Chapter Seven

Bryony

Most Likely to Become Famous

For all I was worried - okay, terrified - about how this reunion party was going to go, I ll be the first to brag that I absolutely killed it.

People can t stop talking about the decorations, the vibes, how awesome it is to be back here with everybody. Even the cheap plastic trays of sausage rolls and sad-looking packets of crisps are going down a treat; I managed to talk Steph into ordering a bunch of pizzas, and a few other people pitched in money towards the order.

The mood took a definite lift when Ryan showed up and honestly, trust him to rock up an hour late. But he is the go-to party guy, even if he s a bit of a tight-laced politician these days, so I ll cut him some slack for it. It was a pretty epic entrance, to be fair.

But, as even Ryan Lawal knows, the spotlight in this school ultimately belongs to me.

I stride up onto the stage and use a remote control to turn the volume down on the music. I pick up the microphone from the stand and turn it on; it s temperamental at the best of times so I brace myself, but let out a sigh of relief when the screech of feedback doesn t wail through the speakers. Another sign that everything is going exactly my way tonight. Total W, Bryony.

And really, everything is going my way. It s exactly as I pictured in my less panicked moments in the run-up to the reunion. The flattery, the awe, the steady stream of, Gosh, haven t you done well for yourself! Everybody s snooped around on social media to see what other people are up to these days, I know it - if not out of genuine curiosity, then because they re worried they should have been keeping up to date with their old classmates lives all this time.

I m no exception. I spent weeks looking people up. Although, part of that was so I could update Steph s old presentation with some more recent photos.

Well. No, actually, the presentation was just the excuse I created for myself so I could convince myself that I was being productive, instead of trying to find proof that everyone else was as miserable as me these days, trapped by the short-lived glory of their youth and long nights of marking homework in front of true crime documentaries on Netflix.

Still. We ve all been trawling Instagram and Facebook and stuff, and that s why people think I spent a week on set in Sicily for the new Knives Out movie, when actually I just had a minor role in an indie movie of the same name on a cleverly designed set in Tenby. It s not like anything on my social media is patently false , but

It s not exactly true, either.

On my better days, I tell myself that I m manifesting (cue sparkle emojis). I m putting out into the universe how I want my life to be; if I can create and cultivate the reality I aspire to, then it will happen. I can pretend that every local theatre production I do lifts my spirits and speaks to the performer in my soul. Or that getting cast for tiny bit-parts in productions or taking work as an extra during the school holidays scratches that itch, is a foot in the door and a step on my way to those goals of landing leading roles on the West End or in a movie.

But the sad reality is that I resent the plays and musicals I perform locally because all I can think is that I know I deserve better than this. And I cry every time I come home from set because it s not a foot in the door - it s the door slamming in my face because I was never good enough in the first place. I feel sick every time I upload something on Instagram, but it s like an addiction - corrosive and compelling all at once. That little kick of dopamine when someone comments wow! takes the edge off for a moment.

The closest I get to that pride in a job well done these days is when I see one of my kids amped up in class, because they know they nailed it, and I helped that happen.

But here - tonight - it doesn t matter what s true and what s not, and it doesn t matter what keeps me up at night.

Because the only reality here is the one they believe. The one I can make myself believe in, too, for just a little while. Long enough to numb the sting of what could have been.

Walking up on the school stage like I own it, I don t feel like a washed-up has-been whose whole life is a failure. I feel confident, comfortable, because this is exactly where I belong.

I feel like me . The Bryony who could have been. The most likely to one.

I want to be her all the time.

The two plain white stage lights I set up here ahead of time catch perfectly on my outfit, which may or may not be (but, most definitely is) by design. My sequinned jumpsuit and I cast a sudden riot of colour throughout the room like a rainbow disco ball, even brighter and more dazzling than the coloured stage lights that are on the floor around the hall.

All eyes are on me and conversations lull instantly.

Hello, Class of 2014! I bellow, and a raucous cheer sounds out, amplified by the room s acoustics. Arms lift into the air to raise paper cups, and some people clap.

I give them their moment, let it settle while I soak up the atmosphere. Ryan and his mates stamp their feet in the middle of the room, but it s Steph and her girls who whoop the loudest. My eyes snag on Hayden, standing a full head above the group he s with, and he looks way more relaxed than earlier - smiling, now, with a lopsided ease in the slope of his shoulders. I see some of the spouses and other halves who ve come along with flushed faces and bright eyes. If they re all having a good time, I m considering it another win.

God, well, it s been a while, hasn t it? I think last time I saw you lot, it was in the field behind the pub off Parsons Lane on results night. Our last hurrah before we all set off for uni and went our different ways - and one last chance to get absolutely shitfaced on Strongbow cider and vodka we nicked from our parents liquor stash. Good times, right?

The best of, actually.

It was all downhill from there.

