We made our way back down the stairs, through the kitchen where there was no sign of Sophie, thank God, and out of the back door. I hadn’t seen anyone in the back garden earlier, so hopefully we could stay under the radar.
There were a couple of slatted wooden sun loungers on the patio, and we lay down on our backs under the clear, star-studded night sky. I could still hear the noise of the party – the heavy thud of the music, a buzz of chatter, the occasional whoop of laughter – but it had receded, as if it was happening far away, to people who had nothing to do with me. The air smelled cool and clean and I breathed easily for the first time all evening.
We were silent for a while, until Maria flipped onto her side and looked at me.
‘So go on, what have you heard then?’
I continued to stare at the night sky with a studied calmness I was far from feeling.
‘About what?’
‘Me, of course. My mum thought we could leave it behind, but I’m not stupid, I know the rumours will have followed me here.’
‘I haven’t heard anything about you, honestly,’ I lied.
I could tell that part of her wanted to talk, to share whatever it was that had followed her from London, which had already excited the attention or attracted the opprobrium of her new classmates. Whatever it was, it was making me feel on edge. I didn’t know if I wanted to be drawn into her world, so I stayed silent, giving her no encouragement.
She remained on her side looking at me for a couple of minutes, until, seeming to come to a decision, she rolled back to face the sky. We lapsed into peaceful silence. My hand flopped over the side of my lounger and brushed against Maria’s, and she linked her little finger to mine, our hands swinging gently together as we watched our breath curl into the night air.
‘Hello, lovebirds!’ Sophie’s voice was strangely triumphant.
My heart leapt. I snatched my hand away from Maria’s, swung my legs hastily round and sat up far too quickly, head spinning. The back door had swung open and a shaft of light illuminated the dark space between our sunbeds. Sophie was silhouetted in the doorway, Matt and Sam lurking behind her. What had they seen? I must have swayed, because Matt’s expression changed from prurient interest to mild concern.
‘Hey, are you OK? Are you going to be sick?’
‘I’m fine.’ I gripped the edge of the sun lounger.
‘Come and get some water.’ Suddenly, Sophie was all motherly concern. She pulled me up, put an arm around my shoulder and started to usher me inside. I allowed her to, only risking a look back when I was halfway through the open door. I expected to see anger, contempt or even pity. I wasn’t prepared for the naked despair on Maria’s face as Sophie led me away from her and back to the party.
Chapter 10
2016
As I approach the school, still thinking uneasily of my conversation with Esther, the landmarks start to mount up: the bus stop with its carpet of cigarette butts; the high fence that still runs the length of the playground; the noticeboard by the front gate with its tatty bits of paper advertising God knows what. The buildings are largely unchanged, the old part of the school still handsome with its Victorian red-brick facade, the ‘new’ buildings grey and blocky, the product of sixties architecture that once thought itself so terribly modern.
I was planning to drive straight past, take a quick look at the place, but amongst the faded notes on the noticeboard that look like they’ve been there since my time at school, a garish poster demands my attention. I slow to try and read it, and can just make out the rainbow-coloured bubble writing: School Reunion – Class of 1989.
I brake sharply and swing over to the side of the road, parking haphazardly half-on and half-off the pavement. I dart across the road, ignoring the hoots and furious gestures of a driver who has to swerve to avoid me, and read the poster from top to bottom: it promises a disco, pay bar and cold buffet; eighties tunes and old friends. I look behind me, feeling weirdly guilty, as if someone might catch me out. I hear Esther’s voice in my head: Still tagging along, Louise?
I cross back to my car and sit at the steering wheel for a few minutes, staring over at the school, trying to get to grips with the emotions tumbling inside me. I’m a completely different person now to the girl who came here every day for five years, and yet I wonder whether that can be true. There must be some core part of me that is the same. The girl who did the things I did is me. That was what made being with Sam so safe. He knew the real me, and I knew he’d never tell anyone about what I had done. He would tell me so sometimes, when we lay together, absorbed in each other, the rest of the world shut out. Promise me that despite the terrible thing I had done, he would never leave me. But of course he did, in the end.
I start the engine and pull off. When I get to the end of the road I have a choice of turning left to head out of town, or right, towards the main residential part of Sharne Bay. I turn right, realising as I do that the contours of the road have been saved somewhere in my brain, a muscle memory that still works over twenty-five years on. Without thinking, I take another right towards my old house. The street is still lined with identikit 1970s houses, the front gardens neat and well cared for. There’s at least two cars on every drive now – some people have even managed to squeeze three on.
Rather than turning the car around in this narrow street, I decide to carry on and rejoin the main road at a different point, but when I get to the junction where I need to turn right, I find the road has been made one-way, so I have to carry on. I turn left and right at random, trusting that I’ll end up back on the main road at some point – Sharne Bay’s a small town, I’m hardly likely to get lost. But as familiar landmarks begin to catch my eye – the post box built into a brick wall, that high box hedge on the corner – I gradually begin to realise that I am far from lost. I am on the road where Maria lived, a street of small Victorian terraces cramped together behind narrow pavements. These houses don’t have driveways so the street is busy with parked cars, but there’s a space opposite number 33, and I pull over, remembering the last time I was there, lying on Maria’s bed, laughing until my stomach ached. I try to recall the last time I laughed like that, but I can’t. Maybe it doesn’t happen in adult life. It’s stuffy in the car where I’ve had the heating on, so I decide to have a walk, get some air and then head back to London – leaving this nostalgia-fest, or whatever it is, behind me.
As I get out of the car, a bald man of about my age comes along the pavement with a baby in a buggy. As he passes me, our eyes meet and there’s a second of non-recognition before I gasp and he does a double take.
Oh my God. A shard of ice slithers down my back. He looks older, of course, older than his years in fact, but I’d know him anywhere. It’s Maria’s brother, Tim Weston.