Payback

by Gemma Rogers

  I clicked on his list of friends, he had over two hundred, but I found Elliot easily. Men were easy to find as they had one name for life. Finding women who’d married was much harder.

  Elliot was living in Australia; his profile picture was him surfing and he looked every bit the same as he did when we were in secondary school. From the cheeky glint in his eye, to the mischievous expression. I sent him a friend request and went back to the list to look for James, before sending him a request too. I’d heard that Becca and Mark had married after being childhood sweethearts at school. Unfortunately, I’d lost touch by then; each of us went on to either college, apprenticeships or straight into work, saying we’d stay in contact but then drifting apart. There was a few calls and emails, but it had tailed off. Just one of those things. The last time I think we were all together was the day we collected our GCSE results.

  I believed Becca and Mark lived in Brighton, or so my mum said, around half an hour away. Robyn went to university in Leeds, I think, and Hayley, well, no one heard from Hayley after she left. Unless she got back in touch with one of the others? I couldn’t find her on any social media at all.

  I sent a message via Facebook to Becca and Robyn, asking how they were and where they were living now. Perhaps I could get everyone together, to raise a glass to Gareth. After all, they were all there that night. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who had been contacted?

  6

  August 1997

  ‘Oh my god, Sophie, what have you done?’ Becca was pacing in circles around my bedroom, her hands wound through her long brown hair, stretching it tight across her knuckles.

  ‘Stop panicking, they won’t say anything,’ I said, trying to calm the situation.

  Hayley had gone as white as a sheet, her orange freckles illuminous against her pallor. She was yet to speak.

  Robyn was the only one who looked amused by the whole scenario. ‘I think it’s a good idea. We get it over and done with. Everyone is sworn to secrecy, so no one knows. It’s probably easier doing it with someone you don’t fancy than someone you do.’

  ‘I think you should do it with someone you love,’ Hayley whispered, her expression vague. I was concerned she was going to throw up over my pink shaggy rug. She had eaten a lot of pick and mix from Woolworths on the way back to mine.

  ‘Well, I’ve thought about that. I’m going to try and pair you with Gareth. I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to make it work,’ I said.

  In seconds, Hayley had turned beetroot at the mere mention of his name. Her eyes were like saucers and she opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

  Robyn fell about laughing and even Becca cracked a smile, although she was still pacing, making me dizzy.

  I patted the space on the rug beside me. ‘Sit down, Becca.’

  She sat, pulling her hair into a loose bun on top of her head.

  ‘What if they tell everyone! Our lives would be over!’ Becca dragged her finger across her neck, and I rolled my eyes.

  ‘Stop being so dramatic. No one is forcing you. We’ve all said it’s been hanging over our heads, I thought this might be a good way around it. It’s not as if we don’t know them,’ I said, my own bravado masking the tremble which ran beneath.

  ‘So, Gareth, Elliot, James and who else?’ Becca asked.

  ‘I was thinking Mark,’ I replied.

  Her eyebrows shot skyward. Perhaps Hayley wasn’t the only one who had a crush?

  ‘Everyone agreed?’ I pushed.

  ‘I need to sleep on it,’ Becca said, the idea no longer up for discussion.

  Hayley gave a little squeak scooting closer to Becca. Safety in numbers.

  ‘Fuck it, I’m in,’ Robyn declared with a grin, popping a cartridge into my Game Boy and switching it on. One down, two to go.

  I wondered how Gareth was getting on with the boys. Were they all declaring us too minging to have sex with? None of us were Kate Moss or even as attractive as the blonde bitches, but we were okay. All pretty in our own way, above average at least. We each had our insecurities, which we shared with each other. Becca was carrying a little extra weight around her middle, which she was paranoid about. Gripping an inch of flesh between her fingers to show us in disgust whenever the mood took her. At least she had boobs; I was slow to develop on that front and envied her curves. I resembled a scarecrow in comparison. Hayley hated her braces and her red hair and Robyn suffered with a tiny amount of acne. It wasn’t much of a big deal, but when one of the blonde bitches called her ‘pizza face’, it was the only time I’d seen her cry. Not in front of them; never in front of them. But in the toilets, later, with me as we coughed our way through a cigarette, she’d pinched from her mum’s packet that morning.

