Hello. There is something you should know. At school I was obsessed with you. That obsession has only grown with time. Three years ago I began to follow you around. I am actually standing behind you as you read this.
I hadn’t really know what else to write at the time. Finding old friends hadn’t really been a priority – it had been a laugh, a fad – and I’d thought this would suffice for the time being. But as I tapped in my usual password and username, it seemed Friends Reunited disagreed…
Your account has been removed because you have posted abusive or misleading information.
Eh? I couldn’t believe it. I had been banned from Friends Reunited! Who gets banned from Friends Reunited? Banned! For being ‘abusive’! Or ‘misleading’! And which one was it, anyway? What if it had been neither? What if I really had been some kind of crazy-faced stalker, who’d engineered it so that the object of his affection would be reading that profile just as he appeared from behind the curtains? Eh? Then they’d be sorry!
I grumpily created a new account and started to click my way around, feeling slightly dirty thanks to Friends Reunited’s unfounded allegations of abuse and mistrust. I found my way to my first two schools…
Park Place Primary School, Dundee: where I first vomited on Scott Butcher’s lap. I’m not sure why I wrote ‘first’ there; it’s not like it happened more than once. It would have been a pretty odd hobby.
Holywell Junior School, Loughborough: where I was mistaken for P. WALLS and which later burnt down. Two incidents which I must assure you are completely unconnected.
I was to be disappointed. I’d expected a treasure trove of old names – names that would tug at the heartstrings and redden the cheeks. But none of the big guns were on there. None of the major players. None of my gang.
How had Neil done it? How had Neil managed to keep hold of everyone?
Sure, there was Lucy Redmond. But Lucy Redmond stank of chips and used to beat people up.
Mmm. Chips.
Just a few more minutes…
And anyway, who’d want to be reunited with old chippy-fists Redmond? Plus, her uncle once stabbed a man. (I may or may not have changed her name.)
And so I moved on to Ralph Allen School, and then Garendon, but it was the same story. My gang seemed to be a gang that didn’t want to be found. There were interesting diversions, of course. People I remembered, or half-remembered, or thought I remembered. People who were reaching out to their pasts, and saying hello, and filling you in on twenty years in just one or two simple sentences. Whole lives summed up in twelve words or less…
… I’m now dad to Harvey and working in web design…
… I got married in September to Jon, we are very happy…
But where there was celebration, there were also some that hinted at… something else. Dreams gone wrong. Or opportunities missed. Or regrets just realised. Or simply the fear of being forgotten…
… Bought a house. Too young. Had a kid. Too young. Get in touch and let’s remember better times…
… Hi. Does anyone remember me? Pleeeeeease email me if you do…
… Would love anyone who remembers me to get in touch… oh, and if anyone needs a wedding dress, I’ve got one for sale. Worn once, never used…
Some were married. Some already divorced. Some had kids. Some talked only of work. And the first girl I ever kissed had just come out as a lesbian. I was happy for her. Although I couldn’t help but feel slightly responsible.
But down through those long lists of names, on page after page, I saw no Cameron Dewa. No Akira Matsui. And no Christopher Guirrean.
I was just having a strange sense of homesickness for the past. All I really wanted was to see whether these people were okay; whether they were still having fun; whether they were still out there. Just knowing would’ve been enough.
I thought about what Neil’s friend Simon had said tonight, about growing up, about growing older. ‘Makes it seem less worrying, doesn’t it, when you know everyone’s doing it…’
I thought back to Christopher Guirrean. To our first day at school. We had bonded instantly, best friends from the first moment we laid eyes upon each other. For me, he summed up an entire part of my life. A part that had evaporated the minute we’d clambered into our canary-yellow Morris Ital and driven out of Dundee. And as I searched the site, and searched it some more, I realised Chris was nowhere to be seen. Nowhere to be found.
Still. Maybe he’d find me one day.
Maybe he was going through the same thing I was.
It made sense. We were the same age. Always had been. From the same place. Always had been. Maybe right now, Christopher was on a computer, somewhere, too…
Or maybe he was eating chips.
God, I was hungry.
Quickly, I entered a new profile onto Friends Reunited.
Hi. It’s Daniel here. Daniel Wallace. I’m just updating my address book. Get in touch!
I didn’t quite know what else to type. Just updating my address book seemed a good enough excuse. I logged out, and typed a few names into Google. But nothing really startling came up. A Chris Guirrean who was about forty years too old to be mine. An Akira Matsui who was about twenty years too young. I sighed. Ah well. It couldn’t have been that easy. But at least now I’d made an effort to be found. I’d put my fingerprint out there and invited people to get in touch. I’d done something.
And anyway, I thought, what was I so worried about? I was just in a weird place, was all, during a time of change. I wandered into the kitchen and noticed that Lizzie had indeed left me a plate. It was covered in tinfoil, and I filled a glass with water, grabbed a knife and fork and took it all to the living room.
Thing is, I thought, I’d been right last time. I should just be more accepting of the way my life was going. Embrace the sockets that needed mending. Buy more brushed aluminium frames, not less. Display my display cushions. Light a scented candle and put extra cumin and basil and coriander on my sun-dried tomato focaccia.
