In every school year, no matter how many years have passed, theres always that core group the mates who keep in touch, meet up, and hold the circle together. When an anniversary rolls around, the same faces take charge of the details: the venue, the menu, the programme all out of habit, easy and friendly.
When the guest list came up, the conversation grew sharper. Of course the teachers have to be invited, but what about the old classmates, will everyone be there?
Everyone will be there, said Simon Clarke firmly. Only Tommy Gray hasnt been asked. Hes become a bit of a druncher, you know.
Why would Tommy not be there? shouted Evelyn, the bespectacled girl with the chunky frames. He will be! Ive spoken to him.
Eve, Victoria, the former class monitor, interjected quietly, he might get hammered, that would be awkward. I saw him the other day, barely staying upright, didnt even recognise me.
Evelyn simply sighed.
Its fine. I know hes getting ready.
Maybe for him this reunion means more than it does for all of us put together, she added.
—
Tommy at school was a different sort of chap. Softspoken, calm, and goodnatured. He never raised his voice or hurt anyone. He listened, helped, and was there when someone needed a hand. His notebooks were tidy, his handwriting even, his dictations spotless. Physics and maths came to him easily; the problems seemed to whisper their solutions straight to his mind. He almost always left the Olympiads with a certificate maybe not first place, but always a respectable result. At assemblies he was placed beside the top students, and when a teacher put a hand over his heart it felt more like embarrassment than pride thats how he took any compliment.
He dreamed of going to the Army Cadet College after Year9. I still remember the openday trip with his form tutor; he came back buzzing with excitement, talking about the uniform, the drills, the discipline, and how theyd teach him to be useful. Everyone believed hed make it.
But at home things were different. His father had died years ago and his mother drank.
One day, after a serious binge, she turned up at the final school bell, swaying at the back, eyes glazed, hair a mess. When the headteacher handed Tommy his certificate, she suddenly shouted, Well done, Tommy! My son!
He stood there, face flushed, hands clenched, as if he wanted to sink into the floor. His mothers praise hit him like a sudden blast exactly the sort of thing he didnt need.
His plans for the cadet college fell apart. He feared his sister would be taken into care if he left. So he stayed on, worked evenings, started skipping lessons, fell in with a bad crowd, and things went off the rails.
—
He prepared for the reunion his own way. He found a grey suit a size too big but clean. He spent ages picking 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; he wanted to be himself that night when everyone gathered.
When he reached the restaurant he lingered at the doorway, unsure whether to go in. He stood off to the side, out of sight, watching his old classmates hug, pull up pictures on their phones, joke loudly, and seem to glide through life with ease.
He felt awkward and uncertain, as if one wrong step could shatter the fragile picture of the evening. After about an hour he finally gathered the nerve and stepped inside.
—
He stood on the threshold hair clean but not trimmed, suit too large, shoulders a little slumped, eyes nervous and shy.
Evelyn called out immediately, Tommy, over here! This is your spot!
He walked over. The others perked up: toasts, laughter, music. Tommy drank very little, ate hardly anything he just sat, listened, watched. Occasionally he gave a barely perceptible smile.
When the night drew to a close, Tommy rose. His voice trembled, each word felt heavy, as if years of bottled-up feelings were finally spilling 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 slightly. He was vulnerable, open like a child believing for the first time that he would be accepted as he was.
I Im very grateful Forgive me if I ever well, if I ever hurt anyone
Then a chorus answered, Of course, Tommy! Were glad youre here! We wouldnt have thought of not inviting you!
His sincere emotions were softened by the uniform echo of smiles, pats on the back, and loud assurances. It wasnt genuine compassion it was polite social niceness, a thin veneer of concern that no one wanted to probe deeper. Pure hypocrisy: warm words, sliding eyes, ostentatious care.
Evelyn watched it all, thinking, You didnt really want to invite him
But the crucial thing thank God Tommy didnt see through it. He believed their words because he had no reason to doubt. He thanked them, gave a shy bow, and left among the first to go. He slipped out of the hall quietly, without saying goodbye, without waiting, without looking back.
Later, they kept laughing, swapping old stories, talking about who worked where, who lived how, who had met whom and the night went on with laughter, music, and clinking glasses.
—
Late that night, Evelyn, on her way home, spotted Tommy on a bench outside the block, under a dim streetlamp. He was hunched over, already drunk, eyes glazed, hands on his knees. He didnt recognise her. She stepped closer, heart tightening:
Why did you drink, Tommy? You held your own tonight, you were yourself why now?
She stared at him, at the dark courtyard, the empty windows, the lone lamp, and thought:
How many lives break quietly, unnoticed, because there wasnt a hand, a shoulder, a kind word nearby? And if someone had been there, would this Tommy be sitting here now, in that suit, drunk
The question hung in the nights silence. No answer came.
