Hurry Up and Wait

by Isabel Ashdown

  ‘That’s terrible. Are they getting her any help?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. Tina can’t even see it. She’s too busy with her own problems to notice Britt. You know her husband buggered off last year, and I think that’s what set off the whole eating thing again.’ She clears her throat as she notices Tina leaving the queue. ‘He went off with the neighbour. She had no idea; one minute he was home, the next minute he’d gone, leaving Tina with the kids. Bastard.’

  ‘Poor Tina,’ says Sarah. ‘That’s awful.’

  ‘You just never can tell, can you?’ Kate whispers, plucking Blondie out from her chest again. She looks under her eyelashes at Tina, who’s carefully setting the drinks down on the table. ‘You never can tell.’

  Tina passes out the drinks and sits on the seat next to Kate, tearing open a large bag of pork scratchings with her teeth. ‘I just saw Mr Green,’ she says. ‘Buying three white wines and a gin and tonic.’

  ‘I don’t even remember him,’ says Kate, craning to get a better view of the queue.

  ‘You know, Physics in the second year?’ says Tina. ‘He had a nervous twitch.’

  ‘Oh, yeah!’ reply Sarah and Kate together, and they laugh.

  Kate starts singing along to ‘Karma Chameleon’, bumping Sarah and Tina on either side, trying to get them to join in.

  Sarah wonders where John is. A lanky bloke in glasses walks past them carrying a tray of beers. He stops suddenly, then turns back and smiles at Tina. It’s Ed. He’s still got great big gaps between his teeth, as if some of his adult ones never came through.

  ‘Heh-hay! Let me see – it’s Tina, Kate and, hang on – hang on – Sara!’ He looks pleased with himself for remembering.

  ‘Sarah,’ she corrects him.

  ‘Sarah. That’s right, now I remember! Yeah, that’s it. Small world, eh?’ He carries on grinning, his upper body curving over the tray like a wilting flower head.

  ‘Well, not really,’ says Kate, pulling a stupid-face.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not really a small world. We were all invited to the reunion, weren’t we? So it’s not that surprising that we’ve bumped into each other.’

  Tina holds her alcopop close to her lips and doesn’t say a word.

  ‘Well,’ says Ed, raising his tray towards them. ‘Better get back. They’ll all be dying of thirst by the time I get these to them!’ He navigates his way through the throng and out of sight.

  The three women look at each other and burst out laughing.

  ‘Oh, Teen,’ sighs Kate. ‘What on earth did you see in him?’

  Tina shakes her head and sucks at her straw.

  Sarah wipes her eyes. ‘I’d wage a bet that he works with computers.’

  ‘I know! What a mega-geek! We can safely say he hasn’t improved with age.’ Kate indicates to Tina to pass her a bowl of crisps. ‘Hey, we should have asked him if he’s seen Dante tonight. Not that I particularly want to see him, you know. I bet he’s gone all bald and ugly – ’

  ‘I doubt he’s here,’ says Sarah. ‘Hope not, anyway.’

  Kate shrieks. ‘Oh, my God, I forgot you went out with him too, Sar!’

  ‘How could you forget that?’ Sarah asks. A sharp memory passes through Sarah’s body in a rush of lucidity: Dante and Kate coupled together on the bed at New Year, their wet lips glistening in the half-light. The full emotion of that moment flows in and out of her like a blast of cold wind. She stares at Kate.

  Kate looks at Tina and shrugs. ‘Dunno. It’s a long time ago.’

  Sarah squints into the crowd, searching for John. Kate shifts in the seat beside her and leans against the edge of the table, crossing her ankles and stretching out her small feet. Sarah notices how her legs have thickened, starting out stocky at the thighs and tapering down into tiny black pumps.

  ‘So you’ve got kids too, haven’t you, Kate?’ Sarah asks.

  ‘Yeah, three. Molly’s my youngest, she’s just five and – ’ She reaches into her handbag and pulls out a wad of photographs.

  Sarah’s heart sinks. Politely, she sits and accepts the pictures, flicking through them as Kate introduces the children, her husband, their car, the old house, the new house…

  Tina holds out her hand for the pictures as Sarah passes them on, glancing at them briefly. ‘I’ve already seen these,’ she says. ‘Have you seen our class photo up on the wall?’

