The night wears on. The volume rises. There is laughter, lots of it. There are the promised eighties tunes and bad dancing. I find that there are people here that I know, or knew. Sophie, Maria, Sam, Matt – they’ve all loomed so large in my mind that I had forgotten that I did have some other friends, especially before that last year at school. Sam has disappeared, swallowed up by the crowd. I’ve done my bit, had a civil conversation with him. Hopefully I can avoid him for the rest of the night.
The mood in the hall is a potent cocktail of nerves and excitement; as the alcohol levels in our collective bloodstream rise, you can feel everyone slipping back into their teenage selves, as if their adult personas were only something they had been trying on for size.
Despite an ever-present watchfulness in my core, I’m actually having fun, and when Lorna Sixsmith goes off to the bar to get us more drinks so she can carry on telling me about her divorce, I am totally comfortable on my own. I look around the room, smiling in an alcoholic fug, wondering who else the evening will throw my way. A dark-haired woman in a blue linen dress smiles in friendly recognition across the hall and I wave back. I’m so glad I came now. Maybe this is exactly what I needed. Exorcise those demons.
Two women are heading my way, one tall with short blonde hair, expensively highlighted, one short and dark. I don’t recognise them at first, but as they draw closer, smiling, the penny drops. It’s Claire Barnes and Joanne Kirby.
‘Oh my God, Louise!’ says Claire, giving me a hug.
I hug her back and Joanne embraces me in turn.
‘You look great,’ says Joanne.
‘Thanks, so do you both,’ I say automatically.
‘Isn’t this weird?’ says Claire. ‘God, I was so nervous about coming.’
‘Me too,’ Joanne says fervently. ‘Especially since… you know, being back here, where it happened. Maria, I mean.’
It’s the first time I’ve heard her name mentioned tonight. I had thought that seeing as we were back here, gathered together in the place she was last seen, that she would be on people’s minds, but it seems they have short memories. Not these two though.
‘I’ve always felt so bad about her. I thought about not coming actually,’ says Claire. ‘It just didn’t seem right, you know?’
For a minute I am confused. Claire and Joanne don’t know what I did at the leavers’ party, do they?
But then Joanne adds, ‘I know. We were so mean to her. What shits we were.’
I realise she is talking about our daily campaign of isolation, rather than any particular incident.
‘I’ve got teenage girls now myself,’ says Claire. ‘I’m always on the watch for anything like this. They get sick of me going on and on about it. If they ever say anything even slightly unkind about another girl, I jump down their throats.’
I tell them about Polly and Phoebe, and how upset Polly is, and they are sympathetic, suggesting more strategies that Phoebe could use to deflect this girl who is making her life a misery. They are kind, decent women, and I can imagine myself being friends with both of them if I’d met them as adults. We exchange promises to keep in touch, and I actually think we might.
I’m about to go and speak to the woman in the blue dress (Katie, it’s Katie Barr, the Neneh Cherry fan) when Matt Lewis pops up beside me. I feel a wave of affection. Matt was always nice to me, wasn’t he? He even tried to stop me following through with the plan at the leavers’ party.
‘Hey, you,’ I say. Even in my drunken state it doesn’t sound natural. I never say ‘hey, you’. In fact no one says ‘hey, you’ apart from in American movies.
Matt doesn’t smile; in fact he looks fairly grim.
‘I’ve just been talking to Sophie. She told me about the Facebook thing. What the fuck, Louise?’
I look desperately round. Where is Lorna with those drinks? I spy her over by the bar; she’s been waylaid by someone on her way back, laughing and chatting. She doesn’t seem in any hurry. The bubble I’ve been floating around in is abruptly popped.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Who else knows? Who have you told, Louise?’
Despite the music, he’s speaking quietly, so close that I can smell his slightly sour breath, see the pores in his skin.
‘I don’t know who knows… I haven’t told anyone, but maybe Sophie did, back then…’
‘We were all involved, Louise, and somebody knows. Think. Who have you told? Who else might know what we did?’
‘I swear, I’ve never told anyone about what really happened. God, I don’t want it to come out any more than you do. I was the one that… you know… you didn’t do anything…’
‘Where do you think Sophie got the stuff from?’ he hisses.
‘Sam got it, didn’t he?’
‘From me! That’s where he got all his stuff!’ For a second I think he’s going to hit me, but he takes a breath, unclenches his fists. ‘Look, my life hasn’t worked out the way I planned, OK? I messed up a lot of things, but I’ve got a new partner now, she has kids, they live with us. I’ve turned things around. I just don’t want anything to fuck that up, OK? Not only did I get the stuff, I lied to the police. It doesn’t look good, Louise.’
