Same Time Next Week

Chapter 6

‘Do you think a tie would be over the top?’ Steve asked, looking at himself in the mirror.

‘I would have said so,’ replied Mel, standing behind him. The white shirt open at the neck and jeans ensemble was perfect. Sexy, actually. A tie would alter the vibe totally. But then again, she had as much experience of school reunions as he did. Was there a dress code? She imagined anyone who was a bit of a knob back in the day and wanted to show off that they were now in charge of Coca Cola UK would have put a suit and tie on. Steve wasn’t that man, he didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.

He pulled a face. ‘I don’t even want to go. It’ll be crap.’

‘Oh, give up. You’ll enjoy it,’ Mel admonished him because he always moaned about going out and eight times out of ten he grudgingly enjoyed himself. ‘You said you were looking forward to it up to this morning.’

‘I don’t know what to expect.’

‘You won’t be on your own.’ Mel smiled. ‘But you’ll have aged better than most, so you have that on your side.’

‘Cheers.’ He hadn’t taken that as a compliment.

‘I mean it, I’m not being sarky.’ She slapped him playfully. Steve had aged well. His mid-brown hair was thinning a bit so he went with it and kept it cropped short and it suited him better anyway, unlike his younger brother Dave who had grown his long to swirl over the bald bits. Steve had good style, he watched what he ate and his physical job kept him fitter than a lot of men at fifty-two. Everyone thought Dave was the elder by five years, when the reverse was true.

‘Do you think your old flame might be there, what was her name again?’ asked Mel, even though she knew full well what her name was. The girl that got away as Steve had jokingly referred to her a few times over the years. Their year’s ‘it’ girl, because every school year had one and an ‘it’ boy, an unattainable whom everyone fancied.

‘Saran,’ said Steve. ‘Saran Sykes. She’ll be about forty stone with a moustache now.’ He jiggled his hardly-existent stomach. ‘Says me, Twiggy.’

Mel chuckled. ‘Just go and have a good time. It’ll be great to catch up with old pals and have a look around the school again.’

‘Some memories within those walls, Mel,’ said Steve with a sigh. Batty Street senior school would be demolished next month and someone had had the great idea of having a school reunion before the wrecking ball did its damage, and had gone ahead and arranged it.

‘I don’t even know if anyone from my class will turn up,’ said Steve, seemingly intent on talking himself out of it now. Mel wouldn’t let him though; she knew he’d regret it if he didn’t go.

‘Well, you’ll find out when you get there.’ Mel picked up the car keys. She would be driving him to Batty Street but he was getting a taxi back. The organisers had put a bar and food on. ‘Just don’t get drunk and deck a teacher.’

‘They’ll all be dead.’

‘Don’t be daft. Some teachers I had at school were fresh out of college, and only about seven years older than me when I was sixteen. Don’t forget to take loads of pics.’ She knew he’d have a good time; people usually did when they weren’t really looking forward to something, it was nearly always better than expected. It would be interesting, if nothing else, she’d bet.

‘I don’t know why I said yes to this. I won’t be late home.’

‘Oh shut up, will you. Be as late as you like. I’m going to have a long bath with a good book and a massive glass of Baileys.’ Mel grabbed his chin and squeezed it. ‘For goodness’ sake, cheer up. You look as if you’re off to be hanged. It’ll be fun.’

‘No, it won’t. It’ll be full of knobs who head up ICI and earn millions lording it over everyone. And there’s me, just a painter and decorator.’ Steve half-chuntered under his breath.

‘Oy. Don’t undersell yourself. You aren’t just a painter and decorator. You’re a businessman with your own company and two lads, a van with your name on it and with your books full for god knows how long in advance. Anyway, it’s far too early for this,’ said Mel, shaking her head.

‘Too early for what?’

‘You, you bloody grinch. We’ve just had spring, you aren’t due for another eight months. Come on, let’s get off.’

Steve sighed. ‘If I must.’

Mel pushed him through the door with a laugh. She would replay that moment so many times over the next few weeks, wondering where they would have been if only she’d said, ‘If you really don’t fancy it, don’t go.’ But she would never know, because she didn’t say it.

