‘I’d better tell him not to mention it to anyone else. You won’t say anything, Louise, will you? I couldn’t face coming here alone when I knew everyone else would be parading their husbands and pictures of their cherubic little children.’ She could sound bitter, but in fact the overwhelming impression I get is sadness.

  ‘Hey, I’m here on my own. I think lots of people are.’ I put out a hand to touch her arm, pierced by an awareness of our shared history. It’s painfully clear to me now that she used me at school to bolster her ego, but that’s given me an unexpected insight into the insecurity that must have prompted her behaviour.

  ‘Yes, but that’s you, isn’t it?’ She shakes off my hand. ‘It doesn’t matter so much, no one’s expecting anything from you.’ Just like that the vulnerability is gone and she’s back to slapping me in the face. ‘God, where is Pete with that wine?’ she huffs. ‘Back in a sec.’ She strides off towards the bar.

  I’m pretty desperate for another drink myself, and I’m not the only one. You can tell that everyone in the hall is drinking fast in that nervous way you do when you know that the evening can’t get started until everyone is at least mildly drunk. When I feel a tap on my shoulder, I assume it’s Pete or Sophie with my drink, so I turn eagerly, but when I see who it is my heart sinks.

  ‘Hi Louise,’ Sam says with a wary smile. After our last encounter he’s probably expecting trouble – weeping and wailing maybe, or at the very least sarcasm and barbed remarks.

  I smile and plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘Hi. How’s things?’

  ‘Good, I’m good,’ he says, looking relieved. ‘Where’s Henry?’ He looks around as if expecting to see him helping himself to the crisps laid out at the side of the hall.

  ‘At Polly’s. He’s fine, he loves it there.’ Already I’m bristling, on the defensive.

  ‘I know, I know. No need to be… anyway.’ He seems to remember where we are. ‘You remember Matt, Matt Lewis?’

  He gestures to the man next to him. I haven’t seen him since our wedding thirteen years ago. He’s put on weight and his hair is greying, but he’s still recognisably Matt.

  ‘Of course! Great to see you.’

  I’m leaning in for a polite hello-kiss with Matt when there’s a flurry behind me and Sophie descends on us, followed by Pete holding the drinks.

  ‘Oh my God! You guys!’

  She flings herself first into Matt’s arms with a casual, ‘Hey, gorgeous’, and I remember that they are not virtual strangers like the rest of us. They still see each other. It was Matt who told Sophie about me and Sam. Next it’s Sam’s turn, and she throws her arms around his neck, giving him a lingering kiss on the cheek.

  ‘Wow, you look great, Soph,’ says Sam.

  ‘Still got it!’ She winks and nudges him with a flirtatious hip.

  Pete hands me my wine and I take a gulp. It’s sour and not even remotely chilled, but I plough on nonetheless. I’m clearly going to need it.

  ‘So, what’s the goss?’ Sophie says. ‘Who have you seen? My God, have you seen Graham Scott’s beard?’

  Matt exchanges a glance with me, raising his eyebrows very slightly and smiling, but I notice that his eyes are drawn straight back to her.

  ‘No goss yet, Sophie. Give us time, we’ve only just got here.’ Sam smiles. ‘Anyway, you were always the one with all the inside info.’

  ‘Oh yes, I know all and see all.’ She laughs, wagging a finger. ‘Don’t try to keep anything from me!’

  Pete is rummaging in his top pocket and pulls out a pack of Marlboro Lights. He sees me eyeing them and holds them out.

  ‘Want one?’

  ‘Oh, go on then,’ I say with a smile.

  ‘I thought you’d given up,’ Sam says in surprise.

  I want to tell him that there’s a lot he doesn’t know about me. That what he did to me has changed me, that I’m a different person now, but of course I don’t. I simply shrug and follow Pete outside. As my eyes adjust to the dark, they are drawn to the corners, the shadows: the places where somebody could be hiding, watching. We perch on a low wall, shivering and wondering whether to go in and get our coats. The wind keeps blowing the matches out and it takes a few goes to get the cigarettes lit. I breathe out a plume of smoke and for the first time all evening I feel my body relax slightly, relishing the cold after the heat and barely suppressed hysteria inside the hall.

  ‘So,’ I say, ‘did you grow up somewhere like this? A small town in nowheresville?’

  ‘No,’ he says. ‘I’m London born and bred. Places like this give me the heebie-jeebies.’

  ‘Have you ever been to a school reunion? Your own, I mean, rather than some random woman’s you met on the internet.’

  ‘God, no. Can’t think of anything worse.’

  ‘Oh, OK,’ I say, stung.

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean that other people shouldn’t go to theirs, but it’s not for me, that’s all. I didn’t have the greatest time at school. Bit of a loner, I suppose.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ I say, thawing. ‘It is kind of a weird thing to do. I mean if it wasn’t for social media, nobody would know anything about the people they went to school with. We’d all just be getting on with our lives. I’ve actually heard of cases where people have got back in touch with their childhood sweethearts on Facebook and ended their marriages, gone back to their first loves.’