‘I lied too. We all did.’ I take a gulp of wine to try and wash away the bad taste in my mouth.
‘Right. And we’re going to continue lying, all of us. Whatever happens. Is that clear?’
‘Yes,’ I whisper, barely trusting myself to speak. I suppose I am as selfish as him – I don’t want the truth to come out any more than he does, after all – but his ruthless disregard for the horror of what we did turns my stomach. How can he be back here and not feel some of the shame and distress that suffuse me?
‘And if you get any more of these messages, I want to know. OK? Here’s my number.’ He scribbles it down on a piece of paper and shoves it into my hand. I put it carefully into my handbag, although I have no intention of ringing him, or of telling him about the other messages. I just want this encounter to be over.
‘OK.’ He seems satisfied, and with a surge of thankfulness I see Lorna finally making her way back to me, a brimming wine glass in each hand. Matt spies her too and makes his escape. I thought it was just me that couldn’t leave the past behind but it appears I’m not the only one. Just before Lorna reaches me, Sophie bowls over, arms outstretched.
‘Louise!’ she coos, her fingers pressing into the soft flesh of my forearm. She’s very drunk, I realise with a twinge of something that feels like fear. In vino veritas. Lorna hands me my wine and smiles at Sophie, who doesn’t even acknowledge her. Lorna shrugs and says she’ll see me later, rolling her eyes at me behind Sophie’s back as she walks off, as if to say, she hasn’t changed.
‘Where’s Pete?’ I ask. Typical of Sophie to invite a near-stranger to an event where he knows nobody and then abandon him.
‘Oh, I don’t know, somewhere around.’
‘So you told Matt about the friend request. You might have checked with me first.’ I must be drunk myself, standing up to Sophie like this.
‘Oh God, I’m sorry. Was Matt angry?’
I wasn’t expecting contrition and it throws me. ‘A bit, but don’t worry about it. You haven’t told anyone else, have you?’
She looks guilty. ‘Only Sam.’
‘Sam knows? When did you tell him? Tonight?’
‘Yes,’ she says quickly. ‘Well, no actually. I phoned him the other day, after you came to see me.’
‘You phoned him? Why? How did you even have his number?’ The old jealousy rises in my throat, stifling me.
She sighs impatiently. ‘Does it matter? I messaged him on Facebook to ask for his number.’
‘But why did you want to talk to him about it?’
A strange look passes over her face.
‘He was involved, wasn’t he?’ she says quickly. ‘He got us the E. I thought he might have had the same message.’
‘And had he?’ I say, my head spinning. Why didn’t Sam mention this when I dropped Henry off the other day? That must have been why he was weird, asking me if I was OK. And why didn’t he say anything when I spoke to him earlier tonight?
‘No, he hasn’t had anything. Oh God, Louise, what are we going to do? Who’s doing this?’ I wasn’t expecting this panic from her. In vino veritas indeed.
‘I don’t know. Have you had any messages from Maria? Since she friend-requested you?’
‘Two.’ Her eyes are huge, like a Disney princess.
‘What did they say?’
‘I had one not long after the friend request that just said “Still looking good, Sophie”. And then another one this morning.’
‘What did it say?’
‘It just said “See you at the reunion, Sophie Hannigan”. I mean, it’s a message that anyone could have sent. Nothing scary about it, except that it’s from her.’ Her voice is a whisper and there is real fear in it. ‘Oh God, Louise, what shall we do?’
‘Why didn’t you say all this when I came to your flat? Why did you act like it wasn’t a problem?’ My cheeks are flushed; she made me feel so foolish for being upset about the Facebook request from Maria.
‘I’ve tried not to think about it. What we did… I know it was wrong. And we all lied too, didn’t we? We lied to the police. But maybe it wasn’t all our fault?’ She’s pleading with me now. ‘I mean, who knows what really happened? There was all sorts going on that night.’
‘What do you mean?’
She just shakes her head and repeats, ‘All sorts.’
I’m going to press her when Pete appears at her side.
‘Oh, there you are,’ she says vaguely, looking around, anywhere but at him.
‘Yes, here I am,’ he says, voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘I can see you’ve been worried.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, you don’t need to follow me round like a… like a fucking puppy. Just fucking grow a pair.’
She flounces off, stumbling on her heels, making a beeline for Sam on the other side of the hall.
