Don't You Forget About Me

by Liz Tipping

  Stubbs could do whatever he wanted. We both could. We could both have our John Hughes moments, our scene at the end when everything was perfect. And I’d go to April’s stupid ball as well, even though it would be such a hard thing to do. Like Andie in Pretty in Pink, I needed them to know they didn’t break me.

  Chapter Four

  I woke on Sunday feeling like I’d barely slept at all and my head was whizzing with thoughts of school reunions, Daniel Rose and disappointing school discos. I was shattered from too much wine and that vile cider and black. I was convinced I would go straight to sleep, but I lay awake for ages and everything came flooding back as though it was yesterday.

  I’d made myself invisible nearly all the way through school, then when Daniel appeared suddenly I didn’t want to be invisible any more. I had tried so hard for no one to ever look my way and Daniel had noticed me anyway. He made me think it would be okay for people to see me.

  By the time the Christmas disco came around, Daniel Rose had flirted with and asked out every girl in our class apart from me. I told myself I’d been foolish to think he’d even noticed me, but sometimes I caught him looking over in class and he spoke to me in detention every day. Verity said he was probably waiting to ask me to the disco. She thought he liked me too. We both walked home for weeks, saving up our bus fare so we could buy clothes for the Christmas disco, and I lived in hope that Daniel was going to ask me out. I was fed up of not joining in, not taking these moments for myself.

  I walked into the hall where Daniel was standing near the door. I thought he might be about to come over and ask me out. Then I was jostled by one of April’s friends who laughed out loud and then muttered “bag lady” as she walked past. I hadn’t heard it in years and it cut deep. Bag lady. How could she be so cruel? This was the moment I had been waiting for, for Daniel to notice me and ask me out. I felt so vulnerable stood in front of all those people. Tears rolled down my face and I couldn’t speak. Daniel Rose was looking right at me. Was he going to save me from this humiliation with a kind word or a look? He looked down at the floor and walked away. I felt Stubbs pull my hand from behind. I wondered if he had heard the unkind words. I wasn’t sure, but I felt his pull and walked away with him.

  The following day there were sniggers again, chattering about me barely out of earshot. I should have known not to draw attention to myself.

  After that, I went back to being invisible again. It was easier that way.

  *

  When April had first invited us to the ball, I knew I had to go. I wanted to prove to everybody that all those years of hiding away meant nothing – that I was just as good as everyone else. I’d spent so long feeling invisible and trying to be average, I felt I’d never really had a chance to shine at anything and I hadn’t found my thing.

  All the years of missing out on social activities meant I spent a lot of time at home watching films, experiencing all my important moments watching John Hughes films, not having any of my own. But it wasn’t too late to find out what my thing was.

  I dragged myself to the convenience shop on the corner of the High Street, just before midday, to seek out some Sunday lunch. In the shop, I found myself browsing the Pot Noodles – such was my glitzy life. I bizarrely found myself wondering what April would be having for her lunch. Something expensive, most probably. April had made a success of things here in Broad Hampton whereas I couldn’t even make a Sunday lunch. I was pleading with Mr Sidhu because last week, I had made him promise never ever, ever to sell me a Pot Noodle on a Sunday again no matter how hungover I was and how much I begged.

  He folded his arms and shook his head slowly, resolutely. He wasn’t going to budge.

  “Just this once,” I said, “then I am quitting.”

  “This is the last time,” he said. “You said you were quitting. How about a nice microwave meal instead? Have a look in the freezer. I’ve got some nice frozen chicken dinners for you.”

  He gestured to the chest freezer, which was half full of 10p freeze pops and the rest full of boxes covered in so many ice crystals you couldn’t really tell what they were.

  I was peering in the freezer when I heard Stubbs.

  “You won’t find a Pot Noodle in there, Cara,” he said, laughing. Judging by the grey sweatpants and white vest, I assumed he’d been for a run over the rec.

  “Have you really been up at this hour running?” I said.

  “It’s nearly lunchtime,” he said.

  “Why do you do it though? Running?” I asked as he paid Mr Sidhu for his water.

  Stubbs was never really a sporty type at school and here he was dressed just like Emilio Estevez. Perhaps Stubbs was now an athlete and had found his ‘thing’.

  He shrugged. “Makes you feel good.”

  “You should listen to your friend,” Mr Sidhu said. “Some fresh air, exercise, good food. Just what you need.”

  I thanked Mr Sidhu for his unsolicited and unwelcome advice and me and Stubbs made our way out of the shop. But he had a point.

  “So would you say it’s like your ‘thing’ now, being an athlete?” Maybe it could be my thing too? Then when I went to the ball, I could tell people how sporty I was and everyone would marvel at my athleticism. I wondered how long it would take for me to fully athleticise. More than a fortnight, I imagined.

  “Why do I have to have a ‘thing’?”

  “Like in The Breakfast Club,” I said. “It’s what makes them all cool. Can you teach me how to run in a fortnight?”

  Stubbs laughed and stopped in his tracks, nearly spitting his water out.

  “How did you get to thirty years old and not know how to run? You don’t know how to run! Have you heard yourself?”

