Chapter Eight

Steph

Most Likely to End Up Together

Sweetie, I m just going to get another drink. Do you want anything?

Curtis shakes his head, busy talking about some sporting scandal that s been making headlines lately with a few other guys he s made friends with. I smile at the sight; there s something that feels so inevitable about how he s getting on so well with Priya and Morgan s boyfriends. Like a jigsaw piece slotting right into place.

It really is like nothing has changed with the girls, and I can t believe we ve gone ten whole years hardly speaking to one another. The friendship is so natural, so constant, and the way we giggle and talk excitedly over each other makes my heart ache; theirs is a presence I didn t even realise was missing from my life, and now I can t imagine letting them go again. We ve already put brunch in our calendars for next month and Morgan has reserved a table in a cute bistro she loves, and we ve been talking about another group holiday as if we only just got back from the last one, and didn t drift apart for no real reason after it.

It s so nice to reconnect with the girls and to see everybody again. Ashleigh is an absolute bombshell these days, and Hayden talking excitedly about his daughters as soon as he gets the opportunity is the most adorable thing I think I ve ever seen. It s even good to see people I didn t know all that well at school, nice to see them doing well and feeling like I ve made some new friends.

There s just one person I haven t quite had the guts to go and catch up with properly yet, and I know I can t avoid him all night.

Shaun has stuck near the tables with the food and drink, and I have the feeling it s on purpose. He s doing it for the same reason I ve stuck to the opposite side of the hall near the windows - because if we stay in the same spot and let others come to us, there s no chance of us accidentally bumping into each other.

Which is silly, because we didn t end things on bad terms, and this is a reunion - the whole point is to bump into people you haven t seen for ages. But it s different, because this is Shaun we re talking about.

I know, deep in my heart, that it s different, because when I caught his eye after he arrived and smiled at him, he had that look on his face. After the momentary shock, his face softened, lips curving into a sweet, subtle smile that reached his eyes and turned them to melted chocolate. It was exactly the same expression as the one on the photograph of the two of us in my handbag.

I didn t realise how nervous I was to see him again, or how much I needed that reaction from him, but the way it made my heart swell only makes me feel guilty. It s not just the two of us anymore; we aren t each other s whole world and haven t been for a long while. We ve both moved on, built new lives with new people.

So why does everything feel exactly the same between us?

For the last hour or so, we keep glancing towards the other at exactly the same time, or we ll look around at everyone else only to find ourselves looking at each other, and share a quick smile before going back to our conversations. We always used to be so in sync; it s astonishing that no distance or time apart could change that.

Even now, as I clutch my empty paper cup in both hands and make my way towards the table for a refill, I notice Shaun peel away from his group. His back is to me, so I know he hasn t done it on purpose, but we arrive at the punch bowl at the same time - both standing there, facing one another, unable to do anything but drink in the sight of the person we first fell in love with.

Shaun s hardly changed. His face still has that boyish quality to it that gives him a naturally approachable sort of aura, even if his jawline is a little more defined these days. There are smile lines around his brown eyes, and even if it s a little longer and thinner these days, he s still wearing his hair in that exact same style, combed into a neat quiff that accentuates his widow s peak.

I know that face so well; I have to fight every impulse to reach up and touch it.

His mouth curves into a smile, his eyes fixed so intently on mine that I wonder if he s thinking the same thing. And his voice is soft when he says my name, so quietly that I shouldn t be able to hear him over all the hubbub, but I do.

Hi, Steph.

Hi, I say, and it comes out in a whisper. Shaun.

He lets out a long sigh, his breath ghosting over my skin and sending a small shiver down my spine; it s as if he s been craving hearing me say his name. As ordinary and inoffensive as the exchange is, it feels so heart-wrenchingly intimate that my eyelids flutter.

Shaun gets a hold of himself first; he turns towards the punch bowl and clears his throat, sparking me into action as I mimic his movements. He fills up his own cup and then holds out a hand to do the same with mine. Some horrible, hideous part of me wants to know how it feels when his fingers brush mine, if it will still send the same thrill through me as whenever he d hold my hand around the school corridors or on weekend trips to the cinema, but my heart is in my throat and the guilt presses down on me harder, so I hand the cup over quickly and keep my hands to myself.

It becomes so hard to look directly at Shaun as he hands my drink back to me, if only for the undeniable flutter of butterflies in my stomach and the rapid pitter-patter of my heart. It s hard to look at him and see the same tumult of old emotions resurfacing in him, too.