Pete’s face is transformed, pale and angry. ‘Nice friends you’ve got.’
‘You’re the one who’s on a date with her,’ I say crossly. There’s a beat of silence and then we both start to laugh. It’s as if all the tension bound up in the evening has been released in one steady stream of pure mirth, which goes on and on, longer than the joke requires, until gradually we stop, gasping, him pinching the bridge of his nose, me wiping mascara from under my eyes.
‘So I guess there’s not going to be a fourth date?’ I say, when I can speak again.
‘Oh yes, I thought I might take her to a wedding next. She can meet my parents, I can show her off to all my friends.’
‘Sounds delightful. Or how about a work do, something to impress your colleagues?’
‘Ooh great idea. I can tell them all about her job in “fashion”.’ He does ironic quote marks with his fingers.
‘What do you mean? She does work in fashion, doesn’t she?’
He snorts. ‘Well, if you call working as a sales assistant in a clothes shop “fashion”, then yes, I suppose she does. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t care what anyone does for a living, it’s just the pretence that gets to me. She wouldn’t even have told me; it was just a slip of the tongue on her part when she was talking about meeting me after work.’
‘But that flat in Kensington… how does she afford that if she works in a clothes shop? It must be worth millions.’
He looks at me strangely. ‘You don’t know her very well, do you?’
‘Of course I don’t,’ I say, surprised. ‘I hadn’t seen her for over twenty-five years until the other week.’
‘Aah,’ he breathes. ‘She didn’t tell me that. She implied that you were old friends who were still in regular touch.’
‘No, not at all.’ Why would Sophie have wanted to give Pete that impression? ‘So how does she afford it?’
‘Simple. It’s not hers,’ Pete says. ‘Belongs to some friend of hers who really does have a high-flying job, works away a lot in Hong Kong. Sophie house-sits for her when she’s away.’
‘Ohhh.’ The note of glee in my own voice makes me uneasy. I take a glug of warm wine to try and keep the schadenfreude at bay, but it stings as it fizzes down my throat and sits burning in my stomach. So all is not as it seems in Sophie’s world. No wonder she looked so shifty when I asked her if she lived there alone.
‘I wonder why she told you,’ I say.
‘Well, once she’d made the slip-up about her job, she could hardly claim to be able to afford that place. And I think maybe…’ he trails off, his cheeks reddening.
‘Maybe what?’
‘Well, if she thought there was a future for us, she wouldn’t have been able to sustain the lie, would she? Her friend’s due home from Hong Kong next week so she’ll be back to her one-bed flat in Croydon.’
I half-laugh, not because there’s anything particularly wrong with Croydon, but because of the contrast it presents with the elegant Georgian facades of South Kensington. I’m about to ask more when I feel a hand on my elbow, and turn to see Sam. The smile fades from my face. Up until now I’ve been feeling quite proud of how I coped with seeing him, but his fingers are a red-hot poker on my skin and I step back, folding my arms across my body.
Sam smiles at Pete. ‘I’m so sorry, can I borrow her for a minute?’
Pete can offer no defence against the charm offensive that is Sam Parker.
‘Oh, sure, OK.’ He walks off stiffly, having no option but to head back to Sophie.
Sam turns back to me, and my confidence oozes away with every second that passes. I’m drunk now, my defences lower, and I’m struggling to maintain a calm exterior, desperate not to let him see the effect he can still have on me. I try to relax, deliberately allowing my arm to return to my side; take a slow sip of my drink. I can feel the heat and hustle of the crowd around me, but it’s all at a slight remove. The room has shrunk to the two of us, held in our own private atmosphere where the air is cooler and the silences longer, and what we don’t say has more power than our spoken words.
‘So you know then.’ I force myself to speak normally. ‘About this Maria thing.’
‘Yes.’ He looks at me, puzzled. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? You knew, didn’t you, when you dropped Henry off on Saturday?’
‘Sophie said you knew then as well. She said she’d already phoned you,’ I say, knowing I sound like a petulant child.
‘Yes, I did, but I thought if you didn’t want to talk to me about it I should respect that. It must have been horrible for you.’
He looks genuinely troubled and upset for me and with a stab of pain I remember the other side of him, how kind he can be. In many ways I am stronger and even happier without him, and I’ve coped better than I ever imagined I would on my own; but there are times when it would be wonderful not to be responsible for everything, when I would give up all I’ve gained just to have someone to take the burden of everyday life from me. Sometimes I’m not even sure if what I remember of our relationship is the truth, or whether time and distance has warped my perception. I don’t even know if there is such a thing as the truth when it comes to relationships, or only versions of it, shaped by love and fear and the way we lie to ourselves and others.