  I had visions of Gareth sat on the floor of his messy room, surrounded by Elliot, James and Mark giving us marks out of ten. Ranking us in order of how hot we were. That’s what boys did, right? The idea made me shudder and I pushed the image to the back of my mind. I didn’t share it with anyone. Hayley and Becca still needed convincing and I didn’t want to give them any reason to say no.

  The following day, we got the bus into Crawley, there were loads of shops there and none in Copthorne. We always wanted to hit the make-up aisle in Boots.

  ‘What do you think of this one?’ Robyn pouted into the mirror, slathering a layer of Rimmel’s Heather Shimmer across her lips.

  ‘Gross, that’s the tester. Do you know how many people have used that?’ Becca recoiled, nostrils flared.

  Robyn glared at Becca and slipped the tester into her pocket without hesitation.

  I flushed pink and turned to leave. I hated it when Robyn stole things, she did it often and we’d all scatter in different directions like someone had let off a stink bomb.

  After we’d fled, we gathered down the street, giving Robyn a hard time for pulling another stunt, but she was oblivious. Flopping onto a bench, we looked through our purchases for the day. Make-up, hairbands and CD singles from HMV filled our bags, money earnt from car washing and tidying our rooms. Only Robyn had a job, a paper round after school on a Thursday which make the causal shoplifting all the more ridiculous. She was the only one who could afford to buy the stuff she stole.

  Becca pulled out her mobile phone to check if anyone had called her. She did it around fifty times a day as it was new, but she was the first of us to have one, so, the only people that ever called her was her parents. I’d been asking for one for ages, but my parents were immovable. No one saw Mark approach. He crept up and tapped Becca on the shoulder, ducking away behind Hayley when she swung round.

  ‘All right, girls?’ he said, standing to his full height, chest puffed out. He towered over all of us.

  Mark had a bit of a swagger. He wasn’t bad-looking with blond wavy curtains that ended at his chin. The hard man of the group; his dad owned a building business in the village. I’d seen him working on a Saturday, carrying a bag of cement at a house in Bale Street where his dad was building an extension.

  Becca twirled her hair around her fingers. I rolled my eyes, not believing I hadn’t seen it earlier.

  ‘Hi, Mark,’ Becca and I said in unison before collapsing in a giggling heap.

  Seconds later, James, Gareth and Elliot joined us and for a few minutes it was awkward. No one wanted to mention the obvious and the conversation stalled until Mark suggested we head to the park to sit in the sun. At the top of the high street, opposite the police station, was the memorial gardens – a large expanse of green space, with a playground and a café too.

  When we got there, it was rammed, a typical hot day in the school holidays. James and Gareth were mucking around, play-fighting like children. Mark took off his T-shirt and laid back on the grass. Becca gawped unashamedly. We all did. I couldn’t deny it; Mark’s top half wouldn’t have looked out of place in More! magazine’s Torso of the Week. Becca looked like she’d be easy to convince, if only I could guarantee Mark would be hers.

  We pooled our money and Hayley went with
Gareth to get ice creams from the café. Hayley needed a bit of a nudge to go. She was so shy, she had to be pushed in the right direction. I was sure her and Gareth would hit it off. Maybe I was destined to host that programme, Blind Date, I was such a good matchmaker.

  I watched the kids climbing the colourful frame, wishing I could be eight again. Swinging beside Gareth on the twin set in his garden. Not a care in the world. At fifteen, I felt pulled in so many directions with no idea which way to go. Life wasn’t so simple any more and it was partly why I wanted the gathering to go ahead. I wanted to lose my virginity; it would be one less thing to worry about. We could move on and enjoy what the future had to offer. The pressure would be off, and it wouldn’t be such a big deal.