This is fab, isn t it? I say, and now my voice sounds too loud, too rushed - I ve turned into a nervous fourteen-year-old talking to a boy she likes for the first time outside of class. The red carpet is so fun and I like the balloon arch. Have you taken pictures with it yet? We haven t had a chance, all too busy playing catch-up. It s funny, how much it feels like old times with everybody, don t you think? And I like the presentation. Such a cute touch! Bryony must ve spent ages finding photos of everybody to update it.

I have to stop to catch my breath, and find myself stealing a glance at Shaun. His mouth is split into a wide smile and it s one I recognise from way back when. He used to wear that look on his face when I d fill him in on all the gossip and chatter about my day and the things the girls had said and the homework I d gotten, like he can t quite keep up, but he could listen to me talk all day.

Don t do that, Shaun, please. I can t handle it.

He pauses, and his eyebrows twist upwards in the middle ever so slightly as he silently asks if I m done. My skin is flushed hot, and I gulp down half of the punch - and promptly try (and fail) not to choke at the burn of alcohol in it.

Shaun laughs. Pretty strong, isn t it?

Mm, I murmur. I don t drink much these days. Not beyond a few mimosas once a month, or a glass of wine over dinner with Curtis every so often as a bit of a treat.

Deciding I m finished babbling for the moment, Shaun takes a breath and says, Yeah, it s great, isn t it? Bryony did a brilliant job. And it s good to see all the old crowd.

Even RJ?

The question slips out before I can stop it, accompanied by a tilt of my head and sceptical look. Shaun never forgave RJ for flirting with me at Morgan s New Year s Eve party in Year Twelve and even got in a bit of a fight with him during a friendly game of five-a-side one lunchtime. It was the only time Shaun ever got detention; I d been thrilled by the idea of a boyfriend who defended my honour, even if RJ was only a harmless nuisance.

There s a beat as the memories flash in front of Shaun s eyes, too, and he shakes his head with a warm chuckle. The sound is like treacle, sticking to me slowly, dragging me down with it. Well, he says. Maybe not him.

We lapse into silence. Bryony s cheesy playlist moves from Dizzee Rascal to Taylor Swift s Love Story , and the sound of it seems to bleed through my whole body, the lyrics suddenly the only thing I can think about. I try to count my heartbeats instead, even though I know this silence has already stretched on too long and is verging on, not awkwardness, but that old intimacy that we used to share.

That, apparently, we still do.

I say the first thing that comes to mind in an attempt to break it. D you remember when I sang this to you for your birthday?

It s the worst thing I think I could have said. It s one of those sweet but cringeworthy memories of being young and in love - doing something worthy of the movies and feeling on top of the world at the time as you set a new high bar for great romances, but also fills my adult self with horror at how I ever thought standing in front of a boy and singing a love song to him was a better idea than buying him a LYNX Africa gift set, or even a good idea at all.

It s also a terrible thing to have brought up, because it makes me think of standing in Shaun s bedroom and sitting on his lap to kiss him afterwards, and letting his hands roam underneath my school blouse for the first time.

I learnt it on your guitar, I add quickly. I - don t remember being very good. Gosh, the cringey things we used to do in the name of romance. You poor thing, having to suffer through that performance.

Shaun s smile pulls up higher on one side. We have very different memories of that birthday, in that case. I didn t exactly feel like I suffered through it, given-

He stops abruptly and the most endearing blush steals across his cheeks. It stains the tips of his ears bright pink.

Instead of talking about my boobs and the unsure, excited fumbling around that day in his bedroom, he clears his throat and turns to face the rest of the room before asking me in a strange, rough voice, Is that your Curtis, then?

My Curtis.

My fianc , I say and the word tastes like ash, as if just allowing myself to entertain these memories of my relationship with Shaun, his smile, the way he says my name has poisoned it. I follow Shaun s gaze across the hall. Yes. And - you brought Aisha with you?

He nods.

He takes a short, sharp sip of his drink, and then another. And another.

She s very pretty. She seems lovely.

She is, he tells me, still in that strange voice.

This is wrong, it s all so wrong. When he posted online that they were engaged, I felt genuinely pleased for him when I commented to wish them both a big congratulations. We were so far in the past, and their photos together were very sweet. Likewise, Shaun congratulated me on my engagement announcement on social media, but I felt no differently over his comment than anybody else s from school or old uni friends.

But this is wrong. Talking about our partners feels wrong. Not talking about them feels wrong.

