You know how every school year, no matter how many birthdays have passed, theres always that core group the mates who still call, meet up, keep the circle tight. So when the big tenyear reunion rolls around, its the same familiar faces handling the whole thing: picking the venue, the menu, the programme all by habit, easy and friendly.
When the guest list came up, the chat got a bit sharper. Of course the teachers have to be invited. But what about the rest of the class?
Everyones coming, said Sam confidently. Except we didnt ask Dave Millar. Hes a bit of a drunkard now.
Dave isnt going to be left out? shouted Lucy, the one with the thickframed glasses. He will! Ive spoken to him.
Lucy, Victoria, the former class rep, said quietly, he might get drunk and make things awkward. I saw him the other day barely steady on his feet, didnt even recognise me.
Lucy just sighed. Its fine. I know hes getting ready.
And maybe, she added, this reunion means more to him than it does to any of us put together.
***
Dave was a different sort of kid at school. Softspoken, kind, never raised his voice or picked a fight. He listened, helped, showed up when anyone needed him. His notebooks were tidy, handwriting neat, dictation papers spotless. Physics and maths came easy; the formulas seemed to whisper answers straight into his head. He nearly always walked away from olympiads with a diploma maybe not first place, but always a result. At assemblies he was placed beside the top students, and when someone put a hand on his chest it felt more like embarrassment than pride thats how he took any compliment.
He dreamed of going to a military academy after Year 9. I still remember the openday visit with his form teacher; he came back buzzing, talking about the uniform, drill, discipline, how theyd train him to be useful. Everyone believed hed make it.
Home was another story. His dad had passed years ago, and his mum drank heavily.
One day, after a serious binge, she turned up for the final school bell ceremony, wobbling at the back, eyes glazed, hair a mess. When Dave was handed his diploma, she suddenly shouted, Well done, Dave! My boy! He stood there, face flushed, hands clenched, wishing he could sink into the floor. Her praise hit him like a random blast exactly what he didnt need at that moment.
His plans for the academy fell apart. He feared his sister would be taken into care if he left, so he stayed on, picking up evening jobs, skipping classes more often, eventually falling in with the wrong crowd and watching everything drift off course.
***
He prepared for the reunion his own way. He found a grey suit two sizes too big but clean. Spent ages choosing a shirt, ironing it, checking the buttons. Shaved carefully, tidied his hair did the best he could. Hed stopped drinking for two days, wanting to be himself when everyone gathered.
When he reached the pub, he hesitated at the door. He lingered just outside, out of sight, watching his old classmates hug, flash something on their phones, crack jokes, laugh loudly, as if life had gotten easier for all of them. He stood there, nervous and unsure, as if a single misstep could shatter the fragile picture of the night.
After about an hour he finally walked in.
He stepped onto the threshold hair clean but unruly, the suit still oversized, shoulders slightly slumped, eyes shy. Lucy called out, Dave, over here! This is your spot! He moved forward. The room sprang to life: toasts, laughter, music.
Dave barely touched his drink or food he just sat, listened, observed, smiling faintly now and then. As the evening wound down, he stood up. His voice trembled, each word feeling like a knot that had been tightening for years finally unravelling: Thank you thank you for inviting me this is probably the best thing thats happened to me in the last fifteen years. His eyes shimmered, a lump rose in his throat, shoulders tightened, hands shook a little. He was exposed, open, like a kid believing for the first time that hed be accepted just as he was.
I Im really grateful Sorry if I ever well, if I ever hurt anyone he went on.
And then the whole table chorused, Of course, Dave! Were glad youre here! Wed never even think about not inviting you! Their genuinelooking words were softened by a chorus of smiles, pats on the back, loud assurances. It felt less like heartfelt compassion and more like a polite social habit nice words, sliding eyes, care put on display. Lucy watched it all, thinking, You didnt really want to invite him
But the best part thank God Dave didnt see the undercurrent. He believed their words because he had no reason to doubt them. He thanked them, gave a shy bow and slipped out early, quietly leaving the room without goodbyes or a second glance.
The rest of the night went on with laughter, old stories, updates on jobs and lives, more clinking glasses and music.
Late that night, Lucy, on her way home, spotted Dave sitting on a bench outside the flat block, under a dim streetlamp. He was hunched over, clearly drunk, eyes glassy, hands on his knees. He didnt recognise her. She walked closer, heart tightening: Why did you drink, Dave? You held it together tonight, you were yourself why now? She looked at him, the dark courtyard, empty windows, the lone lamp, and thought, How many lives break quietly because there wasnt a steady hand, a shoulder, a kind word nearby? If someone had been there, would Dave be sitting here in that illfitting suit, drunk The question hung in the nights silence, unanswered.
