The Reunion (14 page)

The front door slammed. Dan turned and watched as Andrew strode out to Jen’s car. Jen made a move to go after him, but Zac caught her arm and stopped her.

‘Dan’s right,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t go.’ Instead they stood motionless as Andrew opened the car door, jumped inside and began reversing slowly down the drive. The three of them watched the yellow halogen lights fade out and finally disappear as he swung the car into the road.

14 September 1999

Email, from Andrew to Dan

Hi Dan,

Thanks for your message. I am sorry that things turned out the way they did. I know it was a big night for you, I hope it wasn’t ruined.

You must understand, however, that was not easy for us to watch. Yes, it’s fiction. Yes, you weren’t responsible for the final cut. But you were responsible for most of it, Dan, and I think we can both agree that it was only very thinly fictionalised, wasn’t it? And you could at least have warned us of the content.

We all believed – were led to believe, I think – that this was going to be a fictionalised account of your childhood. And to some degree, it was just that. You should have warned us that it was going to involve the tragic death of a friend, and the consequences of that, because you know very well that that isn’t just about
your
life, Dan, it’s about ours, too.

I’m not saying you had no right to make it, to ‘use’ Conor’s death. It’s what writers and filmmakers do, I suppose. Tragedy being more dramatic than most things, it lends itself to this kind of treatment. I just think that, if you wanted us to respond well, you should have let us know what we were walking into.

And let’s not kid ourselves too much: you can call it fiction, but there were certain people and situations which were very recognisable. Your ‘Lilah’ character was a horrible caricature, a hatchet job. I’m not surprised she was hurt. I suppose that it’s natural that as it’s your story you would cast yourself as hero, I don’t mind that too much. What did get to me was that little love triangle you put in. Call that fiction a thousand times, Dan, but this is what I saw: I saw your fantasy of Jen in love with you, Jen rejecting Conor for you, Jen ending up with you. That was offensive to me, to Nat, to all of us. It was an insult to Conor’s memory. Can you imagine what Conor’s mum would have felt, watching that? Or his brother? Can you imagine what Jen felt? I only hope that she hasn’t seen it, I imagine she would find it most offensive of all.

I suppose on some level I’ve always known that you had feelings for her over and above friendship, but she isn’t yours, Dan. She never will be.

I don’t think meeting up right now’s a very good idea. Nat’s still pretty raw about the whole thing. She’s not very keen on the rewriting of history. I’m still pretty pissed off, too.

Maybe in a few months’ time. I do wish you success, Dan. I only hope it doesn’t cost you too much.

Andrew

THERE WAS SNOW
on the road, but it wasn’t too bad. Visibility was poor, very poor indeed, which was obviously a minus, but on the plus side, the likelihood of there being much traffic on this particular stretch of road in the middle of a blizzard was pretty low. The other minus, of course, was that he’d had three glasses of wine. The thought made his throat close up, he struggled to swallow. How could he be doing this again? On the other hand, what else could he do? They couldn’t just leave her out there. Zac was probably right, she probably would turn around and come back, but what if she didn’t? What if she slipped and twisted an ankle, and she was lying out there, in pain and afraid? What if she was hit by a car? It was Lilah. She couldn’t be left alone, he wouldn’t leave her alone.

He was driving very, very slowly, the speedometer barely touching fifteen kilometres per hour. What was fifteen kilometres per hour in miles? He racked his brain for the conversion rate. It was probably around ten. Ten miles an hour! This was ridiculous, he could run faster than that. Gingerly, he pressed down a little harder on the accelerator. He’d never driven in heavy snow before, but he remembered being taught about driving in snow and ice on the course he’d had to attend when he got his licence back. If you drive too slowly, they said, you’ll lose momentum and get stuck. Not much chance of that on this hill. You don’t want to be going too fast, because you don’t want to have to use your brakes. Just take your feet off the pedals and steer. And allow much longer stopping times. There was a bend coming up ahead. He took his feet off the pedals and felt the car coast.

There was a car accident. I was driving too fast. I was over the limit. That’s how he tells the story, when he has to. He doesn’t tell it often, but sometimes it’s inevitable. In job interviews, for example, when he has to explain his criminal conviction.

This is what he doesn’t say, what he never says.

He never mentions that it was a celebration, that weekend, it was
his
celebration. He’d finished his articles and had been offered a job at Fineman and Hicks, a leading firm of criminal justice and human rights lawyers. It was the dream job, the opportunity he’d barely dared to hope and pray for, and he had got it. Natalie’s parents were away somewhere; it was a hot weekend in June and they’d all taken Friday and Monday off. They’d have the run of the house for an entire long weekend.

He never mentions, because it doesn’t seem particularly important, that Dan had recently purchased his first ever car: a red 1976 Alfa Romeo Spider Veloce. Jen and Natalie (Nat crammed into the tiny back seat with her knees up by her chin), were riding with Dan. Andrew was driving the other car, a rather less racy dark blue Vauxhall Nova which used to belong to his mum. His girlfriend, Lilah, was at his side, with Conor in the back seat.

The plan was that he would drive as far as Weyhill, where they were going to stop for lunch. After that, Lilah would take over the driving, because it was his celebration after all. He should be allowed a pint or two.

He never tells anyone about the atmosphere around the table at lunch, which was odd, strained, with everyone either talking a bit too loudly or not at all. Conor hyper, Jen a bit subdued, Dan showing off, Lilah veering wildly between silence and shrieks of laughter.

He never mentions what Natalie has just said, that she caught Lilah doing a line in the toilets and got her to admit that she hadn’t been drinking orange juice after all, that she’d got the barman to sneak in a couple of vodkas, too. He doesn’t say how he and Lilah ended up in an argument when he said she couldn’t possibly drive. He was in a better state. After all, he hadn’t quite finished his second pint.