  ‘I stay right away from the whole thing,’ he says. ‘Apart from anything else, it just seems to me like a colossal waste of time.’

  ‘Yes, you’re probably right.’ There’s a silence, and I wonder whether if I wasn’t on Facebook, Maria would have found another way to reach out to me, to make me pay for what I have done. I’ve made it easier for her by putting myself out there, but it’s hard to hide nowadays, to stay completely off-grid. I take a long drag of my cigarette, and as the smoke burns fiercely down into my lungs, the fleeting sense of relaxation I’ve been feeling out here in the dark is replaced by a familiar unease, my shoulders hunching in response to it.

  ‘So,’ says Pete, with the air of a man deliberately changing the subject, ‘you were about to tell me in there who you used to work for.’

  We’re obviously destined never to finish this conversation, however, because our attention is distracted by the sound of a man raising his voice at the top of the school drive. It’s not a long drive, and there’s a streetlamp right at the top of it. With a feeling of sick dread, I realise that standing under it and facing towards us is Tim Weston, gesturing and remonstrating with someone. The other person has their back to us and is wearing a black coat with the hood up. I can’t tell from here whether it’s a man or a woman, and although we can hear Tim’s voice, the wind makes it impossible to make out what he is saying. Pete and I stand and peer up the drive, he presumably with prurient interest, me with rising fear, both of us straining but failing to
hear. The freezing wind seems to be seeping into me, drilling right down to the bone. I squint my eyes, trying to make the shadowy figure into an adult Maria. Could it possibly be her, back here where it all began? Is that what this whole night has been about? I realise that I have no idea who organised the reunion, and haven’t yet spoken to anyone who does. I take an unsteady step forward, narrowing my eyes, but as I do, Tim puts his arm around the other person and they leave, walking in the direction of the town centre. I sink back down onto the wall, all the breath punched out of my body.

  ‘Wonder what all that was about,’ says Pete. ‘It’s awful but I love seeing other people having arguments. Everyone’s always so keen to show their best face to the world – you know, look at my perfect life, my wonderful family, this elaborate cake I’ve baked. I find it kind of reassuring to know I’m not the only one fucking things up.’

  I force my mouth into a smile, but disquiet bubbles under my skin like a blister. I take a final, shuddering drag of my cigarette, stand up and grind the butt under my heel with unnecessary force.

  ‘Once more unto the breach?’ Pete says, standing up too.

  We walk back towards the main doors together, and in spite of the cold, I can feel the warmth from him, our arms almost but not quite touching.

  Chapter 19

  1989

  The evening started so well. Sophie brought round several dresses for me to try on, including the one that’s now lying scrunched up on the floor beside me. It’s a full-length emerald satin sheath (‘I’ll never wear it,’ Sophie had said. ‘It’s so unflattering on me, it hangs off me in all the wrong places’), unlike anything I’d ever worn before: low cut, pulled in at the waist and off the shoulder, emphasising my curves and making me feel unexpectedly sexy and daring. I added some vertiginous black heels (again Sophie’s cast-offs) and a diamond pendant necklace that my parents had given me for my sixteenth birthday, which glinted invitingly millimetres above my cleavage.

  I sat doll-like on the edge of my bed whilst Sophie performed her magic. First she smoothed most of my hair back into a ponytail, which she twisted and secured with a diamante clip, expertly pulling a few tendrils free around my face.

  Next she methodically layered foundation, powder, bronzer and blusher before applying the glittery green eyeshadow I’d bought that week in Woolworths. She added black liquid eyeliner along my top lids with a cat-like flick at the outer corner of each eye, and finished with a slick of mascara to my upper and lower lashes. Ignoring Just Seventeen’s advice to do either dramatic eyes or lips, but not both, she added a deep plum lipstick that made my lips shine like fat, black cherries.

  I couldn’t see in the mirror from the bed, so when I stood up to view the finished effect, the stranger who looked back at me took my breath away. There was only the merest of hints, a barely perceptible uncertainty in my eyes, of the dumpy girl with the mousy brown hair who had started the process an hour before. I stood up straighter, pulling in my stomach and pushing my shoulders back. The mousy-haired girl shrank even further away as I took in my newly created hourglass figure, my glittering feline eyes, the diamond twinkling at my throat in the lamplight.

  ‘He’s going to love it,’ said Sophie, and this time I didn’t bother to pretend I didn’t know who she was talking about.

  Sophie went down the stairs ahead of me in a black Lycra dress so short you could practically see her knickers. I saw my dad’s jaw drop in what I hoped was shock; although with disgusted fascination I detected a hint of something else on his face. As Sophie reached the bottom of the stairs to reveal me in all my glory, my mum’s face was an uneasy mix of surprise, unwilling pride and something else, which could perhaps have been envy.

