CLASS OF 82

The others from the class were already there when Magarite arrived. They sat around a table in the big hall, their heads bent together in conspiracy one minute and thrown back in laughter the next.

'Oh,'somebody said when she had been standing at the table for a few moments, 'it's Magarite.' They all tilted their heads up to look at her and smiled politely. Somebody pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit on it. It was Susan, she was sure. Susan had been the only one in the class with red curly hair and freckles. Magarite sat in the chair. They were all looking at her now.

'It's raining outside.' She smiled and put the umbrella on the floor. They all nodded and smiled before turning back to face each other.

'I can't believe it's been almost thirty years!'

'Yes, doesn't time fly?'

'Did you see Anne Morris? She's put on so much weight.'

'You look absolutely wonderful, Janet!'

'It's that new diet I'm on. All protein and no carbs. Let me tell you about it...'

The banner across the bar read: 'Class of 82.' Magarite was looking at the gold lettering and the way it caught the flashing lights of the disco. Flashing gold. Flashing gold. Then somebody said, 'Magarite hasn't changed one bit,' and they all turned to look at her.

She drew in her stomach and puffed out her chest. They still think I'm fat. She smiled and nodded politely. Polite. She was always polite. 'I wonder if it's still raining outside?' she asked.

'Are we going in rounds?' somebody asked.

She felt for the coins in her purse on her lap before getting up to go to the bar. She would have one drink. They would only look at her and nudge each other if she didn't have a drink.

Somebody suggested that they should go to the buffet table. They all looked at her with blank concern when their own plates were piled up with sanwiches, crisps and sausage rolls. Nuts. Susan had nuts.

'Aren't you hungry, Magarite?'

She shook her head and began to pick at the beer mat on the table. She tried not to look at the plates. They would only think she really did want something to eat.

'We've been married twenty-three years now.'

'Aren't men such pains!'

Somebody caught her looking at the sausage rolls on Janet's plate.

'He works in haulage, you say?'

It was Liz... she was sure it was Liz.

'Are you married, Magarite?'

She shook her head. Poor Magarite, they would say later. When she had gone to the toilet perhaps. 'I have a cat,' she told them, 'he's called Robbie.'

Somebody giggled. 'Wasn't Robbie that good-looking boy from the class?'

She blushed. 'I'd forgotten about that,' she said.

They all huddled around the table passing around photographs.

'Little Steve looks just like his dad.'

'Your daughter is absolutely gorgeous.'

'Is that really your house?'

'Hey look, Janet, Moira's got a BMW!'

Magarite moved closer to the table. The BMW stood red and proud in a gravel driveway. Then Anne arrived. She apologised for being late and squeezed her chair between Magarite and Susan. No, she didn't mind moving, she told Anne politely. Of course, she was sure she didn't mind. There was plenty of room after all. She really had to strain to hear what they were saying and she didn't get to see the last of the photographs. Anne's hair looked wet. Lucky she had brought her umbrella.

'I love this record,' somebody said and they all got up to dance.

She sat and watched them wall wriggling on the dance-floor. Some of them were asked to dance by the boys in the class. Boys. How silly of her! They were men now. She spotted Robbie dancing with Liz. Her face suddenly felt hot. Robbie and Liz were looking at her and laughing. The cat. Liz must have told him about the cat.

'Not dancing, Magarite?'

Susan asked her to get up and dance while Anne went to the toliets. Magarite shuffled back and forth. Everywhere she turned they were laughing. Then Anne came back. There were three of them dancing now. Odd numbers.

'Just like we sused to sit in class, 'laughed Anne.

She wanted to sit down. She did. honestly now. Yes, she told them, she would definately dance later.

Somebody else sat at the table. They smiled at each other. It was Letty, she was sure.

'This is nice,' Magarite said ten minutes later. 'All old friends together.' She looked at the time. It couldn't be much longer now. It was going on for eleven.

'I wonder if it's still raining?'

Letty was looking at her strangely 'Do I know you?'

'I was in your class,' she said brightly.

'Oh,' Letty said.

Letty was on the verge of leaving now. They all came to stop her. Stay until at least twelve, Letty, they coaxed.
It was probably the last time they would meet up like this for a long time. She watched as they dragged Letty onto the dance floor.

She yawned. It really was time for her to leave. But she wouldn't tell the others. They would only coax her like they coaxed Letty. She reached for her coat. They were all busy dancing and laughing. Laughing. She would slip away. Quietly. Ever so quietly.

People were milling about in the foyer. She looked at the empty plastic cups in the bin. 'Class of 82' was boldly printed on some. Others were plain. Some had even been scrunched up and discarded onto the floor.

'All old friends together,' she said as somebody passed.

Outside the taxis were parked. Forty...fifty...sixty pence in her pocket. She would have to walk. It would only take one hour if she was brisk. Little drops of rain splashed onto her face. She looked up at the blackness overhead. Suddenly she began to cry. She had forgotten her umbrella.