And it s so awesome to reconnect with everybody again now and see what everybody s up to! All those big dreams realised, the weddings and kids and houses and careers

I point to a few people in the crowd in turn. Roisin, who was declared Most Likely to Go Viral , has a fairly successful plant blog. RJ - Most Likely to end up on a Reality Show - well, he was on an episode of Watchdog after he ended up getting his credit card stolen. Mardy Mira With The Lipliner, Most Likely to Change the World , has been hugely involved in protests since leaving school, and is constantly sharing petitions on Facebook to try to drum up support (and has finally stopped mismatching her lipliner to her lipstick like some ill-advised fashion statement).

It s amazing to see where life has taken us all. Thank you everybody so much for making the trip here tonight and coming along. I know that the old school hall isn t where we d picture spending an unforgettable Friday night, but A polite laugh ripples through the crowd, and I smile. Not to play teacher or anything and remind you about the fire exits or the no-smoking rules, but I just thought I d pop up here and say a few words. Which, ah, now also includes a note that any designated drivers or sober people out there might want to stay away from the punch. Not that I m naming any names, but, it looks like our future PM still has a naughty streak in him. Ryan Lawal .

The rugby lads surrounding him all jeer, cuffing him around the head and shaking him with that weird brand of affectionate roughhousing that they clearly haven t grown out of. He shrugs them off and straightens up to flash me that heartbreaking grin of his. God, we used to swoon over that smile.

(Judging by the blushes I notice on more than a few cheeks, we still do.)

Don t tempt me with a detention, Bryony, he calls out, and winks. Or I ll show you just how naughty I can be.

More jeers and laughs, but this time there are many high-pitched giggles from some of the women around the room. I probably would be one of them, if not for the fleeting panic that - he knows, he knows I m a liar and I m just a teacher, oh, God, it s over .

But it s just Ryan being Ryan, playing up to his adoring crowd and being a shameless flirt, and I breathe a little easier.

Give it up for our Junior Deputy Vice Assistant Minister, Associate Something of State, whatever the hell you are, for Digital, Sports and Culture, everybody.

Someone near the stage says the correct title of his department, but I ignore them in favour of a sarcastic eye roll and clap in Ryan s direction. He gives a small bow, because we re all in on the joke.

Because I m obligated to, I carry on by reminding everybody of the fire exits and to not smoke, vape, or anything else inside the building, and please not to go off exploring old classrooms.

I am not having the headmistress phone me up on Monday and complain that some drunk ruffians defaced the whiteboards in the history rooms with drawings of penises. You re almost thirty, do better. Again, not naming names - Freddie Loughton, Greg Willis, - God, I almost called him Noodles Greg out loud, awkward - Hassan Khalid Ashleigh Easton .

Everybody turns to pin her with a look, and it s like we are back to being teenagers and someone getting told off in assembly, because a mocking, shocked chorus of, Oo-oo-ooh! sounds out. I m pretty sure we all remember that giant, extremely detailed, flaccid dick she drew on Mr Higgins board for us to discover one morning in Year Eleven biology.

Ashleigh, to her credit, takes a sip of her drink and raises one eyebrow, her mouth twisted up in a careless smirk. I just wanted to make sure they knew what they were dealing with, anatomically speaking.

One of Shaun s mates - Two-Timing Josh - shouts, We knew! Ryan proved that when he returned the favour!

As the attention swings to Ryan, Ashleigh gives a loud snort. Yeah . Hardly Georgia O Keeffe. All he did was prove that he didn t know the difference between the urethra and the clit. Small wonder he s still single.

I choke on a laugh, glee lighting up my face as my jaw drops. Ryan is lifting his hands up in surrender and shrugging affably, not even bothering to defend himself, and all I want to do is have everybody lift Ashleigh up on their shoulders while we applaud her.

I m so adding her on Instagram and seeing if she wants to meet up for drinks at some point after all this.

Well. If I can stomach the idea of having one person - one very judgemental and ruthless person at that - know the truth about my life. I don t know if I can stomach that; but I also know this is a lie I can t keep up in person for longer than tonight. I know not everybody has led the life we expected them to, that we ve all grown up and changed and that, for all tonight s nostalgia, the reality is that we re none of us who we used to be.

But what am I supposed to do? Let go of the idea of who I could have been? As long as these people believe I m a successful actress, that I m making a living as a performer, doing what I love, travelling the world and leading the exciting life I always said I would As long as they believe I m that person, then part of me still is . These people have become strangers, but they re the ones who give life to the old dreams I m not ready to let die just yet.

Maybe I won t try to drum up a friendship with Ashleigh beyond tonight, after all. Maybe it s - just not worth it.

Right now, all I can do is take back control of the room to say, Well, if in doubt - gents, ask your girlfriends, wives, whatever. Do yourself a favour and google before asking Ryan. There s a reason he s not the Health Minister. But other than that - we ve got some pizzas on the way, the guest book is by the door if anybody hasn t had a chance to sign it yet And have fun! Here s to the Class of 2014 - most likely to have one more truly unforgettable night together!