In every school, no matter how many years have gone by, theres always the same backbone the folk who keep the group chat alive, meet up for a pint, and hold the circle together. When a reunion rolls around, the same familiar faces take charge of the details: venue, menu, programme all done by habit, easy and cheerful.
When the guest list was drawn up, the conversation got spicier. Of course the teachers had to be invited. But what about the old classmates would everyone be there?
Everyone will be, declared James confidently. Only we didnt ask Tom the tippler were fed up with his boozy antics.
How can Tom not be invited? shouted Lottie, her thickframed spectacles flashing. He will be! Ive spoken to him.
Lottie, Violet, the former class monitor, murmured softly, he might get drunk, thatd be awkward. I saw him the other day wobbling, barely recognised himself.
Lottie sighed. Never mind. I know hes preparing.
And perhaps, she added, this gathering means more to him than to any of us put together.
—
Tom was a different sort of pupil at school. Quiet, gentle, never raising his voice or picking a fight. He listened well, helped when needed, and was there when someone required a hand. His notebooks were tidy, his handwriting neat, dictations flawless. Physics and maths came to him as easily as a walk in the park; formulas seemed to whisper their answers straight into his head. He left almost every olympiad with a certificate maybe not first place, but always a result. At assemblies they seated him beside the top students; a hand on his heart felt less like pride and more like a shy grin thats how he took any compliment.
He dreamed of a military academy after Year9. I still remember him visiting one on an openday with the form tutor, coming back buzzing about the uniforms, the drills, the discipline, and how it would make him useful. Everyone believed hed make it.
At home, though, things were another story. His father had long since passed, and his mother drank.
One afternoon, after a serious binge, his mother staggered in at the last school bell, eyes glazed, hair in a mess. When Tom was handed his diploma, she suddenly shouted, Well done, Tom! My boy! He stood there, face flushed, fists clenched, as if hed like to disappear into the floor. A mothers praise felt like a sudden blast not the comforting kind he needed.
His plans for the academy crumbled. He feared his sister would be taken to a childrens home if he left. So he stayed, kept studying, took evening jobs, began to skip school, fell in with the wrong crowd, and things went well, off the rails.
—
He prepared for the reunion in his own way. He borrowed a grey suit a size too big but clean. Spent ages picking a shirt, ironing it, checking the buttons. Shaved carefully, tidied his hair did the best he could. He hadnt had a drink for two days, wanting to show up as his true self.
When he got to the pub, he lingered at the entrance, unsure whether to walk in. He lingered off to the side, watching his classmates hug, flash something on their phones, crack jokes and roar with laughter, seeming to glide through life with ease.
He stood there, embarrassed and uncertain, as if a single misstep could shatter the fragile tableau of the evening. After about an hour he finally summoned the courage and stepped inside.
—
He stood in the doorway hair clean but unruly, suit too roomy, shoulders a little slumped, eyes nervous and shy. Lottie was the first to spot him.
Tom, over here! This is your seat!
He walked over. The room perked up: toasts, laughter, music.
Tom barely touched his drink, barely ate just sat, listened, watched. Occasionally a faint smile flickered.
When the night drew to a close, Tom stood up. His voice trembled; each word felt like a knot untangling after years of being squeezed.
Thanks thanks for inviting me this is probably the best thing thats happened to me in fifteen years
His eyes glistened, a lump rose in his throat, shoulders tightened, hands shook a little. He was vulnerable, open, like a child finally believing hed be accepted just as he was.
I Im really grateful Sorry if I ever well, if I did anything to anyone
And then, in unison,
Of course, Tom! Were thrilled youre here! How could we not invite you!
The sincerity of his feelings was softened by the chorus of polite applause, shoulder pats, and booming assurances. It wasnt genuine compassion just a comfortable social nicety, a splash of hypocritical warmth, eyes skimming over the surface.
Lottie watched it all, thinking, You didnt really want him there, did you?
But the best part thank heavens Tom didnt see the irony. He believed the words, because he had no reason to doubt them.
He thanked everyone, gave a shy bow, and slipped out early. He left quietly, without farewells, without waiting, without looking back.
The others kept laughing, swapping old stories, bragging about jobs, how life was going, whod met whom and the night rolled on with chuckles, music, clinking glasses.
—
Late that night, Lottie, on her way home, spotted Tom sitting on a bench outside the block, under a dim streetlamp. He was hunched over, clearly drunk, eyes cloudy, hands resting on his knees. He didnt even recognise her.
She moved closer, heart tightening.
Why did you drink, Tom? You held your own earlier, you were yourself why now?
Lottie stared at him, at the dark courtyard, the empty windows, the flickering lamp, and thought,
How many lives break quietly, unnoticed, because there was no steady hand, no shoulder, no kind word? And if someone had been there, would Tom be sitting here now, in that illfitting suit, drunk?
The question lingered in the nights silence. No answer came.
