The Reunion Read Free Page B

switched on the oven and began to prepare the lamb, potatoes and carrots for
the dinner for either two or three, depending on when Rachel decided to return.

The Reunion – R J Gould
Chapter 3
David’s conversation with Bridget was interrupted by a
female ex-classmate.
    “Eating time,” she announced with a piercing screech. The
woman was insecurely balanced on a chair, dressed in adult school uniform –
short skirt, fishnet stockings, tight white shirt and a kipper tie. Like
everyone else at the reunion she was in her mid-forties and she looked
ridiculous.
    She appeared unable to speak like a normal grown up. “It’s
bad bad news, you’ll need to leave the bar. Sorreee. I know that’s gonna be
hard, but it is yummy yum yum buffet food. Just take the first door on the
right.” Like an air hostess demonstrating emergency procedures she waved her
arm in the appropriate direction, the clumsy motion sending her tumbling into
the arms of the man standing by her side. They both ended up sprawled across
the floor but the brave man had at least cushioned her fall, preventing injury
to anything beyond pride.
    “I’m glad I’m a grown up,” Bridget said. “Let’s eat.”
    “Yes, good idea,” David agreed.
    They entered a grand room with dark wood panelling, rich golden
velvet drapes and ornate chandeliers. There was a glass vase with a single
white rose on each of the round tables. The tablecloths were the maroon of
their old school blazer with matching serviettes neatly folded into the wine
glasses. They made their way towards the food, laid out on trestle tables at
the far end.
    “I love roast lamb, don’t you?” David exclaimed as he
looked at what was on offer. “What a wonderful smell.”
    “Actually I’m a vegetarian.”
    “Oh, I am sorry.”
    “I’m not.”
    They joined the short queue and Helen and Sharon stood
behind them.
    “Hello again, David. Recovered?” It was Helen.
    “Yes thank you.”
    “And who are you?” Helen asked, looking at his companion.
    “Bridget.”
    “Were you in our year?”
    “Yes.”
    “Bridget who?”
    “Bridget Wilkinson.”
    “Well I don’t remember you. Sharon, do you remember
Bridget?”
    “No, I don’t.” With that, Helen and Sharon lost interest
and turned away to chat with the man behind them in the queue.
    David handed Bridget a plate. She walked past the large
silver platter of meat garnished with strong smelling rosemary, past the roast
potatoes and the broccoli too, stopping at a small bowl. There was an untidily
written note on a folded piece of grey-brown cardboard behind it. For
vegetarians only . She took a spoonful of the pasta dish, added salad, and
then turned to wait for David who had paused by the lamb.
    “I don’t think I’ll have this,” he said as much to
himself as to Bridget.
    “No need to do that for me,” she said cheerfully.
    “It’s not that. I haven’t had lamb since the night Jane
left and it’s brought back a flood of unpleasant memories.” He moved on to the
pasta and was about to put some on his plate when he saw the notice banning
consumption by meat eaters. He placed the serving spoon back in the bowl.
    “Don’t be silly, David. Take some. I’ve hardly had any so
you’d be sharing my portion.”
    He dropped a small pile of the sticky cheese-saturated
offering onto his plate. “Mm, looks lovely,” he said unconvincingly. He lifted
it up towards his nose. “Smells good too.”
    They sat at a table in the far corner of the room,
Bridget eating while David stirred his food with a fork. Other tables filled
with their groups of six, but no one joined them until the queue had almost
disappeared. Then a man and woman approached, each holding a plate of food
piled high.
    “Aren’t you David Willoughby?” asked the man, smartly
dressed in suit and tie. “I’m George, George Pickford.” He extended his arm and
David shook his hand. “And this is my wife, Patricia. Patricia Thwaites she was
then, weren’t you