  I looked from James to Elliot and back again. If Hayley wanted Gareth and Becca was mad for Mark, who would I go with? I didn’t know either of them well, not like I knew Gareth. It made me nervous but couldn’t be helped. I didn’t fancy either of them. Not because they were ugly, they weren’t, but there was zero chemistry and I wanted stomach flips and sexual tension. I wanted what I’d seen in the movies. The ones my parents wouldn’t let me watch. They both seemed nice enough lads, although total opposites: James was smart, you could tell – whenever he opened his mouth, he always had something valid to say. Like he only had a certain amount of words and didn’t want to waste any spouting rubbish. Elliot was funny, not in a physical goofball way, but he was so quick-witted and able to lighten the atmosphere with a single sentence.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ Gareth appeared in front of me, holding out a dripping ninety-nine, minus the flake which he was eating.

  ‘Oi, that was mine!’ I complained.

  He sat next to me, so close we were almost touching, and I saw Hayley watching warily out the corner of my eye. He pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket, checking the screen. My eyebrows shot up.

  ‘You’ve got one too?’ I said, feeling put out.

  ‘It’s Craig’s old one. He’s just got a new one.’

  ‘Lucky,’ I sulked, taking a lick of my ice cream

  We sat in silence for a minute before Gareth spoke.

  ‘It’s on. The lads are up for it. Just need to work out when and where,’ his voice low, so we wouldn’t be overheard.

  ‘I already know where, leave that to me. Next Sunday okay with you?’ I asked, aware the holidays were slipping away from us and this wasn’t something I wanted to do whilst school was in full swing. I had to hope I could get Hayley and Becca fully onboard by then. A Sunday would be best. You could guarantee my parents never did anything on a Sunday, it was always the same. Roast dinner followed by Dad taking the piss out of Songs of Praise, after a few glasses of wine.

  ‘Sure.’ Gareth gulped, like he was steeling himself to say something, but I cut him off.

  ‘Great. Remember, no one talks. If any of you lot tell anyone, we’ll deny everything, and you’ll look like lying losers.’

  Gareth shrank back. He looked wounded that I would think so little of him. I didn’t, not of him, but I didn’t know the others as well. ‘Okay, okay. I’ve told them all right.’

  ‘Oh, and one more thing,’ I said, pausing to take a long lick of my ice cream, relishing the crimson colour Gareth’s face had turned.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The boys bring the condoms.’

  7

  September 2018

  ‘They said it was a blue Volkswagen that ran Gareth off the road, but they haven’t caught them yet. No CCTV apparently,’ Mum said, impaling a Brussel sprout on her fork.

  ‘God that’s awful,’ I replied, my appetite ebbing away. ‘What did he do for a living?’

  ‘He worked in IT, a software tester I think Sue said.’ That made sense, he was good with computers back at school. ‘Oooofff,’ Mum winced, rubbing her leg. Her knee was sore, the damp air aggravated it and last night there’d been an almighty storm. It had been building for a while and at least had broken the humidity, but I’d been kept awake for three nights in a row for one reason or another. Mum commented, as soon as I arrived, on the dark circles under my eyes. An early night was in order; I was going to drink wine until I passed out, anything to ensure I got some sleep.

  I wanted to talk to my dad; there was so much I wanted to get off my chest. I’d always been closer to him, but I couldn’t find the right moment. The mood around the dining table sombre as our thoughts were with Gareth and his family. Instead I picked through my lamb, eating as much as I could manage.

  ‘Where’s the funeral for Gareth? Are you going to go?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, it’s being held in St. Albans. I spoke to Sue – they were engaged you see, him and Lisa and she wanted to arrange it there. He’d been living there for over ten years, so lots of friends that way. I don’t think Sue is overly happy about it, but there you go.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ I conceded.

  ‘The only thing is it’s an hour in the car and your mum’s knee is playing up a bit. I don’t think the journey will be a good one. We were hoping that you’d represent us?’

  My heart sank, but I smiled and placed my hand over Dad’s. ‘Of course, I will.’

  ‘The date’s not been set yet. Sue said there’s an inquest early this week to record the cause of death, so his body hasn’t been released,’ Dad continued.

  I shuddered; it was alien to speak about someone you knew that way. ‘Okay, let me know when you hear. I’ve sent flowers to Sue and Jim.’