  ‘No!’ says Kate.

  Tina drops the photographs on the table and finishes her bag of pork scratchings, running a wet finger around the inside of the packet to pick up all the flavoured dust. ‘Over there by the meeting point. Jo Allen was standing in front of it earlier, so I didn’t want to go over.’

  Kate jumps up, pulling Sarah with her, and the three women hurry over to the grainy colour photograph stuck on to the wall beside the 1986 sign. They huddle around the picture, pressing in to search for their own faces. ‘Fifth Year Girls, Summer Term 1986’. The pulse in Sarah’s neck is flickering as she gazes into the image; she feels herself sway back on her heels, her inner balance thrown off. She moves closer, resting her hand on the wall, steadying herself against its solid weight. There they all are, the girls of 1986, with their Rita & Sue haircuts and short, nasty skirts and scuffed white slip-ons and oversized green school jumpers from the M&S men’s department. The teachers flank the group, formal and smiling all at once, as the girls squint against the bright sunlight. It was so hot that day, almost unbearable; Sarah recalls the heat on her skin as she lay out on the open playing field, the buzz of summer travelling up through the hard dry ground, all sound muted behind her narrowed eyes. She scans each row in search of her form. She doesn’t remember the class names but she can distinguish between the different bands – there’s Upper Band One at the back, Upper Band Two in the next row. Down at the front are the girls from Lower Band, the kids the caretaker employed to paint the huts and scrub the windowsills while everyone else was sitting their exams. And sandwiched together in the largest group are the girls from the Middle Band, neither overly bright nor totally incapable, idly-middling average girls, the could-do-betters of Sarah’s peer group.

  Gradually, faces come forward, along with their names: Marianne Thomas; Shelley Lowe; Zoe Andrews. Sarah’s ears feel hot.

  ‘There!’ shouts Tina, her finger landing in the middle of the picture.

  Sarah shakes her head as the photograph blurs out of focus and she has to turn away momentarily to recalibrate her eyes. When she looks back at the picture, she sees them instantly. Nestled in between all the other faces, the sunlight white on their hair, are Kate and Tina. She stares at their faces, blinking as the image blurs and shifts. It’s definitely them. She starts to search for herself in the photograph, scanning the picture from top to bottom, over and over again. Finally, with crashing clarity, she realises her own face is missing.

  Of course. She wasn’t even there.

  Sarah excuses herself, initially maintaining her composure as she walks across the hall towards the corridor. Once Kate and Tina are out of sight, she quickly gains pace, weaving in and out of the other guests as fast as they’ll allow. ‘Walk Like an Egyptian’ is playing, and there’s a group of deranged-looking women hanging around outside the toilets trying to do the dance.

  Sarah shuts herself in the far cubicle, standing with her back pressed against the closed door. She drops her head, focusing on her breathing until her heart rate drops to a steady thump. Thump. Thump. Beyond her door, women clatter in and out of the loos, screaming and laughing and gossiping openly about old friends they’ve seen. It’s all fine. Sarah stares at the toilet. She doesn’t really need to go, but perhaps she ought to now she’s here. The facilities have improved since her school years, although the graffiti still seems to be a consistent feature. She wipes the seat with a big clump of toilet paper before sitting down. Mrs Whiff is a man is scrawled across the back of the door in permanent marker pen. Even the toilet roll dispenser has come up to date, unmarked by the melted cigarette bu
rns that could be found on top of every bog roll box in the school. Don’t girls smoke in the loos any more? she wonders. Perhaps not.

  At the sinks she washes her hands vigorously, flicking off the excess water as she waits to use the hand dryer. She surreptitiously studies the other women in the mirror, but none is familiar to her. One woman is banging on a locked cubicle, ‘Come on. Lorrie! You ’aven’t changed a bit – always the last out!’ A cackle comes from the other side of the door, before the second woman spills out from behind it, clearly the worse for drink. There’s a square of toilet paper impaled on her patent blue stiletto. The women leave the toilets without washing their hands, just as Sarah’s dryer shuts off. She checks her make-up and decides to return to the hall to search for John.