‘Have you heard anything more?’ he says. ‘From whoever set up the page, I mean?’
‘No.’ I don’t want to let Sam in any more than I have to. It’s bad enough that he knows about this. I don’t want it to be the way he seeps back into my life.
‘And are there… has she friend-requested anyone else?’
‘Just one. Nathan Drinkwater.’
‘Who is that, do you know?’ he says.
‘I’ve no idea. It’s not someone from school, is it?’
‘No, I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of him. Look, Louise, you know I’ve always stood by you over this, don’t you? I helped you, I was the only one who understood.’
He’s right, and it’s why I miss him so much still, despite everything. He is about to say more, but his attention is caught by Pete and Sophie across the hall, who appear to be arguing. She’s laughing but he doesn’t seem to be enjoying the joke; in fact he looks to be getting angrier and angrier. Sam eyes them with interest.
‘Anyway, I just wanted to say I don’t think you should mention anything to Tim about this Facebook thing if he turns up,’ Sam says. ‘It would be too upsetting for him.’
‘I wasn’t going to, Sam. What do you think I am, some complete emotional dunce?’ I’m back on the defensive. I’d forgotten what conversation with him could be like. Like being pulled from a deep sleep straight up onto your toes, skipping around like a boxer, constantly alert for the next jab.
‘No, of course not. Sorry, it was silly of me. I know you wouldn’t do something like that.’ There’s a silence while he seems to be weighing something up.
‘It’s great to see you properly, Louise. How are you? Are you doing OK?’
He puts a hand on my arm again.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, taking a step back, wine slopping from my glass and running down my wrist. I’m not so drunk that I’ve totally lost Polly’s voice in my head, telling me to keep my guard up, not let him see any vulnerability. I swap my glass to the other hand and raise my wrist to my mouth to lick the wine, stop it running any further down my arm and onto my dress. Then I see Sam’s eyes on my tongue and I stop, lowering my hand, the wine cold and sticky on my skin. He takes a step towards me and opens his mouth to speak, when there’s a commotion on the other side of the room. Pete throws up a hand in what looks like disgust, Sophie flinching dramatically as if he were going to hit her, and strides off, out of the hall. Sophie glares after him, her face alive with rage and humiliation.
‘I’d better go and see if Sophie’s OK.’ I need to get out of this conversation before things get out of control, before I start to lose myself.
Sam looks surprised and a little hurt. ‘I thought we could have a catch-up. I know you don’t want to hear about… you know… Daisy and all that, but there’s other things – how do you think Henry’s getting on at school? He never tells me anything.’
‘Fine, he’s fine. Make an appointment to see his teacher if you’re that interested. I’ll see you later.’ I practically run away, not to Sophie, but to the relative privacy of the toilets. I lean against the cubicle door, feeling my heart beating all over my body. I put my hands on either side of me, pressing against the wall, as if that will stop me from falling. I can still feel the heat of his hand on my arm, his eyes on my tongue.
The rush of optimism I felt a short while ago has totally dissipated. When my breathing has slowed to something approaching normal, I go back into the hall and across the room I see Sophie and Sam deep in conversation, his hand on her arm. My stomach gives a little twinge. The jokey flirtation of their teenage friendship always upset me, and although I have kept it carefully filed away, my jealousy has never been far from the surface, threatening to burst out, ugly and full of accusation. There’s also something else, something about the way his hand rests on her arm, that bothers me. I look around for someone to talk to. It’s only ten o’clock, I can’t admit defeat and leave yet.
Esther and Brett are sitting on the other side of the hall, holding hands and chatting animatedly to a couple of women I vaguely recognise. Brett has hardly left her side all evening, holding her hand, his arm around her. I guess she’s more nervous than she seems. For the next hour I sit with them, nodding and smiling if anyone looks at me, laughing when they laugh, barely joining in the conversation. Being the first to leave seems like such an admission of defeat, but as soon as others start to do so, citing babysitters and early starts, I make my excuses too. I can’t face saying goodbye to anyone else and I don’t want to risk another encounter with Sam anyway, so I find my coat and slink out of the hall, dropping my name badge on the table as I go.
