15March2025 London
Every year, no matter how many birthdays have passed, the core of each school year stays the same: the people who still call, meet up, and keep the circle alive. When a milestone rolls around, the same familiar faces take charge of the venue, the menu and the programme all done out of habit, easy and cheerful.
When the guest list came up, the conversation sharpened. Of course we must invite the teachers, but what about the rest of the class?
Everyone will be there, declared Simon confidently. Only Stanley Gorham isnt on the list were fed up with his drinking.
Why would Stanley not be there? shouted Lucy, the bespectacled one with the thick frames. He will! Ive spoken to him.
Lucy, Victoria, the former class monitor, whispered, he might get drunk and it would be awkward. I saw him the other day, stumbling, barely recognising me.
Lucy sighed. Its fine. I know hes getting ready.
And perhaps, she added, this gathering means more to him than it does to any of us combined.
***
Stanley at school was a different creature. Gentle, quiet, everkind. He never raised his voice, never hurt anyone. He listened, helped, and was there whenever someone needed a hand. His notebooks were tidy, his handwriting straight, his dictations flawless. Physics and maths came to him effortlessly; equations seemed to murmur their solutions straight into his mind. At Olympiads he almost always walked away with a diploma maybe not first place, but always a respectable result. On assemblies he was placed beside the top students; a hand on his heart felt less like pride and more like embarrassment thats how he took any compliment.
He dreamed of a military academy after Year9. I still remember the openday visit with his form tutor; he returned buzzing with enthusiasm, describing the uniform, the drill, the discipline, and how the college would teach him to be useful. Everyone believed hed make it.
At home, though, things were another story. His father had passed away long ago, and his mother drank heavily.
One evening, after a serious bout, his mother appeared at the finalbell ceremony, swaying at the back, eyes glassy, hair a mess. When Stanley was handed his diploma, she suddenly shouted, Well done, Stanley! My boy! He stood there, cheeks flushed, hands clenched, as if he wanted to melt into the floor. A mothers praise felt like a sudden blast exactly the sort of attention he didnt need.
His plans for the academy fell apart. He feared his younger sister would be taken into care if he left. So he stayed on at school, took evening jobs, began missing lessons, fell in with the wrong crowd, and everything started to go off the rails.
***
When the reunion approached, Stanley prepared in his own way. He borrowed a grey suit two sizes too big but still clean. He spent ages choosing a shirt, ironing it, checking the buttons. He shaved carefully, tidied his hair as neat as he could manage. Hed abstained from drinking for two days, wanting to be himself when everyone gathered.
Standing outside the restaurant, he hesitated to walk in. He lingered at the edge, out of sight, watching his former classmates hug, flash pictures on their phones, joke loudly, and seem to glide through life with ease. He felt shy and uncertain, as if a single wrong step could shatter the fragile picture of the evening.
After about an hour, he finally pushed the doors open.
***
He stepped onto the threshold hair clean but uncut, suit illfitting, shoulders a little drooped, eyes shy and tentative. Lucy called out immediately, Stanley, over here! This is your spot! He moved toward her. The rest of the group perked up: toasts, laughter, music.
Stanley drank little, ate even less he simply sat, listened, observed. Occasionally he offered a faint smile.
As the night drew to a close, Stanley rose. His voice trembled; each word felt like a knot tightened over fifteen years finally unravelling:
Thank you thank you for inviting me this is probably the best thing that has happened to me in the last fifteen years.
His eyes glistened, a lump rose in his throat, shoulders tightened, hands shook a little. He was vulnerable, open, like a child believing for the first time that he would be accepted as he was.
I Im very grateful Forgive me if I ever well, if I ever caused anyone trouble
Then the chorus replied, Of course, Stanley! Were thrilled youre here! We wouldnt have thought of not inviting you! Their sinceresounding words smoothed over the moment with smiles, pats on the back, and booming assurances. It was not compassion, but a polite social veneer warm words, sliding eyes, care on display.
Lucy watched it all, hearing herself think, You didnt really want to invite him Yet the most important thing thank Heaven Stanley didnt see the pretense. He believed their words because he had no reason to doubt them.
He thanked them, bowed awkwardly, and was among the first to leave. He slipped out of the hall quietly, without farewells, without waiting, without looking back.
After him, the group kept laughing, swapping stories about jobs, lives, old acquaintances, and the nights music swelled with clinking glasses.
***
Late that night, Lucy, on her way home, spotted Stanley sitting on a bench in front of the block, under a dim streetlamp. He was hunched over, already drunk, eyes glazed, hands resting on his knees. He didnt recognise her. She drew nearer, her heart tightening:
Why did you drink, Stanley? Tonight you held your own, you were yourself why now?
She stared at him, at the dark courtyard, the empty windows, the lone lamp, and thought:
How many lives crack quietly because no steady hand, no shoulder, no kind word was there? If someone had been there, would Stanley now be sitting here in that illfitting suit, drunk
The question hung in the nights silence. No answer came.
Lesson learned: sometimes the best we can offer is simply to be present, without agenda or pretense, because a genuine ear can keep a life from slipping into the shadows.