  She turns the corner from the toilets into the hallway and walks straight into Mrs McCabe. ‘Sorry,’ she says, putting her hands up in apology.

  ‘Sarah!’ Mrs McCabe exclaims. She pauses to scrutinise Sarah’s face before embracing her warmly.

  Sarah takes a moment to recognise the school nurse. Her blonde wavy bob is now a soft ash tone but she’s still just as tidy and compact as Sarah remembers.

  ‘Sarah,’ she says again, smiling broadly.

  ‘Oh! Mrs McCabe,’ she says. She stands stiffly beside a large red fire extinguisher, as a scattering of women moves past them to and from the toilets. The sound system vibrates through the corridor, causing the framed fire inspection certificate to shake in its casing on the opposite wall.

  ‘How are you?’ Mrs McCabe asks with a confiding tilt of her head. As the curls of her hair fall across her face Sarah recalls her more clearly. She was one of the good ones.

  ‘I’m fine. Really good, thanks. And you?’ She gazes over Mrs McCabe’s shoulder, wishing John would walk past and rescue her.

  ‘Good. Yes, I’m good,’ she says, still smiling broadly. ‘I remember you so clearly, Sarah. Some girls stand out over the years. I’m sure you must have gone on to do something special?’

  Sarah fiddles her neck scarf self-consciously. ‘Not really. I mean, I’ve got a good job, but – ’ She doesn’t have the energy to explain it all. ‘So, what did you have? When you left to have the baby?’

  Mrs McCabe looks surprised. ‘Oh! I had three eventually – the first one was a girl – she’s nearly twenty-five now! And then I had two boys. I came back to the school when they were all old enough. What about you? Any children?’

  Sarah shakes her head. ‘No. I’ve been a bit too busy with my career.’ She rearranges her scarf again.

  Mrs McCabe’s eyes narrow sympathetically. ‘I remember your father taking ill when I was still at the school.’

  Sarah tugs at the hem of her top. ‘He passed away last year.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Sarah,’ says Mrs McCabe. ‘And have you seen any of your school friends tonight?’

  Sarah scans the corridor, to give the impression of searching for somebody. ‘Yes, I was just on my way back to find them. Do you remember Kate and Tina? I haven’t seen them since school, so we’ve got lots to catch up on!’

  Mrs McCabe pats Sarah on the elbow. ‘Good. Well, off you go. It’s lovely to see you after all this time.’

  Sarah says goodbye and walks quickly towards the hall. At the end of the corridor she turns to see Mrs McCabe still in the same position, watching her leave. As she raises a farewell hand Sarah grows light-headed with fear. She gazes back along the corridor, and sees Mrs McCabe standing outside Kate’s house with the spring breeze gently rippling through the blonde waves of her hair. Sarah steps through the doorway as Kate calls her in, clutching to her chest a single creased carrier bag, packed in haste just minutes earlier. She pauses in the doorway to see the school nurse standing beside the car. Mrs McCabe raises her hand once more, her blonde hair lightly swaying, as the front door clicks shut, and Sarah knows she’s gone.

  Her head spins as she turns in through the doors to the party. She pushes past the swaying bodies of the spotlit hall and eventually sees John standing at the edge of a small group of men. His posture relaxes as she touches his arm.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says as he turns to face her. Her heart beats fast and a small nerve flickers in the side of her jaw. ‘I got kidnapped.’

  ‘No probs,’ he replies, and he puts his hand on her shoulder and gives it a squeeze.

  The other men in the group eye her with interest and she turns her back towards them to avoid their scrutiny.

  John tilts his head to see her face. ‘Are you OK?’ he asks.

  ‘It’s too loud in here,’ she replies, slipping her arm beneath his. ‘Come on.’

  Much of the school is locked up, but from the gym they can still access the corridors to the east side of the school. Everywhere is in darkness, lit only by the external security lamps that cast strips of light through the tall thin windows of the building. They tiptoe along the shiny parquet floor in silence. Sarah points to the staircase which runs along the side of the oak library and they sprint up the steps and crouch in the shadows where they can spy down through the galleried balustrade. Cross-legged, they sit side by side, with their faces pushed up against the bars. The toe of John’s pale desert boot touches Sarah’s knee.