Erin headed slowly towards the teashop in the corner of Spring Hill Square. It was closed now for normal business but open to host a club, Molly’s Club, as it had become known. A place where bereaved people gathered and talked in the hope of healing together, when they were ready to share, to start to rebuild. Erin wasn’t sure if she ever could, she wasn’t even sure she deserved to, but she needed to try.

No one knew she was here, not even Bon. Then again, she wasn’t there yet because she’d trod these exact same steps last week, parked in the far corner so her car wouldn’t be spotted, walked across the square at the pace of a man approaching the gallows.

A tall, smart man wearing a Crombie and carrying a briefcase-type bag also coming from the car park overtook her, headed to the teashop, walked straight in without hesitation, as she should have done. She imagined following him, sitting in a circle, the heat of eyes on her, feeling the pressure to tell her story: why she was there, what she had caused, all that hurt and pain and for what? She imagined people wearing fixed sympathetic smiles while very different thoughts about her were racing around their brains in response to the words stuttering out of her mouth.

She couldn’t do it.

Erin spun on her heel and groped for the car keys in her pocket. No, she couldn’t go in. Not tonight. Again. This was not a good idea, whatever had made her think it was.

Mel had just dragged out the ironing board when the landline rang. Hardly anyone called on that these days and she picked it up, expecting it to be someone trying to sell her something. They might fool more people if they didn’t sound as dodgy as hell. She’d strung one along for nearly five minutes last month out of sheer devilment.

‘Mel, is this you?’

A female voice she didn’t recognise.

‘Yes,’ she answered tentatively.

‘It’s Joss. Joss Binchley.’

Flaming hell. That name was a blast from the past.

Joss must have taken her momentary silence for loss of memory.

‘We were at school together—’ The creep of embarrassment entering her words.

‘Oh for goodness sake, Joss, of course I remember you.’ Blimey , thought Mel, was it national school reunion day?

‘I got your number from your Zoe. Well, our Traz did, they’re still in touch. Do you remember Traz? She said to say hello.’

Another memory dragged out of the bag. Joss’s sister Traz was wonderful. They were close in a way that she and Zoe weren’t. Best mates as well as sisters.

‘Right, right.’ Jeez, she didn’t know what to say now the initial flurry of ‘hellos’ was out of the way but rather than there being any awkward silence, Joss hopped straight back in.

‘I’m calling because I’ve moved back up north and I’d love to see you. I mean, I know we haven’t seen each other since my first wedding anniversary and probably a million things have happened to us in between. God, that party seems like it belonged to another lifetime.’ She laughed.

The memory of it flooded Mel’s brain. She hadn’t realised it was still saved in her head. She was forgetting valuable things at a rate of knots these days and yet her brain clung on to useless images and info – like peristalsis from an old biology lesson. A picture of Jamie Fenton entered her head in glorious technicolour. He’d looked like Martin Kemp only even yummier. All the girls fancied him and all the boys fancied Joss so it was nailed on they’d gravitate to each other and lock on. They’d had a huge party in Joss’s parents’ house for their first anniversary. Her dad sold cars and was loaded.

‘Dear lord, yes. How many years have you clocked up now?’

‘I’ve been divorced for twenty-two months and three weeks exactly, not that I’m counting.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Mel.

‘I’m not. The wanker,’ Joss growled. ‘Anyway, look, I’ve not rung you to talk about him. How did we fall off each other’s Christmas cards lists, Mel?’

Mel allowed herself a smile at that because she’d just had the same thought. ‘I have no idea either. It’s what happens I suppose, time passes and then you wonder what sort of reception you’d get if you tried to pick up where you left off again, so you don’t try.’

‘Look, rather than natter on the phone, are you free at the weekend? I’d love to talk face to face. Maltstone Garden Centre? My treat.’ Joss sounded so keen to meet up. So it seemed a mini school reunion was on the cards for Mel too.

‘Sure. What time?’ she said. ‘I’d love to see you.’

Sky walked into the house and the lovely smell of Italian food greeted her. Her housemate, Katy, waved to her.

