begins with an email from the last person I ever thought I’d see in my inbox: Amanda Best.
When I log on to my emails, there it is, sitting right at the top: an email from [email protected] with the subject line Silverdale Comprehensive Reunion.
I’m a little apprehensive as I click on it. I haven’t heard from her in nearly ten years; she struck the fear of God into me back then and, I’m ashamed to admit, still does a little bit now. Still, how bad could an email be? It’s just a bunch of words on a screen, right?
Dear Cleopatra,
I’m writing to invite you to the ten-year reunion of the 2007 class at Silverdale Comprehensive. It will be held at the George Hotel in Manchester on 10th June. It starts at 7 p.m. and the theme is Hollywood glamour. I really hope you’re able to make it; it would be lovely to see you after all these years and find out what you’ve been up to. Please let me know as soon as possible if you’ll be coming.
All the best,
Amanda
P.S. If you don’t want to come, I totally understand. You didn’t really fit in after your accident, did you?
These two sentences show Amanda hasn’t changed at all: snide, manipulative and a nasty piece of work. Any lingering thoughts I might’ve had about her having changed and matured over the years quickly evaporate. The saying “leopards never change their spots” was made for her.
Out of curiosity, I quickly type her name into Google and come across her business networking profile. There’s a picture of her with her swishy blonde hair, cat-like grin and icy blue eyes. In all the years I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her genuinely smile. According to her profile, she’s quite the businesswoman. During her time at Franklin Financial, Amanda’s worked in Switzerland, Japan and New York. Her skills apparently include wealth and asset management, contract negotiations and customer relations management.
I feel my heart sink a little. I haven’t managed to leave Silverdale or achieve any of the things I wanted to do when I was younger. Everything kind of went on hold after my accident and I was always too scared to start again. Amanda, meanwhile, seems to have made a huge success of her life. If I go to the reunion, she’ll love rubbing it in my face. Just as I’m about to shut down my computer and walk away from it, I come across the bucket list I made the night before. Seeing some brand-new dreams written down ignites a spark of hope inside me. Amanda might be doing really well, but there’s no reason I can’t do the same. The fact I’ve made this new list shows I’ve started to dream again, and that seemed impossible before. If I can do that, who knows what else I’m capable of doing? Maybe I can even walk into the reunion with my head held high and show everyone how much I’ve changed in the last ten years.
Anything’s possible, after all.
*
The Pastry Corner is just across the village green from my cottage. As the sun rises the next morning, I stroll across to get started on my latest batch of creations. There’s something quite special about being the only one out at this time of day; Silverdale is quiet and still, just waiting for morning to come so it can burst with life again.
I’m not the first one in the bakery this morning; Fred is already there, baking a fresh batch of bread rolls. For a man who’s nearly seventy, he’s showing no signs of slowing down any time soon. He’s usually the first one in and the last one to leave the bakery.
‘Morning!’ I say with a smile as I pull on my whites. They’re around three sizes too big for me – I was at my largest when I started working at The Pastry Corner – so I have to wind the cord round my waist a good few times to make them fit. I haven’t had the guts to get some in a size that actually fits, mainly because I’m scared I’ll gain the weight again.
‘Hello there, love!’ Fred says with a sunny grin. He’s one of the most cheerful people I know; if you looked up “morning person” in the dictionary, you’d find a picture of his face underneath. ‘Ready for another busy day at the coalface?’
I roll my eyes and smile. ‘Always! Don’t suppose you fancy a cup of coffee?’
‘I never bother with the stuff,’ he replies. He looks at me and a smile forms on his lips. ‘You look perky this morning! Something’s putting a smile on your face.’
My cheeks pink up and I look away to hide my blushes. ‘You could say that! Let’s just say things are looking up for me. I got an email inviting me to my ten-year high-school reunion today; I’m thinking I might go.’
For a brief second, the words on Amanda’s email come back to haunt me: You didn’t really fit in after your accident, did you? My resolve wavers and I wonder if going to an event hosted by my high-school bully is really the best idea.
‘Good for you,’ Fred declares. ‘It’ll be nice to see what everyone’s been up to, won’t it?’
He looks at me with kind eyes and a hopeful smile. With his wispy white hair and beard, he could almost pass for Santa Claus.
I chuckle. ‘I’m not so sure about that! Amanda Best’s organising it and we weren’t exactly best friends at school.’
And the award for Understatement of the Year goes to…
‘Oh yes, I remember her. She was a little madam, wasn’t she? Maybe if you go, you can patch things up with her. Secondary school was a long time ago for both of you, wasn’t it?’
Even though the thought of being in the same room with Amanda again makes my stomach churn, I have to admit Fred has a point. It did all happen a long time ago, even if my arch nemesis doesn’t appear to have changed that much.
‘You’re right,’ I agree. ‘It’s time to put the past behind me. Anyway, Emma’s going too, so it’ll be fine.’
As I turn my attention to the batch of strawberry tarts I’ve been working on, I feel dread creep all over my skin. Although I’m trying to be positive about going to the reunion, there’s something inside telling me I’m setting myself up for a fall. There’s no way Amanda’s organising the reunion out of the goodness of her heart. In fact, I’m not even sure she has a heart.
Whatever her motivations for bringing our year group together, they won’t be pure.
*
It’s early afternoon when Amanda Best walks into The Pastry Corner. In many ways, she hasn’t changed at all: same blonde curls, same superior air about her and the same slightly flared nostrils, as though there’s a bad smell somewhere.
I have to do a double-take when I first see her. Although very little about her has changed, I still can’t quite believe she’s here. It’s like seeing a ghost or, in Amanda’s case, a poltergeist. It’s one thing having a look at her business profile, but quite another to see her in the flesh after so long. Fred’s gone off for lunch, so it’s only me in the shop. There’s nowhere for me to hide.
‘Cleopatra Jones!’ Her face breaks out into a wide grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She always insisted on calling me Cleopatra at school, even though I didn’t like it. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages, how are you doing?’
I ball my shaking
