accent squeak behind me.
‘Cleo, hello,’ I reply with faux enthusiasm.
‘You look amazing,’ she tells me, pulling me down to her level for a hug. Cleo creeps in at just over five feet – another little lady who makes me feel like a giant beast of a woman.
‘So do you,’ I tell her, kissing the cheek she’s offered me.
As she releases me, she lightly knocks me with her bump.
‘Oops, watch out for little Sunny,’ she says, placing her hands protectively on her stomach.
‘Sorry,’ I say, not that I have anything to apologise for. I’ve always been the kind of person who apologises, even if it isn’t my fault – even if it’s only a lamppost I’ve walked into. I just can’t seem to lose the reflex.
‘Gah. Luca, Luca, Luca. Such a cute name but, you know, I always thought it was a boy’s name,’ she muses.
‘Sunny is a type of weather,’ I reply through my best fake smile. ‘It’s all good.’
Cleo laughs wildly, throwing her head back theatrically.
‘You’re so funny,’ she tells me. ‘Tom, didn’t I always say Luca was a funny girl?’
She playfully digs him in the ribs with her elbow.
‘Yep,’ he replies. ‘Cleo, can you give us a minute please?’
Cleo pouts. ‘OK, sure. But it’s nearly time for food,’ she tells him. ‘Hurry back.’
Ergh, that girl needs to loosen her bun or something, I think it’s stopping her brain from working properly. And telling me I have a boy’s name, pssh. If there’s one thing I remember really well about Cleo, it’s that she has mastered the skill of dishing out backhanded compliments.
‘Why do girls do that?’ Tom asks me.
I look at him for an explanation.
‘Greet each other with all the love and excitement you’d feel if you were reunited with a dead relative,’ he says. ‘Cleo gets all that and you haven’t even hugged me yet.’
Tom flashes me that cheeky smile of his that I’ve always had a soft spot for. It’s probably the first thing that attracted me to him, the first time I saw him in one of our lectures, playing the class clown with such charm and warmth.
I think about how much I want to feel his arms around me but, at the same time, the thought of touching him terrifies me. The thought of him touching me after all these years makes me feel like a nervous teenager again, but it’s all I can think about now.
Before I have a chance to act, I feel my body lifting off the ground, like I’m being beamed up by an alien spaceship which, to be honest, I don’t think would completely ruin my day. I glance down to see that, not only am I only a few feet off the floor, but there are a pair of unusually tanned, bizarrely hairless, absolutely massive arms wrapped around my body.
The person who grabbed me from behind puts me down and spins me round roughly, like an excited child with a puppy, who doesn’t quite realise his own strength. As he hugs me, I realise he’s the almost terrifyingly muscular man I noticed doing press-ups before. This man isn’t just buff in the usual, gym-going way, he’s like … young Arnold Schwarzenegger buff. Huge!
The man quickly realises that I don’t know who he is.
‘It’s me,’ he says, as though that might shed some light on the situation. ‘Tom, my bro, you must recognise me?’
‘I didn’t realise I had a bro.’ Tom laughs, scratching his head. He clearly has no idea who this is either. Still, he shakes his hand. The man must grip him tightly because as soon as he releases him, Tom rubs his own palm with his other hand.
‘Does the name Alan ring any bells?’ he asks.
‘Alan? Her ex-boyfriend Alan?’ Tom says in disbelief.
‘Yeah,’ the macho man says, holding his arms out, a big ta-da smile plastered across his face.
‘What, did you eat him or something? Is he hiding in one of your legs?’ I joke, unable to believe my eyes.
Alan laughs.
‘Alan, I … I can’t believe it’s you,’ I say, looking him up and down, admiring him like I would a statue.
Alan was always a fitness buff, and he was always muscular from the endless hours he would spend in the gym, but now he has to be at least four times the size he was at uni. He barely resembles his former self, it’s so weird. Now that I know it’s him, I can just about make out my ex, hidden away inside this beast of a man.
‘It isn’t Alan anymore, it’s Al Atlantic. Winner of the international Mr Macho competition, 2017 and 2018. Hoping to win this year too, pick up the hat trick.’
Al Atlantic poses in that way bodybuilders often do, standing to one side, lifting a heel and pointing his fist towards the floor to show off his impressive figure. I couldn’t tell you which muscle specifically this pose is intended to showcase, but whichever one it is, it’s huge. They’re all huge. I’d hazard a guess that even his muscles have muscles.
‘Wow, well, congratulations,’ I tell him.
I don’t really know what else to say. He’s another person from my past I wasn’t expecting to see here. I don’t know why this didn’t cross my mind, I was probably too busy worrying about finding a designer dress that didn’t make my bum look too big (or my bank balance look too small) and my embarrassing single status when all my friends are in serious relationships.
‘I was hoping we could have a catch up,’ he says, his eyes wide with optimism.
Ergh, why does everyone want to have a catch up? It’s been ten years, no one has time to cover ten years in a quick catch up, do they? Or maybe I’m just self-conscious of the fact that, in my ten years, not much has happened that is worth catching up on. I haven’t won one Mr Macho competition, let alone two. Plus, Alan and I didn’t exactly end things on the best of terms. When I broke up with him, he took it quite badly, and this is the first time we’ve spoken since.
‘OK, sure,’ I say. ‘But I think we’re about to eat so …’
‘Yeah, OK, I’ll come and find you later,’ he says. ‘Good to see you, Tom.’
Al gives Tom a playful slap on the back, nearly knocking him off his feet. I’d say Al doesn’t know his own strength, but from the way he’s showing off, I know he absolutely does.
‘Yeah, you too,’ Tom replies as he stumbles forward. He waits for Al to leave before opening his mouth again. ‘Well, that was completely emasculating, wasn’t it?’
‘Damn, I can’t believe that’s Alan,’ I blurt, ignoring Tom’s remark. Well, I’m not about to fall over myself to fluff his ego, am I?
‘The gym paid off then,’ Tom muses, sounding almost annoyed at Alan for daring to put in so much hard work, and getting such great results from it. ‘He’s still boring though,