Lilah was furious with him, insisting that he was over-reacting. Fucking Captain Sensible. She let him drive but insisted on switching cars: she couldn’t bear to sit beside him, the sanctimonious, self-righteous wanker. Conor, could she switch with Conor? She wanted to be in the cool car, anyway. Come on, Dan, let’s see what this baby can do.

Heading out of the village, the road wound down a hill. Dan was driving a little too fast given that they didn’t know the roads. Andrew, with Natalie by his side, Conor in the back seat, was left way behind. At the bottom of the hill, there was a long, much straighter section of road, running in between two fields of glorious yellow rapeseed. He never mentions Conor telling him to put his foot down, to catch them up. Come on, pedal to the metal, mate. Can’t let that flash git get away with this, got to take him down a peg or two. Andrew put his foot down, the old Nova had more poke than he’d thought.

Conor was cheering him on, Natalie was laughing. They were catching up with the others, speeding along, sixty miles an hour, seventy, hedgerows a dark green blur. Windows open, music up loud. Conor’s yelling, come on, come on, you little beauty, as though he’s cheering on a horse. Andrew looked over at Natalie and she was looking back at him, doing that thing she does, where she smiles and bites her lower lip at the same time and it just kills him, the way she looks at him. His heart is breaking, his heart soars. He’s in love with her, he’s in love with her, he can’t be, it’s impossible, but he’s in love with her. He wants to drive, with her by his side, forever. He put his foot down harder, steered out to the right, coasting past Dan’s boy racer, Conor hanging out the window, jeering at him as they went.

Once past them, Andrew slowed back down, aware that the buzz he was feeling wasn’t just due to the sunshine and velocity and falling in love with his girlfriend’s best friend, there was beer buzz in there too.

When he tells the story, he never remarks on how Dan just
wouldn’t let it go
, driving right up to his bumper, beeping his horn, messing around, eventually racing past them, blowing kisses as he went. Natalie waved at him, she blew a kiss back. He doesn’t mention how Conor just
wouldn’t let it go
, goading him from the back seat, come on, come on mate, you’ve got the rest of your life to be boring, let’s go.

There was a bend in the road, Dan raced around it, Andrew following. After that, there was another straight section. They’d left the farmland behind them now and they were driving through forest, an emerald canopy above. Come on, mate, come on. He was thinking about the kiss that Natalie blew to Dan, wondering if she meant it. There was a cassette in the car stereo, a mix tape that he made years ago, second year at college maybe, all Lemonheads and Suede and Nirvana. ‘Sodajerk’ came on, by Buffalo Tom, and Natalie gave a little yelp. Oh, I love this song, I haven’t heard this song in forever. She turned the stereo up louder, louder, started singing at the top of her voice. Andrew looked at her and grinned and put his foot down.

They almost made it. At the end of the straight section of road, there was a bend, and around that bend came a Land Rover. They almost made it. Almost is nothing, though, when you’re doing seventy-five miles an hour and there’s nowhere to go. Andrew never talks about how it felt, the moment he knew it was all over, when there was nowhere to go: Dan’s car to the left, the Land Rover in front. He had to swerve right, steer through the trees. He was never going to make it, there was no way. But there was nowhere else to go.

It felt as though everything in the world were made of metal. He was made of metal, he was breathing metal, every sound he heard was the scrape of metal, the crunch of it. Hard, sharp, unyielding.

The car had stopped moving.

Andrew’s hands were on the steering wheel, he was still holding the steering wheel.

He turned his head.

Natalie was looking at him; her lips were moving, but no sounds were coming out. There was blood on her face, blood in her mouth. Had she bitten her tongue?

His neck hurt, and his leg. He looked down, there was blood soaking through his jeans around his knee.

Natalie? His seat belt wouldn’t come undone. Natalie? It’s going to be OK. You’re going to be OK.

Someone was shouting, he couldn’t see who it was.

Slowly, he turned his head. Conor was gone, he wasn’t in the back seat of the car. He must have got out already.

Maybe, Andrew reasoned, he’d been unconscious for a while? For how long?

Conor’s gone to get help, he said to Natalie, but she wasn’t listening. Her eyes were closed and there was blood coming out of her mouth, running down her chin.

Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ.

He had to get out of the car.

Finally, the seatbelt clicked and he yanked it free. He turned back, to his right, to open the door and then he noticed that the windscreen was gone, completely gone, and that there was a pair of trainers on the car bonnet, right at the end of the bonnet. Black Converse, Conor’s trainers. He couldn’t understand why they were there, at the front of the car, when Conor had been at the back.

His door had buckled, it took him a moment to get it open. His leg was painful, really painful. He pulled himself out of the car. It seemed darker, much darker than it had been when they were driving. What time was it?

Someone was shouting.

He turned around. There were two people on the other side of the car, they were fighting.

Jesus Christ, he couldn’t stand, he was going to fall.

It was Dan, Dan and Jen, they were fighting.

Dan was shouting, he was pushing Jen, he was holding on to her. She was screaming.

Dan was crying out, he’s gone, Jen, he’s gone. Don’t look, Jesus Christ. No, Jen, don’t.

Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.

When he tells the story, he never mentions any of that.

24 May 1996

Email exchange between Andrew and Conor

Andrew to Conor

Got it!

C to A

Got what?

A to C

The job! Fineman & Hicks. Got the letter this morning.

C to A

Result! That’s brilliant, mate. Awesome. You totally deserve it. Many, many beers later?

A to C

Definitely. Greyhound, eight-ish?