Bebe beamed as we climbed the steps to the upstairs restaurant. ‘Lovely,’ he whispered, ‘that was a lovely job. Now you have a good time.’ He winked mischievously.
‘Sorry?’
‘I’m going now. You have a great time.’
‘But I like you with me, Bebe. I want you here, you’re always…here.’
‘Come on, Jack, you’re a grown man. Relax, enjoy yourself, you need a good time. I’ll be close by.’
This was an unusual occurrence, one that only added to my fears for the evening. Surely his getting me here was punishment enough for what I’d done in London. How far was he going to go before we were even? I was even sorry I’d kept him waiting earlier. However, there was no time for further argument as he was down the stairs before I could reply, leaving me stranded like a first-time actor blinking at the stage lights.
‘Jack, Jack.’ I had no idea who was shouting, or where the voice came from, but instantly sixty heads turned his way. ‘Over here, mate.’ Now in the dim light of the restaurant I could see a long table in the distance. Two Taikon security men who waited by the entrance guided me in that direction, having already determined its safety for the evening. As the guards moved me forward I felt someone move close behind me. I turned, expecting to see Bebe, but there was no one there. It left me with the strangest feeling, as though someone wanted to talk to me, but had retreated unseen having lost his or her nerve.
‘My God, Jack,’ the original caller of my name was now visible, ‘I can’t believe you’re actually here.’
‘Hello, Mike.’ I shook his outstretched hand and clumsily accepted his half-hug the way men do when unsure of the other’s reaction. ‘Long time no see.’
‘I just can’t believe you’re here. How long is it since we last saw each other—ten, eleven years?’
‘Twelve.’
‘Twelve fucking years? My God. All those good times that long ago?’
I nodded.
‘I’ve missed you.’ He paused and I thought he might shed a tear, but he shook himself free of the moment as though reminding himself of an earlier promise not to cry. ‘Come and meet the crew, everyone’s here—Helen, Duncan, Claire, Jo, Graham…’
‘Mary?’
Mike flashed an embarrassed smile. I think he would have named the entire restaurant before her. ‘Mary? Yes, Mary’s here.’
‘Did she know I was coming?’
‘She knew you’d been invited.’
‘Not quite the same, is it?’
‘She’s cool, Jack, there’s no problem. Come on, let’s go.’ We squeezed through the last row of tables and chairs. Diners moved in an exaggerated way to allow the two guards and me through. Recognition rushed through the place like a bush fire, and people turned to gaze at me, their faces shocked, as though royalty had lowered themselves to dine with the masses this one night of the year. I always feel horribly exposed at these times. It’s like being caught in the toilet with my trousers down when a tourist bus stops outside the window.
At the table I instantly saw Mary, sitting at the far end.
She looked beautiful.
Her hair was pinned on top of her head, strands tumbling down her neck and cheeks. She turned to talk to the man next to her, ignoring my arrival. Her profile was a replica of Caroline’s, the straight nose and dominant top lip, but when she turned and saw me, the moment of ghostly similarity was lost. Front on there was still no mistaking she was Caroline’s sister, but all four of the Roberts girls, despite similarities, had an individual look. Mary’s face was fuller than Caroline’s and her eyes rounder; she was more Irish to Caroline’s French. I caught her look and we both instantly dropped our eyes, neither wanting to engage the other. My heart thumped at the sight of her. I wondered how I was going to survive this evening because seeing her made me dizzy, being near her again made me feel sick and enchanted all at once. Mike’s hand gently held my elbow and guided me to my seat, as far from Mary as possible. Good old Mike, as usual he’d thought of everything. There were shrieks the length of the table when they realised I’d arrived. I sat between Jo and Duncan, who greeted me enthusiastically as others crowded around for their turn. Through the bodies I saw Mary alone, still seated, her head firmly turned away from the throng around my chair.
I recognised all thirty of the men and women at the table, although some were hard to pick because they’d changed so much and a number of names escaped me. Twelve years ago, when I left school, these people, apart from Dad and the odd family relic, were my world. They were the sum of my experience. Now look at them, a lawyer, a social worker, a teacher, some middle management, mothers, fathers and me. I listened to their talk, as they shared their stories of work and children and instantly recognised each other’s happiness or troubles. They ignored mine, though. No one asked about my life—why should they? They knew every detail of it through the newspapers and magazines. They might be excited to see me, but they looked forward to meeting the others so they could learn more about them. There was nothing to learn about me. And since I cared little about their lives since school, I found myself with nothing to ask them either. It’s funny how we think loneliness comes from being alone, cut off from home, or sitting in some shit hole of a room. For me it came surrounded by people I’d once known intimately. Only when the evening turned nostalgic did I reconnect with them. Only when we revisited our common past were we reunited.
Inevitably the old stories flowed, the ones that meant something only to us. Mike was the catalyst. He rolled down the table like a social tidal wave, initiating tales here and finishing others with the punch line. I watched, I listened and I drank. My God, did I drink.
‘Hey Jack, remember Pendleton’s car?’ I smiled and nodded. The table was beaming at the memory. ‘Remember Fred Pendleton the French teacher?’ Mike’s introduction was unnecessary, everyone knew the story, but he would not be denied his tried and tested beginning. ‘Duncan, Jack and me propped up his old green Mini on bricks and took off the wheels. Do you remember?’ Everyone remembered. ‘Anyway, we stood there admiring our work and when we turned to go, Pendleton was standing there. He didn’t say a word. We just went back to the car, put the wheels on and took the car off the bricks. The thing is, when he came back he’d bought us all a doughnut. No detention, just doughnuts—all he said was that he was so impressed we went and put the wheels on without being asked, he didn’t have the heart to punish us. Imagine that? Pendleton was the grumpiest old sod in the school.’ Everyone laughed. Even I laughed. ‘Remember, Jack? I thought we’d get expelled. Jesus, we were lucky.’
‘I remember.’ I smiled again at the memory.
‘What about the review show in seventh form?’ It was Duncan this time. Everyone was laughing: no doubt this was the centrepiece of any of these gatherings. Jo, who still sat next to me, slapped the table with a flat hand, making the cutlery jump. On the drinks front she had impressively kept pace with me.
‘Oh shit,’ she screamed at the tabletop.
‘Those bloody trousers. Do you remember the trousers, Jack?’ Mike took control of the story.
‘Do I remember them? How could I bloody well forget them?’ How could I forget those nylon red flares that had no fly but two zippers either side of the crotch so that when they were undone a flap fell down. I’d found them at a charity shop. The show was the end of year review and our little group produced a spoof game show where I played a gay quiz master, my costume completed with curly wig and Village People moustache. Jo, Mary, Duncan and Mike played the contestants. I can’t remember the questions now, but I recall how funny we were and how the audience roared at the jokes. The winner, Duncan I think, won a motorbike that in real life belonged to Mike’s older brother. Duncan stripped off to reveal a Freddie Mercury costume and mimed to some Queen song as he bestrode the bike.