  “Well, obviously, I could run, but I don’t have special clothes or anything.”

  “You are a moron, you know that, don’t you?” he said, grinning.

  I gave him a gentle dig in the arm.

  “Go on, please, show me how to run. I want to see if I’m an athlete. Maybe I could have been if I’d been able to afford to go to the clubs and buy the kits,” I said.

  “Okay, if you really want to know how to run, meet me in the park later. And I will teach you the noble art of putting one foot in front of the other. And maybe how not to be such a moron.”

  “I think I could totally do it. Being an athlete would suit me. Like Emilio Estevez in the film. Except not a wrestler because that would be weird, but yeah, you can show me how to do running later.”

  He repeated everything back to me, sarcastically. “You want to be an athlete, like Emilio Estevez in the film? And you want me to show you how to do running?”

  Now he said it like that, it did sound a bit stupid, but I persisted and pretended it was perfectly normal. “Yes please,” I said. “You can help me because you are good at everything. Even PE.”

  Being from our estate hadn’t seemed to hold Stubbs back in exactly the same way it did with me, but I still felt he hadn’t achieved all he could. He’d always seemed to rise above any teasing, laughing it off or batting it back with witty remarks.

  “PE?” Stubbs laughed. “Yeah, well, I don’t really call it PE any more, you know. I tend it call it exercise, like normal people do. But okay, whatever, Dunham. I’ll see you later.”

  I phoned Verity as soon as I got in.

  “I’m going to be an athlete,” I said. “It’s going to be my thing. Stubbs is going to teach me how to run. Want to come?”

  “I’d love to but it’s Sunday and I have to watch Frozen four hundred times. Why are you going to be an athlete, by the way?” she said as an afterthought.

  “So I don’t look like a loser at the school reunion. It’s part of finding my thing; then I’ll go to the school reunion, Daniel Rose will find me scintillating and magnetic and I’ll have my John Hughes moment and then I can get on with life. It will be a turning point, like in a film.”

  “Right. Well I’m glad you’ve sorted that out. You’re going for a run in the park wit
h Stubbs and then your life is going to magically change?”

  “Exactly,” I said. Listening to my plan remixed with Verity’s cynical words didn’t make it sound the most convincing, but it seemed as good a place to start as any. Besides I thought it would be fun going to the park with Stubbs. I still wasn’t fully convinced the athlete’s life was for me. Maybe I needed to up my game and rethink my nutrition? I stared at my Pot Noodle on the kitchen worktop and swiped it away into the bin. I was having a Pot Noodle moment to go with the battered sausage revelation.

  *

  “Are you still hungover? You’re hungover, aren’t you?” Stubbs looked like a proper runner, alternately stretching his arms across his back and stretching out his thighs, which I may have by accident had a look at for slightly too long.

  “No,” I insisted. I gulped down some water and squinted in the sunlight.

  “Sure?” he said.

  “Positive! Though I may avoid cider and black for a little while.”

  I could not believe how many people there were in the park, doing exercising stuff. Walking their dogs, having picnics with their families, power walking. “Why aren’t they all lying on their sofas watching hangover telly?” I said. “These people are sick.”

  “It was your idea, Dunham. You’re the one who wanted to come out running. So when was the last time you ran?”

  I had to think. “Well I ran for the bus a few weeks ago when I was going into Worcester. Although actually, that’s probably a few months back now.” I felt slightly alarmed as I thought it might have been even longer than that and I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I had left Broad Hampton. Perhaps I was going to be stuck here for ever.

  “You need to stretch first,” he said. “Come on.”

  I started copying what he was doing and stopped almost immediately.

  “I feel like a twat – everyone is looking at me.”

  “Come on, Cara,” he said sternly. “Just do it; no one’s looking at you.”

  I placated him with a few half-hearted calf stretches.

  “Come on then, let’s go,” he said and shot off at such a pace I considered giving up and just turning round and going the other way.

  “Come on,” he shouted from ahead and I started running. He jogged back towards me and round in a circle. When I had been going for all of about forty seconds, I said I needed to stop for a rest. It was exhausting.

  He continued circling around me for a while as I stood there with my hands on my thighs, head bowed like I had just finished a marathon.

  “Can we walk for a bit?” I said.

  “Sure,” he said. He put an arm around my shoulders and hauled me upright.

  Now that I wasn’t trying to run at Usain Bolt speed, I was able to take in the sights and sounds of the park. The daffodils, the lake. “It’s nice here, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I come most mornings.”

  “Do you?” I said. “Well I did not know that.”

  “There’s loads of stuff you don’t know about me.”

  “Is there?” I said. “Well, it must be nice to have something to be passionate about.”

  “Yeah, well I’m passionate about loads of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you, my love,” he said in an over-the-top voice. He took my hand and spun me round and before I knew it, he had bent me over in some elaborate dance move and I was relying on him to keep me held up because my knees had somehow got lost beneath me.

  “Stubbs! Get off me,” I said, giving him a whack on the arm. He pulled me up and I looked around to see if anyone had seen what a massive idiot he was being.

  “What’s wrong with you,” he said, laughing hard.

  “Everyone’s looking,” I said.