In the school car park I call the taxi number I carefully programmed in earlier and ask them to come as soon as possible, sitting on a low wall to wait. The sound of the music from the hall rises every time the doors open to expel small groups, coming out in twos and threes to smoke. All of them laugh about how rebellious it feels to be lighting up on school property, as if they’re the first ones to think of the joke. My breath streams out as I sit unseen in the darkness and I pull my coat around me more closely. I’ve forgotten my gloves, so I fold my arms and tuck my hands under, hugging myself tightly.
‘Hello again,’ says a voice from the shadows.
‘Oh my God, don’t do that to me!’ I jump up, clutching my chest.
‘Sorry,’ says Pete. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. I was hoping you were still here though.’
‘What on earth are you doing skulking around out here?’
‘I couldn’t stay in there. Sophie was being so vile to me, and I don’t know anyone else. I didn’t want to drag you away from your evening, so I thought I’d wait out here for you.’
‘How long have you been out here?’
‘Not sure. An hour?’
‘But why are you waiting for me? What do you expect me to do about it?’
‘Sophie booked us into a B&B, but I can’t go back with her now.’
‘A B&B? On your third date?’
‘I know, I know.’ Pete looks slightly shamefaced. ‘Anyway, I thought maybe you could give me a lift back to London.’
‘A lift? I can’t drive, I’ve had loads to drink. I’m leaving my car here and staying at the Travelodge. Taxi’ll be here soon.’
‘Oh, shit.’ He looks miserable. ‘What the fuck am I going to do? The last train from Norwich back to London goes at ten. I’ve missed it by miles.’
I can’t help smiling. ‘It’s your policy that’s got you into this. Why don’t you come back to the Travelodge? I only booked it today, I’m sure they’ll have rooms. Where’s your car, or did Sophie drive?’
‘No, I did. She doesn’t have a car. It’s here too.’ He gestures up the school drive. ‘We drove over from the B&B, I was going to come and collect it in the morning.’
‘OK, well, we can come over together tomorrow.’
We are silent in the taxi, both wrapped in our own thoughts. I check in first, then Pete enquires about a room.
‘Sorry, we’re full.’ The young girl behind the desk is supremely uninterested in what this means for Pete.
‘What, you’ve got nothing? Not even… I don’t know… a room that’s not made up? Or one you keep back for emergencies?’
‘Emergencies?’ the girl repeats, as if Pete has suggested he engage in some sort of deviant sexual practice with her. ‘Like what?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ He looks at me pleadingly. ‘What am I going to do?’
We both know that there’s only one solution that doesn’t involve him calling another taxi to drive him around the cheap hotels in the area, one after another, in the vain hope that one will have a room. He knows that he can’t suggest it though – it’s too presumptuous – so he is tacitly leaving it up to me. I can’t let him spend the night on a park bench. I turn to the girl.
‘Does the bed in my room come apart? I mean, can you make it into two singles?’
‘No.’ She looks from me to him, her interest piqued.
‘I’ll sleep on the floor,’ Pete says hastily. ‘Oh my God, this is kind of you. Thank you so much.’
In the room, we are studiedly polite to each other, taking turns in the bathroom. I thank God I brought decent pyjamas and he declines to take anything off other than his overcoat.
‘Look, you don’t really have to sleep on the floor,’ I say when he emerges from the bathroom. ‘Just stay on your own side, OK?’
‘Of course. That would be great. If you’re sure.’ Pete gets under the covers. If he was any closer to the edge he would be on the ground. I climb into my side and turn off the bedside light.
‘Good night then,’ I say stiffly.
‘Good night. And thanks again.’
I pretend to fall asleep straight away, and soon his breathing evens and slows – either he’s pretending too or he really is asleep. I stare at the hump of his back, barely visible in the darkness. At the time it felt like a basic human kindness to let Pete share my room. He seems totally decent, apart from his questionable taste in women. But here in the darkness I feel vulnerable. Who is this man? Eventually I fall into an uneasy doze, waking every half-hour or so until around four o’clock when, exhausted, I fall into a deeper sleep.
I slowly become aware of the noise of the TV news, and turn over. Light streams into the room between the gap in the curtains. The bed is empty, the door to the bathroom open.
‘Pete?’
No reply. I look around blearily. His shoes and coat are gone.
Before I have time to wonder why the TV is on, the voice of the newsreader pierces my early-morning fug and her words begin to make their way into my brain.
‘The dead body of a woman has been discovered by dog walkers in the woods behind a school in Sharne Bay, Norfolk, this morning. Police have not released the woman’s name, but it is thought she was attending a reunion at the school last night. They are asking anyone with any information to contact them as soon as possible.’