I sat down on the sofa, feeling marginally better about the whole experience, took a sip of my water and took the tinfoil off my plate.
And then I just stared at it.
It was a lamb, mint and apricot sausage. A sausage of the week. I had been bought a sausage of the week! There was mash, too, though, and I suppose mash is a bit like chips, so maybe I could just pretend this was sausage and chips… but the mash was a bed of minted mash with a hint of rosemary and port jus…
It was the most grown-up post-pub meal possible.
I looked at my tap water, half expecting it to be sparkling.
What would Ian say?
And then I remembered what Ian had said…
‘They have an internet café in Chislehurst now.’
No, not that. The thing about being at peace…
‘Sometimes, to be at peace with what’s coming up, you have to be in touch with what’s already happened.’
He was right!
He was so right!
Yeah, so he’d been talking about Chislehurst at the time, but the point remained. That was why Neil and his mates were so laid-back. That was why turning thirty for him was a night of joy, and friendship, and memories. I suddenly thought about my thirtieth. What would I do? Where would my mates be? Wag would probably still be on tour. Ian would probably be in that internet café. It’d just be me, with four display cushions and a sausage of the week.
Maybe I needed to do what Ian had inadvertently suggested… maybe I needed to be in touch with what had already happened. Subconsciously, I’d already started tonight… I thought back to what I’d written on the web…
Hi. It’s Daniel here. Daniel Wallace. I’m just updating my address book. Get in touch!
I put the plate down and bounded to the corner of the room, where the contents of the box that Lizzie and I had been going through still lay… and there, on the top of the pile…
… was my old address book.
Just updating my address book,
I thought. That’s all. Just updating it.
I flicked it open to page one.
A.
Anil.
Wild West Day at school.
His mum’s curries.
That night in Yorkshire, which we’d always said we’d do again, but never ever did…
Friends Forever.
I picked up my phone. Did I still have his number? It’d been years. I’d changed phones at least twice since then.
I checked.
No luck.
But wait.
I ran downstairs, rifled through my desk, until I found it – an old SIM card from an old phone…
I unfastened the back of my BlackBerry, and jammed the SIM card in…
I turned it back on…
Waiting…
Waiting…
It worked.
I hit Address Book.
I hit A.
And there it was…
ANIL.
I paused for a second.
I pressed Dial.
Minutes later, I sat down, and smiled. I had a plan. Something to do. With no idea of where it would lead, or what would happen, or how it had come to this. But this was fun, I thought. I’m just updating my address book.
I picked up my sausage with my fingers and chewed the end off. The way sausages are supposed to be eaten.
And then something else caught my eye.
I looked at the pile of pictures, and papers, and at the big bundle of letters, all tied together with a red elastic band.
December 19th, 1988
Dear Daniel,
Hello – It’s is Andy here!
At the weekend I went up to Invercarie with Brian and Auntie Anne. Brian bought a new Frisbee. We went to get a Chinese takeaway and as we stopped outside one about twenty kids appeared from nowhere and filled the shop so we had to find another one.
I haven’t had a reply to my last letter yet so I must guess that you are really really busy again! Plus you never answer my questions!
I would have written earlier but couldn’t, this is due to the fact that I was waiting to get a new printer ribbon for my computer and the only place I can get one is Leicester.
I’ve got a new desk!!!!
Not sure you know what’s happening in Neighbours, but today Henry went to work in New Zealand and it was a traditional Neighbours leaving scene showing Bromwin thinking about all the good time’s, and Madge was crying.
HAHA! Remember when we locked Emma Robert’s in the cupboard at school?
I hope you write back soon!
Andy
June 6th, 2006
Andy ‘Clementine’ Clements!
Hello! It’s Daniel here!
I’m so sorry it’s taken me around eighteen years to get back to you, but things have been very hectic here.
I am now a married man who is nearly thirty.
Congratulations on the new desk! And how is the new printer ribbon? Yes, it was fun locking that girl in a cupboard.
Andy, I recently found all your old letters in a big box my parents sent me. I have been reminded of all the fun we had; fun I’d completely and utterly forgotten about.
From reading them again, it seems like I didn’t reply much. I’m sorry.
But better late than never. Please rest assured I will answer all the questions you had for me, and give my advice where I can.
Your pal,
Daniel
P.S. I hope you have stopped locking girls in cupboards. I am trying to cut down, but it is just so hard once you have the taste for it.
Chapter Five
In which we learn that Daniel has lost his youthful menace…
THE TRAIN PULLED into Loughborough on a fine and sunny Saturday lunchtime and I hopped cheerfully out.
I’d rushed to the internet and booked the ticket the very same night I’d managed to find Anil’s number. He was heading back home that weekend to see his parents and had immediately invited me to stay. I’d had no hesitation in saying yes. I’d known, there and then, that this would be fun.
The next morning, of course, I’d considered the potential awkwardness of it. Of spending a weekend revisiting things that I’d never thought I’d need or want to revisit. But what if this was exactly what I needed? What if all I needed was a quick blast from the past to be able to move on?