‘I hope you haven’t eaten,’ she said. ‘I’ve made us some tea.’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Well, it’s nearly ready. I’ll stick some garlic bread in and we can eat in ten minutes precisely, so do what you have to do first.’

What a nice surprise, thought Sky, and it would offset seeing Angel again on Monday. There was something about Angel Sutton that soured the whole week she appeared in. And if ever there was a misnomer…

‘Shall I nip to the shop and get a bottle of wine?’

‘I’ve got one. No need.’

Sky chuckled. ‘Have I missed my own birthday?’

‘No, now go, and hurry up.’

Katy was a good housemate to have. There had been three of them sharing the ground floor of 8, Barclay Road, until last month when Jordan had moved out. They’d all been respectful of each other’s space and divvied up the cleaning jobs fairly and they hoped that when the new person moved in, it would all still work as smoothly. Jordan had finally got enough money together to embark on his first mortgage and they both wished him well but missed him. He’d been great and they’d felt better for having a fit – in both senses of the word – male on the property.

Katy was dishing up when Sky arrived at the table. A red wine had been poured for her and slices of garlic bread with bubbling cheese on the top sat on a plate between them.

‘Okay, this looks great. So let’s cut to the quick, what do you want?’ said Sky, pulling the chair out.

‘Your life savings,’ replied Katy.

‘What on earth would you need three pounds twenty that desperately for?’

‘Ha.’

Katy sat down opposite, picked up her fork and then put it straight back down. The mood changed in a click of fingers.

‘It’s an apology, Sky,’ she said, looking suddenly serious.

The journey of the garlic bread to Sky’s mouth halted.

‘What for?’ Because she couldn’t imagine what Katy would have to apologise for, other than nicking a Jaffa Cake out of her supplies, but they’d all nicked the odd biscuit occasionally.

‘Sky… Ozzy’s asked me to move in with him, and my tenancy agreement is up in less than a month, so I’m leaving. No point in asking Wilton for any refund, because I won’t get it, so I’m not giving him the satisfaction of turning me down.’

That was true; their landlord, Wilton Dearne was as tight as they came. Sky tried not to look gutted but she didn’t make a very good job of it.

‘When?’ she asked.

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Tomorrow?’ Sky gasped. ‘No, that’s way too soon.’

‘Most of my stuff is at Ozzy’s anyway. I know after Jordan going this is the last news you need. I feel shit, if it helps.’ Her lip looked distinctly wobbly. Sky left her chair and went to the other side of the table to give her a squeezy hug.

‘Don’t be daft, Katy, this was always going to be a temporary arrangement for us until we got on our feet. None of us really wanted to be here forever, did we? Someone was bound to be last out.’

‘I know,’ said Katy, wiping her eyes with her fingertips because Sky’s hug had pierced something inside her that was now leaking. ‘I hadn’t a clue he was going to ask me, even though I’ve been hinting and last night he said, let’s do it . It’s been good fun, hasn’t it? But I know you’ve just signed for another six months and you might end up sharing with some right horrors.’

‘They can’t be worse than you two,’ said Sky, putting her own feelings aside to try and make Katy feel better.

Katy sniffed, and more tears fell.

‘I feel terrible. I’ll tell Ozzy I’ll leave it a bit.’

‘Give up, now, come on,’ Sky lifted up her glass. ‘Let’s make this meal a celebratory one, not commiseratory. This is great news, there’s no point in hanging around this dump any longer than you have to.’

‘Sky, I thought you’d hate me,’ said Katy.

‘As if,’ replied Sky, holding up the act.

‘We’ll stay in touch, won’t we?’

‘Of course we will. Anyway, you never know, in two weeks I might have met the man of my dreams and be telling Wilton that I’m off and he can keep his money too.’

‘I hope you do, that would be the best news,’ said Katy.

There was a fat chance of that happening, thought Sky as she loaded up her fork while keeping her smile firmly fixed for her friend’s benefit. One: she couldn’t afford to lose that amount of rent money, plus the bond Wilton would keep. And two: she’d already met her dream man, and he was off limits.