In every yeargroup, no matter how many birthdays have come and gone, theres always that core the people who still call, meet up, keep the circle going. When a reunion rolls around, the same familiar faces take charge of the venue, the menu, the programme all by habit, easy and cheerful.
When the guest list started to take shape, the conversation got a bit sharper. Of course the teachers have to be invited. But what about the former classmates will everyone be there?
Everyone will be, said Simon confidently. Except Sam Gordon. Hes a bit of a lout, always getting drunk.
Why would Sam not be there? Milly shouted, her thickframed glasses perched on her nose. He will be! Ive spoken to him.
Milly, Clara, the former class rep, said quietly, he might get tipsy and that would be awkward. I saw him the other day wobbling, barely recognised me.
Milly simply sighed. Its fine. I know hes getting ready.
Perhaps, she added, this meeting means more to him than to any of us put together.
Sam had always been a different sort at school. Gentle, quiet, easygoing. He never raised his voice, never got into anyones way. He could listen, lend a hand, be there when someone needed him. His notebooks were tidy, his handwriting neat, his dictations spotless. Physics and maths came to him as if the formulas whispered their answers straight into his head. He left olympiads almost always with a diploma maybe not first place, but always a result. At assemblies hed be placed beside the top students; placing a hand over 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 trip with his form tutor; he came back buzzing, talking about uniforms, drills, discipline and how theyd teach him to be useful. Everyone believed hed make it.
At home, though, things were another story. His father had died years before, and his mother drank heavily.
One evening, after a serious binge, she turned up at the final school bell, swaying at the back, eyes glazed, hair a mess. When Sam was handed his diploma, she suddenly shouted, Well done, Sam! My boy!
He stood with his face flushed, fists clenched, as if he wanted to sink into the floor. His mothers praise exploded like a random firecracker in his life exactly the sort of thing he didnt need.
His plans for the academy fell apart. He feared his sister would be taken into care if he left. So he stayed on at school, took a few evening jobs, began to skip lessons, fell in with a sketchy crowd and, well, went offtrack
He prepared for the reunion his own way. He found a suit grey, two sizes too big, but clean. He spent ages choosing a shirt, ironing it, checking the buttons. He shaved carefully, tidied his hair doing the best he could. He hadnt had a drink for two days wanted to be himself when everyone gathered.
When he got to the restaurant he hesitated at the door. He lingered just out of sight, watching his old classmates hug, flash something on their phones, crack jokes and laugh boisterously, as if the world had become a piece of cake for them now.
He stood there, shy and uncertain, as if a single misstep could shatter the fragile picture of the evening. An hour later he finally pushed the door open.
He stood on the threshold hair tidy but not freshly cut, suit still a shade too large, shoulders a little slumped, eyes nervous and tentative. Milly called out at once, Sam! Come over here, this is your spot!
He walked over. The room brightened: toasts, laughter, music.
Sam drank barely a sip, ate almost nothing simply sat, listened, observed. Occasionally a faint smile flickered.
When the night drew to a close, Sam stood up.
His voice trembled; each word felt heavy, as if years of bottled-up nerves were finally being squeezed out.
Thank you thank you for inviting me this is probably the best thing thats 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 just as he was.
I Im really grateful Sorry if I ever well, if I ever hurt anyone
And then, in chorus,
Of course, Sam! Were thrilled to have you! How could we possibly not invite you!
His heartfelt words were softened by the predictable echo of smiles, pats on the back, loud assurances. It wasnt genuine compassion it was the polite social routine where nobody wanted to dig deeper. Pure, unmasked hypocrisy: warm words, glancing eyes, showoff caring.
Milly watched the whole scene and thought, You didnt really want him there, did you?
But the best part was thank heavens Sam didnt notice any of that. He believed their words, because he had no reason to doubt them.
He thanked them, gave a shy bow and slipped out among the first to leave. He slipped quietly out of the hall, without goodbyes, without waiting, without looking back.
After him the laughter continued, old stories resurfaced, people talked about jobs, lives, whod met whom
And again chuckles, music, clinking glasses.
Late that night, Milly, on her way home, spotted Sam on a bench outside the block, under a dull streetlamp.
He sat hunched, already halfdrunk, eyes glazed, hands on his knees. Milly didnt even recognise him.
She stepped closer, her heart tightening.
Why did you drink, Sam? You held your own tonight, you were yourself why now?
Milly stared at him, at the dark courtyard, the empty windows, the lamplight, and thought,
How many lives quietly break because there wasnt a steady hand, a shoulder, a kind word nearby? And if someone had been there, would Sam be sitting here now, in that suit, drunk?
The question hung in the nights silence. No answer came.