And anyway – this was a one-off. A salute to times gone by. All I was doing was updating my address book. Making an effort. Doing something. Seeing a friend.
The station hadn’t changed one bit in the sixteen years since I’d last seen it. And I mean not one bit. But then, as I’d find out, nothing much did change in Loughborough. I’d managed to spend six happy years here. Happy years of not much more than cycling about, and running around. Of mild, leafy summers and mild, never-allthat-chilly winters and mild, conker-filled autumns… which reminded me of something…
CONKED OUT!
Delayed by other events, the annual conker championship at Holywell Primary School, Loughborough, between finalists Timothy Sismey and Daniel Wallace was declared a draw when, after thirty ‘strikes’ each, both boys had registered the same number of hits.
Impressive enough. But even more impressive… one witness described the event as ‘eye-popping’. Oh yeah. And I’ll tell you what: it had been eye-popping. An eye-popping finale to a legendary competition. But the truth was – and this breaks my heart – Timothy Sismey had won that year; not drawn. My prize conker, Brutus – discovered under a bush, as if a gift from God – had been splintered and scattered across the school hall, in full view of more than two hundred excited children, their tiny fists punching the air, as the classic face-off they’d been waiting weeks to witness had finally ended. The annual conker competition was the highlight of our year – trained for in every playtime and on the slow walk home after school. Dozens had entered, but only the brave and talented few had made it through to the finals. This year had not been without controversy. Luke Trehearne had been banned after rumours had surfaced that his dad had been secretly varnishing his conkers. Which is a rumour that twenty years later could land you jail time. But now, here we were – me versus Sismey. My conker nemesis. The battle of the 1980s. And Sismey… had triumphed.
I had accepted my defeat with grace. We had both been given a box of Toffifee bought from a garage as prizes. Tim, as the winner, received a 24-pack. Mine contained a mere eight. But I never really got over it. His victory over me was made all the worse by the Echo’s inaccurate coverage of the event. ‘Congratulations!’ family friends would say when they saw me. ‘I read about the conker championship.’ I would then have to tell them that they were mistaken, that Timothy Sismey was the real victor, that I had come a mere second. And in that moment I would see their respect and admiration for me dwindle, so I’d tell them about the swimming gala, but I just knew as they walked away that they were thinking, ‘I’m sure P. Walls won that…’ Since then, I’d kept largely quiet about the whole thing.
Incidentally, you might be surprised that the Loughborough Echo decided to report on what now, more than twenty years later, seems a little less important than it did then. But this is the Loughborough Echo, where no story is too small. These are four completely genuine headlines from the Loughborough Echo, which all ran in the same edition, this year:
STRANGER STARED AT BY LOCALS
This was the news that a stranger had been spotted in town, and that some locals had stared at him.
TOWN NEARLY HAD TRAMS
This was the news that someone had just found out that Loughborough had once nearly had trams, but then in the end hadn’t.
MOTH CAPTURED ON FILM
This was the news that someone had taken a picture of a moth in their back garden. It was accompanied by a picture of a moth. It remains unclear whether this was the same moth that had been seen in the garden, but the eyewitness does go to some lengths to explain that he had seen a moth the previous year, although that was in the front garden.
And f
inally, my favourite:
NO ONE INJURED IN ACCIDENT
No one injured in an accident! Alert Larry King! And all of these incredible events occurring in just one week in the Bronx of the East Midlands – Loughborough! Suddenly, I am surprised that news of a conker match between two children was not at the time deemed worthy of a souvenir pull-out section.
I folded the article back up, put it in my pocket, and wandered out of the station. And there, standing by the entrance, under the big sign saying LOUGHBOROUGH, was the man I’d come to see.
Anil Tailor.
We jumped into a sparkling, mint-green Mini and Anil revved it up. ‘It’s my sister-in-law’s. You know Sunil got married? I’m an uncle now!’
Jesus. An uncle. Anil didn’t look old enough to be an uncle. Mind you, he hardly looked old enough to be a nephew. When I’d seen him in Huddersfield that time, he’d looked every bit the man. He’d shaved his head and he was wearing smart clothes; the successful young architect about town. But today – today he looked like the boy I used to know. I’m not saying he was wearing tiny velour running shorts and a Ninja Turtles top, like the old days – but there was something in his eyes. And something in the fact that here we were, together again. A kind of childish glee.
‘So to what do I owe the pleasure?’ asked Anil.
‘I just realised it’d been so long,’ I said. ‘I mean, I know we saw each other that time in Yorkshire, but…’
‘Hey – check it out!’ he said, pointing at the coach ahead of us. The sign on the back read WALKER COACHES.
‘Remember Andrew Walker from school?’
‘Yeah?’ I said.
‘That’s one of his coaches!’
Blimey. So Andrew Walker was now Loughborough’s premiere coach magnate. He probably had a red leather chair and smoked cigars. I still thought of him as the kid whose stink bomb accidentally went off in his pocket during assembly one day. He was also the first of us to admit that he got funny feelings when he saw Sue Ellen from Dallas in the shower.
‘What about the other guys? Do you know anything about them?’ I asked.
‘Remember Richard De Rito?’
Friends Like These Page 6