A man walks up to us. Or rather, he walks up to the table to get himself another drink, and we happen to be right in the way. I know he s one of the rugby lads, but his name dances right at the edge of my memory. I can remember sitting in the row behind him in French and how he d lean his chair right back into my desk, and I know he was always acting the class clown - often only being reined in by Ryan, rather than any threats of detention from the teachers. His sense of humour tended towards bullying rather than genuine comedy, as I recall.

I can remember having to pair with him for a French oral exam and the way he laughed about the word oral every time someone said it, but can t remember his name. It s funny, the things my memory has decided were worth storing in the archives, and what information it threw in the bin.

He swaggers up to us with a broad grin. Alright, you two?

Hey, Freddie, Shaun says, and - yes! That s it! How could I have forgotten Freddie Loughton? The smell of ale clings to him, and he s clearly tipsy enough that I assume he was in the gang who went to the pub before coming here. How s it going, mate?

All good, all good, can t complain, y know?

We shuffle out of the way as he helps himself to the spiked punch with a sloppy pour, and drops spill onto the papery tablecloth, staining it pink. Shaun s arm bumps into mine and I have to swallow a gasp at the heat that emanates from the touch, the flutter of excitement I feel over the electricity in that simple connection. Is it still there, or is nostalgia playing tricks on me?

I peek over at Shaun, only to find him straightening up immediately and tucking his arms close into his sides. The blush is still on his cheeks, or perhaps it s a new one. I watch the motion of his throat as he clenches his jaw and swallows, hard.

Not nostalgia, I decide. It s still there.

Freddie stops to face the two of us. He brushes some of his heavily styled sandy hair back even though it s so full of product that not even a rainstorm could budge it. So what re you guys up to these days?

I tell him that I m a paralegal and studying part time; Shaun says he s in HR, but thinking about looking for a new job since there s not much progression available in his current company. Freddie, it turns out, works in investment banking in Manchester.

Do you like it there? I ask politely.

Can t complain, he says. Work with some right arseholes, but the money s good.

I pinch my lips and notice Shaun giving me a sidelong look. He s busy trying not to laugh - probably thinking the same thing as me: that it sounds like Freddie fits right in with the other alleged arseholes in his office.

Did you bring anyone along tonight? I ask then, because he s still standing around with us.

Huh? Oh, nah. The bird I m seeing, it s just casual. This isn t her scene.

Oh. How long have you been with her?

He shrugs. Since September.

Shaun s tone is dry when he says, Only ten months or so then. Very casual.

It goes right over Freddie s head. He grins and raises his drink. Exactly, mate. You get it. I mean- A laugh bursts out of him, and his eyes dart down to the diamond sparkling on my left hand, visible where my fingers are wrapped around my cup. Only took you, what, ten years to put a ring on it. You get it.

I flush. Oh, no, that s not-

And Shaun is saying, Er, we aren t actually-

Freddie slings his arm around my shoulder though, with a camaraderie we have never shared and which makes me stumble a little now. Ah, you two were always a cute pair. Bae goals. You ve got a real keeper on your hands here, Shaun, mate. Don t let her get away. My old French buddy, huh?

I brace myself for the inevitable oral joke, a reflex honed and never quite forgotten, it seems, and note with surprise that Freddie has kept hold of those inconsequential, unremarkable memories of school, too.

He doesn t bother with the joke for once, though, and Shaun seems stunned into silence by his words. Neither of us put Freddie right when he meanders back off to where Ryan is holding court in the middle of the hall, surrounded by people eager for a piece of him. I should go and say hello, too, but I don t want to be a pest, or interrupt anything.

We both stand quietly as Freddie leaves, and then I hear the heavy rush of breath as Shaun exhales. I look over in time to see his shoulders sag, and he draws his gaze up to meet mine. There s a sadness in those eyes that hits a nerve, calls out to the ache buried deep in my heart where he used to take up so much space, and all I can do is stare back at him and think, I know .

The song changes; someone shrieks with laughter nearby. Reality beckons.

Um, right, I mumble. I suppose I ought to-

At the same time, Shaun says, He s right.

Sorry?

Freddie. He s right. You were a real keeper, Steph.

I-

I don t know what to say to that. I don t know what I can say to that, because there s a niggle of doubt about what he truly means. That he shouldn t have let me go? Or is it merely an acknowledgement that what we had was good, back when? I think I know which it is, but I know that replying to it will be dangerous. The words sound like a promise; the truth is, they re a grenade.

And then Josh is calling to him, beckoning him over to go help with the pizzas that have just arrived, and Shaun gives me a small, sorry smile before he leaves me standing there with my thumb trapped on the trigger, and the potential to implode everything simmering underneath the surface.