  “Oh here we go again. Don’t want anyone looking at you, but always moaning that nobody notices you.”

  “Nobody does notice me,” I said, feeling a little bit hurt and embarrassed that Stubbs seemed to think it was funny.

  “Yeah, right,” he said.

  “Anyway, I thought you wanted to ask April out. Isn’t she the one you’re passionate about?”

  He scratched his head and looked off into the distance and kind of mumbled a bit.

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “Well, why don’t you then?”

  “I dunno. I don’t know what she’ll say.”

  “She’ll say yes. Or she’ll say no.”

  “Nah, was a silly idea really. She wouldn’t go out with someone like me.”

  “What do you mean, someone like you?”

  “You know what April is like, she’s all bad boy bikers or corporate bankers. She goes for anyone with a bit of drama attached. I reckon I’m just too ordinary for her and just not popular enough. She is fit though.” I reckoned he added that bit about her being fit because he was worried he had almost revealed his innermost secrets and fears and had to change it at the last minute to blokeify his statement.

  “Yeah, she is. Fit.” I thought, unlike me who wanted to keel over after a forty-second run. I didn’t think that being an athlete was my thing at all.

  “I’m bored of this now,” I said. “Can we go for a cup of tea instead?” I motioned with my head to the tea rooms.

  Stubbs reluctantly agreed and we sat near the window with a pot of tea and piles of toast.

  “So the athletic life isn’t for you, then? What’s next on your plan?”

  “Brain,” I offered. “Or criminal?”

  “Do you want to leave without paying then?”

  “No way,” I said, looking round to see if the staff or one of the customers on the nearby table had heard us.

  “Brain it is then.” Stubbs reached out behind him and picked up one of the newspapers from the rack. He flicked through to the crossword page and said, “Nine down…”

  “Stop,” I said. “I can’t do crosswords.” Brain was probably the least likely fit for me, I reckoned.

  “How do you know you can’t? When did you last do one? Here try this one. Nine down: ‘month for fools’.”

  I tutted and decided I wasn’t going to go along with it but then he said, “It’s easy.”

  “April,” I said. Stubbs grinned and raised his eyebrows.

  Bloody April again. Popping up everywhere to remind me how cool and popular she was. I’d always assumed things were easy for April at school. She must have had a blast, everyone liked her and she was at the centre of everything. I thought back to watching The Breakfast Club and wondered if being popular had been a curse for April, like it was for Molly Ringwald. Maybe this life as a princess wasn’t that comfortable for April after all. I wondered if she was like me and was finding it hard to shake the past or if she was satisfied to live the life she had been assigned at school. It was like April hadn’t moved on at all, trying to cling on to her popularity. It made me even more determined to move on from being the invisible girl.

  Chapter Five

  “How old are you, Liv? Nineteen? Twenty?” I’d barely given chance for her to take her coat off. I don’t suppose it was very fair of me to bombard her with questions this early on a Monday morning. I was sat at the desk, updating my CV. I was determined to have something in place before April’s reunion, to be doing something I was proud of.

  “I’m twenty-five,” she said.

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I’ve worked with you for years,” said Liv, pleading with me to understand. I knew that she had, but sometimes I struggled to comprehend how the years had gone so fast. How had so much time passed and nothing really happened?

  I wondered how things had been at school for Liv. She didn’t seem to fit into any particular type.

  “Oh yeah, course,” I said to Liv, studying her for a while, wondering if she had been popular at school, wondering whether Daniel would have asked her out. She certainly fit the part: glamorous, fashionable but with her own quirky colourful style. I looked down at my own clothes: a long black tunic over a pair of trousers and an
other pair of block-heeled shoes. When I started working here in the summer before sixth form, it was the first time I’d been able to buy my own clothes and it felt so good to choose things for myself, but I hadn’t really changed my look since. Fashion struck me as particularly exhausting and yet here was Liv who made it look effortless. She must have been popular at school.

  “So were you one of the popular girls at school?” I nodded, waiting for her to tell me like Molly Ringwald in The Breakfast Club how it was such a challenge being so popular and having to fit in with her friends.

  “No. Goth.”

  “Goth!? Like full goth? Black hair, eyeliner, the lot?”

  “Yeah.” Liv nodded and laughed. “I had a long leather coat with Sisters of Mercy painted on the back and I wore German army boots and hardly anyone talked to me, but I didn’t talk to them either.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. How could Liv, this religious follower of YouTube beauty bloggers, ever have worn black lipstick?

  “So,” I said taking a sidelong glance at Ally Sheedy, “were you, would you say, a basket case?”

  Liv laughed. Being the athlete clearly wasn’t for me, and I wondered whether you were allowed to suddenly turn into a goth in your thirties.

  “Probably yeah. Come here,” said Liv, “I’ll show you the pics.”

  Liv scrolled through Facebook on her phone, and showed me a photo of her in full goth make-up at what looked like a family meal in something like a Toby Carvery. She was sat on the end of the table, everyone else smiling and raising their glasses in a toast, while Liv looked like the undead. I burst out laughing.

  “So what happened, Liv? How did you escape from the goth cult?”