  My dad recovered himself enough to play chauffeur (‘Your carriage awaits, ladies’), but I caught the worried look he shot my mum. I loved the fact that I was worrying them. I’d never felt any power over them before and it was intoxicating. They were frightened – of who I was becoming, of what I might do.

  ‘Take care, love,’ Dad said anxiously to me as he dropped us at the school gates.

  ‘Thanks so much, Mr Williams,’ purred Sophie as she ostentatiously unfolded her bare legs from the back seat, silver clutch bag in hand.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ said Dad, looking studiously ahead of him.

  As he drove away, Sophie and I looked at each other. I laughed breathlessly and she took my hand. ‘Here we go!’

  We tottered down the school drive towards the hall, where the music was already thumping. Mr Jenkins was standing behind a small table at the entrance welcoming people and wearing the most embarrassing shirt I’ve ever seen. He’d trimmed his beard and moustache and obviously thought he looked really cool.

  ‘Good evening, girls. Bags please.’ He looked Sophie up and down.

  ‘What?’ asked Sophie, her eyes swivelling towards me in panic.

  ‘Bags, girls,’ he repeated. ‘Put them on the table here and open them please.’

  My heart began to thump so loudly I couldn’t believe Mr Jenkins wouldn’t hear it. I tried not to look at Sophie as I fumbled with the clasp of my tiny black shoulder bag, opening it to reveal a small sequined purse, a mirror and the plum lipstick. He gave it back and then nodded at Sophie, who slowly laid her silver clutch on the table, pressing my foot with hers as she did so. Mr Jenkins lifted the flap and poked a finger inside, shifting the contents about. His finger paused for a second and he reddened, before handing the bag back to her.

  ‘Have a good night, girls.’

  We walked into the foyer and I turned to Sophie.

  ‘Where is it? Why were you kicking me like that?’ I hissed.

  Sophie grinned and pulled down her dress at the front to reveal a small plastic bag of blue pills tucked inside her black lace bra.

  ‘I was just messing with you! You should have seen your face! Good job Mr Jenkins didn’t attempt a full body search, he was shocked enough at this!’ She plucked a condom from her bag and waved it at me. ‘Mind you, he’d love doing a full body search; he’s such a perv.’

  I gave her a half-hearted shove in the arm, and we walked in and peered around the hall. It was only 7.30 so not yet dark outside, but they’d closed all the curtains and put the disco lights on which had produced a strange twilight effect. Neneh Cherry’s ‘Manchild’ was playing and nobody was dancing except Lorna Sixsmith and Katie Barr who are inexplicably obsessed with the song and know every word.

  ‘There’s Matt,’ Sophie said, hustling me over to the ‘bar’, which obviously was only serving fruit juice, coke or lemonade. Matt was surveying the room, effortlessly cool in suit trousers, white T-shirt and Converse trainers.

  ‘God, this is lame,’ he said to Sophie. ‘Are we really going to stay?’

  ‘Of course!’ said Sophie. ‘Anyway, don’t worry, I’ve got the supplies you and Sam sorted for me.’

  She pulled down her dress again to show him the contents of her bra, although this time she did it a little slower in an attempt to tease him. I could tell how much he wanted not to look, not to give her the satisfaction, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  ‘Look, are you sure about this?’ Matt turned to me, pulling his gaze from Sophie’s cleavage. ‘What if something goes wrong – really wrong, I mean?’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, don’t be such an old woman!’ Sophie said. ‘It’ll be fine – it’s only an E. We do them all the time, don’t we? Louise isn’t worried, are you?’ She turned to me impatiently.

  ‘No,’ I said untruthfully. In fact I was petrified, but I was keeping my fear, which was a small and solid thing, securely locked in the corner of my mind where I keep unpleasant truths.

  ‘Louise is the one who’s got to do it though,’ Matt persisted. ‘It’s easy for you to say.’ I was touched that he was willing to challenge Sophie on my behalf, despite his obvious attraction to her.

  ‘No, it’s OK,’ I said. ‘I want to do it.’ I couldn’t back out on Sophie again. She may have forgiven me
for the tampon incident, but if I messed this up, she’d never speak to me again.

  ‘Right, so that’s settled. We’ll see you later, grandma.’ Sophie took my hand and hauled me off to talk to Claire and Joanne on the other side of the dance floor. As the conversation rose and fell, Sophie kept my hand in hers, squeezing it occasionally when one of them said something funny, or particularly dumb. She refused to let the other girls shut me out, deliberately including me in the conversation at every turn, and every time a doubt crept into my mind it was banished by the warm pressure of her fingers on mine. I fizzed inside with anticipation, with the pure joy of sharing a secret with Sophie that the other girls didn’t know.

  There was only one way into the hall, and I could see the door out of the corner of my eye. On one level I chatted and laughed and took the piss out of other girls’ outfits, but all the time I was watching and waiting, hardly able to breathe for the weight of expectation that sat unmoving on my chest.