  ‘Thanks, love, we’ve sent some too,’ Mum said.

  ‘How’s business with all this Brexit lark?’ Dad asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Okay, to be honest, Dad. It doesn’t seem to have affected us really, some homeowners have said they are worried about the uncertainty – do they sell now or wait? – but we’re still taking on properties.’

  ‘Good, good. Bloody awful business – they just need to get out and stop dragging their heels.’ Mum rolled her eyes as Dad continued to get on his soapbox about the Remainers wanting to revoke Article 50. To be honest I switched off, it was the last thing on my mind.

  After lunch, Dad assumed his usual position in the front room, falling asleep in the chair, and I washed up.

  ‘Mum, where’s the photo box? I want to have a look through old ones from school.’

  When we were finished in the kitchen, Mum directed me towards the green plastic box, on top of her wardrobe. It was heavy, and the lid was covered in dust, but I managed to lift it down.

  I sat at the dining table going through the photos, the tablecloth almost covered in them. Mum joined me, cooing at my baby pictures, eyes glistening.

  ‘You were such a beautiful baby, Sophie,’ she said, her head tilted to one side, staring adoringly at me. Frozen in time, splashing in the bath with bubbles on my head. I flicked through a pile; they weren’t in any order. Over forty years of photos from when my parents met. Me as a toddler feeding some goats; me on the swings; then again, country dancing at the school fete. Underneath more baby photos, I glimpsed a school blazer. The crest of an eagle in red and yellow. I slid the photo out – it was me, Becca, and Robyn, pulling faces on the swings in the park. Another, all of us glammed up for the leavers’ disco in baby doll dresses, chokers and awful platform trainers. We looked like Spice Girl rejects. I knew there was one somewhere of all of us together and after ten minutes of hunting, I found it.

  I closed my eyes, feeling the breeze rippling my hair and the sun on my back from that day. It was the summer holidays, the countdown to the day we became adults. An amazing few days of glorious sunshine. We spent the afternoon in the park, sunning ourselves until our skin glowed pink. Hayley sat in the shade, concerned her freckles were going to merge. Elliot brought his ghetto blaster and we contributed money for the six enormous batteries it held. We laid in the sun, listening to Capital radio and larking around with water pistols. Becca had been gifted a Polaroid and three packs of film from her parents and we spent the day taking pictures. Using all sixty
in around four hours. Becca took most of them home; she was making a scrapbook of the summer holidays. A lot of them were of Mark, but she made each one of us take one group shot home as a memento of that perfect summer.

  I gazed at the photo now, flipping it over. I’d written on the back ‘Summer of 1997’. I rolled my eyes and chuckled. I thought I was so cool. I examined the picture, holding it up to the light. In the shot, I sat in the middle of Elliot and Gareth on the grass; Gareth giving the V for victory sign behind my head. I remember it was taken the second before I turned around to see what he was doing. Mark was tickling Becca, who was giggling but wincing at the same time, her face screwed up. Robyn was making a rude hand gesture and James looked serious, like he hadn’t managed to smile in time. Our backdrop was bright blue sky and scorched grass. That summer was hot, and it hardly rained. Everyone’s grass had turned brown.

  ‘This was the one I was looking for,’ I said to Mum, showing her the photo.

  ‘No Hayley?’

  ‘She was taking it. In fact, I don’t think I’ve got one of Hayley,’ I said, pushing the photos around the table as though I could unearth one hidden beneath.

  ‘Such a shame she moved away, nice girl she was.’

  ‘Yep, the last time I saw her was at the Halloween party, the day before they left.’

  ‘She knocked for you the day after that, you know, but you were still in bed, or had you gone out with your father? I can’t remember.’ Mum stared into the kitchen as if the answer could be found there.

  ‘Really? You never said.’

  ‘I must have forgot. Yes, you’d gone out with your father because the car broke down, remember. We spent all day trying to get it fixed. I think she knocked before they left. Her dad was waiting in the car outside.’

  ‘Did she say anything?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t remember, Sophie, it was a long time ago. I don’t think so, I think she wanted to say goodbye.’