  ‘I used to hide out in the library,’ she whispers to John. ‘Especially if I’d fallen out with Kate and Tina. There was this one awful time when they thought it would be funny to start following me all over the school. Any time I wasn’t in a lesson, they’d be there, right behind me. At one point they managed to get a whole group of other girls involved, chasing after me everywhere I went, chanting my name. It felt as if I was going mad.’

  She looks out across the library towards her favourite seat on the far right-hand side. Once they’d discovered her hiding place, they’d started bombarding her with nasty messages, written on jotter paper, balled up tight so they could hit her even from this height and distance. The worst one was only a couple of weeks after she and Dante had broken up; it just said FRIGID in large capital letters. She was crushed to think that Dante might have told Kate everything about the time they spent together.

  ‘But I thought they were meant to be your friends,’ John says, running his hands down the dowel posts.

  Sarah stares across the gallery towards the classroom opposite, where they had Sex Education with Mrs Whiff. Pee-niss, she used to say, as if it were two separate words.

  ‘They were my best friends,’ she says.

  He laughs drily.

  ‘It’s complicated.’

  ‘Not really,’ he says, shaking his head.

  Sarah squints into the darkness below. A few women are creeping around, giggling.

  ‘So, you never got married, then?’ asks John.

  She laughs.

  ‘Me neither.’

  One of the women below is hiding behind a bookshelf. She jumps out at her friend, who lets out a full-lunged scream and runs back into the corridor. ‘You cow!’ The first one is bent over, as if she’s holding her insides together. Sarah and John stifle their laughter, and watch as the group retreat back along the corridor towards the party.

  ‘I recognise her,’ says Sarah. ‘The one who screamed. You remember Barbara, from the chemist’s?’

  ‘How could I forget?’

  ‘That was her daughter, Kim.’

  ‘Really? How can you tell from up here?’

  ‘I could see her gold sovereign rings twinkling in the moonlight,’ she replies.

  John pulls a face.

  ‘I’m joking. But it was definitely her. She looks the same.’

  ‘Poor her. She was pretty rough, wasn’t she? Mind you, just look at her mother; it’s no wonder. I still see Barbara around the town from time to time, riding about in her mobility scooter. She lost loads of weight after she broke her hip, and now she’s all wrinkly and shrunken. She looks like Davros.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘Karma,’ he whispers.

  Sarah walks her fingers up the post, smiling into the darkness.

  ‘I reall
y appreciated your friendship, John. You know, when we worked together.’

  John wraps his fingers lightly over hers. ‘And I really appreciated yours. Of course, I used to wish we could be more than friends. But you were only fifteen.’

  ‘And you were only nineteen. It’s not that much difference.’

  ‘It is at that age. It would have been wrong, somehow. But, well, I don’t think you thought of me like that anyway.’

  ‘More fool me.’ Sarah removes her fingers and places them on top of his, causing her bracelet to brush against his wrist.

  ‘So, you knew it was me?’ he says, pulling back to watch her expression. ‘The bracelet.’

  She rolls a charm between her finger and thumb, shaking her head, suddenly comprehending. ‘No, I didn’t. I had no idea it was you’

  A strong beam of light shines across their faces from a hand-held torch below and they shrink back from its blinding force.

  ‘Ay-ay!’ a male voice calls out. ‘I think we’ve stumbled on a couple of young lovers here!’

  Sarah and John push themselves out of view, Sarah covering her face with her hands, John laughing and scrabbling to his feet. They run around the edge of the gallery and down the stairs again, passing their intruder on their way back along the corridor.

  ‘Naughty, naughty,’ he calls after them, making squelchy kissing noises as they run by.

  Sarah screams and pulls at John’s shirt sleeve to make him run faster. Their shadows rise and fall as they pass the windows of the lower corridor, looming long and high, falling dramatically and rising again. Their footsteps bounce and echo as they run, gradually fading to nothing as they burst through the swing doors and out into the passageway leading towards the gym.

  ‘Drink?’ asks John as they return to the noise of the party. He’s breathing heavily, pushing the hair from his eyes.