12October2025
Today I finally made it to the old school reunion in Manchester. I hadnt seen any of them for three decades. After leaving secondary school I packed my bags for university in Oxford, then drifted into a job in London before deciding to start my own consultancy. The road has been a mixture of triumphs and setbacks.
Even now I sometimes find myself scrolling through their snapshots on social media, sharing my own in return. My mind kept drifting back to Poppy. Back in the sixth form I was headoverheels for her, but she never gave me the slightest glance. The nerdy, studious type I was didnt appeal to her at all. The last time I mustered the courage to hand her a bouquet, she leapt onto the back of Jacks Triumph, barely acknowledging the flowers, and roared off, kicking up dust. I never approached her again. I rode off into the blue, wanting to ask her to join me, to help her, but I never said a word.
I never really had close mates in class; most of my time was spent hitting the books. I only kept a handful of friends who joined me for extra maths tuition and the entrance exams. This morning I arrived at the café in high spirits, having prepared a small present for each old classmate. I didnt forget anyone.
We gathered around the worn wooden table, laughing, swapping stories about teachers and schoolyard antics. I watched the group, but my eyes kept returning to Poppy, who sat a good distance away, glued to her phone. After school, she married Jack, yet they no longer live together. I learned that she now raises a sick child on her own.
I decided to speak to her, hoping for a friendly chat, but the conversation turned sharp.
You live in that spacious house of yours and have no idea what we struggle with! Ive seen pictures of your home. Your wife never works, only spends time in salons, Ive seen that too. You must have a whole staff, though you never post about it. Your children are studying abroad, while Im caring for a chronically ill son. What could we possibly discuss? You wouldnt understand.
Poppy, am I to blame for your woes?
In this country theres a shortage of funds for sick children, yet people like you sit on piles of cash and act greedy!
I felt a heat rise in my cheeks. I dont like when that subject comes up. I had something to say.
Poppy, how many ill children have you helped?
I have a sick child myself! And I do send a few messages of support now and then.
I donate substantial sums to charities regularly, quietly. So which of us is more helpful?
Its simple for you giving an extra hundred thousand pounds doesnt make you poorer. My help is more personal; I literally give from my own mouth. Do you know how I earn my money? Each morning I catch two buses to work and collect a few pennies!
A few people in the room glowered at us; some whispered support for Poppy, the rest stayed silent.
When the gathering ended I slipped my gifts onto the side table and asked the waiter to hand Poppy an envelope.
Walking out, I reflected on the equal chances we all had. Many in our class possessed the same talent. I chose to study instead of spending evenings drinking cheap lager in the back garden. I chose books over a quick cigarette behind the corner shop. I chased a university I was genuinely interested in, rather than a local trade college. I embraced risk, left my comfort zone, and launched my own firm.
It wasnt always easy. I faced losses, learned hard lessons, and dealt with my own doubts. Yet it isnt my fault that others have taken different paths and now judge me for my success, for the life Ive built. I didnt steal their money; I earned it.
How many of you know people like Poppy and the rest of my old classmates, who seem to count other peoples fortunes? Yes, some were lucky enough to be born into affluent families and receive a solid education. But there are countless stories of folks from modest backgrounds, children of uneducated parents, who carve out success on their own. Everything is in our own hands, and each of us decides our future.
Robert.
