Friend Request(24)

As I get out of the car, a bald man of about my age comes along the pavement with a baby in a buggy. As he passes me, our eyes meet and there’s a second of non-recognition before I gasp and he does a double take.

Oh my God. A shard of ice slithers down my back. He looks older, of course, older than his years in fact, but I’d know him anywhere. It’s Maria’s brother, Tim Weston.

‘Louise?’ he says, standing stock-still in the middle of the pavement. ‘Louise Williams?’

‘Tim. Oh my goodness, I didn’t know you still…’ I tuck my hair behind my ears, then thrust my hands into my pockets to keep them still. ‘What are you doing here? Does your mum…?’ I indicate number 33.

‘What? Oh no – I live there now. Bought it from Mum. What are you doing here, Louise?’

‘I’ve been seeing a client in the area,’ I improvise hastily. ‘I lost my way, and I pulled over to look at the map on my phone.’

‘Oh, right.’ He’s looking at me dubiously. ‘Where does the client live?’

My mind goes blank, and I can only think of my own old street.

‘Turner Street, would you believe?’ I smile, trying to deflect the suspicion that this piece of information is likely to garner.

‘So has your mum moved away, or…?’

‘She moved to a bungalow a few years ago, so we bought it from her, me and my wife. Couldn’t have afforded to buy otherwise.’

‘Oh, wonderful!’ I’m going wildly over the top, my heart fluttering in my chest. ‘And this is your daughter?’

His face thaws slightly. ‘Yes. Have to take her out in the buggy, it’s the only way she’ll sleep. Gives my wife a break too. She needs it sometimes, especially now she’s back working again. She’s got her own business, doing really well, but it’s hard, she’s…’ He trails off as if he’s thought better of letting me into his life to that degree.

I look down at the baby, fast asleep in her pink snowsuit, all rosy cheeks and long eyelashes.

‘She’s beautiful.’ It took Sam and me so much time and effort and pain to have Henry, that I thought when he arrived we would relish every minute, every cry, every sleepless night. I thought that when people talked about sleepless nights, it was just a figure of speech. I didn’t realise that it actually meant nights without any sleep at all. It soon became clear that Sam couldn’t or didn’t want to cope with the ferocious demands of babyhood, and that I was willing to take on all the caring duties because I was terrified that if I didn’t, he would leave. I did other things too, to keep him happy, to keep him with me. I didn’t know then that you can’t stop someone leaving you.

Tim looks down at his daughter, smiling. ‘Thanks.’ There’s an awkward pause and I cast around for something to say. What do you say to someone you haven’t seen for more than twenty-five years who you know hates your guts, and with good reason?

‘So, what do you do?’ I fall back on that most conventional of dinner party questions.

‘I’m in IT. I commute to London three days a week, then work from home the rest of the time – hence this.’ He gestures to the buggy. ‘How about you? You’re an interior designer, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’ The unease which has been stirring inside me since I first heard his voice steps up a notch. Has he been keeping track of me? ‘How did you know?’

‘I’m not sure… maybe someone told me…’ His forehead creases as he tries to recall who that might have been. ‘Oh no, I know, I saw something in the local paper – you won an award, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, I did.’ I was proud at the time, but now I feel curiously violated at the thought of people from my past having seen that article, knowing things about me whilst remaining anonymous themselves. I start to mutter something about having to get home, but he interrupts me.

‘Have you heard about the reunion?’

‘Yes, I saw something about it on Facebook,’ I say.

‘Are you going?’

‘I’m not sure. Are… are you?’ I know he is, I’ve seen his name on the Facebook guest list. Why am I so embarrassed about going to the reunion? Sophie doesn’t have any shame about it, neither do all the others that have signed up for it.

‘I thought I might,’ he says, looking down. ‘I know I’m not strictly class of eighty-nine, but obviously I hung out with a lot of you – and, you know, Maria was. I thought I might go, sort of on her behalf.’

The mention of her name takes my breath a little. Although she has occupied a private space in my mind for so long, until the past week I hadn’t heard or spoken her name since I was a teenager. I had thought that Tim and I were going to get through this whole, utterly strange conversation without talking about her. Suddenly I realise I can’t let the moment pass without at least trying to tell him how sorry I am.

‘I think that’s a really nice idea,’ I say. ‘Look, Tim, about Maria.’ I screw up all my courage. ‘I know I treated her badly, and I’m so sorry. I wish… well, I wish I could go back and change it.’ I know he didn’t think very much of me back then, and he was probably right. I don’t think very much of myself either when I look back.