Wake Me In The Future (16 page)

But fate seemed to favour my younger self, because several years later it presented me with the opportunity to meet her again at a reunion. I’d kept in touch with some of my old school friends and was surprised to find myself pleasantly excited at the prospect of seeing all the familiar faces again. I hadn’t hesitated in accepting the invite because secretly it was only one face that I really wanted to see, and I was hoping that the owner of it would be there and be as single as I was.
If I get the opportunity
, I’d promised myself,
no one is going to stand in my way this time.
Then trying to convince myself that there were other reasons to attend, I told myself,
I’ll be able to impress everyone when they ask me what I am doing, and there’s always the drive into the car park in the Porsche.

Of course, like so many good plans, it didn’t happen.

On the day of the reunion I’d been at the small semi-detached house that I’d recently bought and was renovating. It was close to the school and when it was ready myself and my best friend and housemate, Pete, planned to move in and give up our rooms in the city. It would be a longer commute to work but I’d own my own little bolt-hole, and I’d be able to store the car in the tiny garage attached to the house.

I’d grown a lot closer to Pete after school and was happy to admit later in life that our relationship had been a lifelong Bromance. Such a funny word, I thought, but quite accurate, because I did actually love Pete, just not in a physical way. And when I thought of some of his personal habits, I had to wonder how difficult it was going to be for him to get a woman to love him in that way.

I'd planned to finish early and drive back to the city to change and pick him up. We were both looking forward to making an impressive entrance in the Porsche.

But the heap of junk hadn’t started. Unlike my stomach, the engine wouldn’t turn over. The words, ‘Bloody hell,’ accompanied my hammering of the steering wheel, ‘just great.’

‘Pete,’ I’d said into the public telephone, ‘you’re going to have to get there yourself mate, the car won’t start, and don’t laugh. I’ll see you at school. Oh, and can you bring me some clothes, I’ve only got my tatty old jeans and t-shirt on under these overalls. I’ll change in the toilets when I get there.’

As I’d walked off the main Strelley Road onto the gently sloping Denewood Crescent that led to the school, I cast my mind back to recall the winter days of heavy snow, when my friends and I had made slides along this pavement and nearly careered into passing cars coming along Fircroft Avenue. That walk was engrained in my mind, from the first day being reluctantly dragged along it by my Mother to the last enthusiastic canter back home when I’d left.
Time is such a funny thing
, I thought, because it only seemed like the day before that I’d last made the journey.

Passing through the wrought iron gates that led to the circular raised flowerbed in front of the school entrance, I was overtaken by people arriving in vehicles, carrying familiar faces in unfamiliar, and some surprisingly new cars. Some of my old friends had obviously done well for themselves. I couldn’t wait to catch up with them. But more than anything, in the back of my mind, I’d wanted Helen to be there.

As I approached the tall oak doors that were half open and inviting me to enter, I recognised the unmistakeable profile of Jason Wentworth, getting out of a highly polished Mercedes Benz, which provided a perfect backdrop for the exquisite slim blonde he was helping out. He wore, what I thought must have been a tailored suit and Gucci or Prada shoes. She was stunning, and wore a very low cut figure-hugging satin green dress, which must have cost more than the teachers at the school earned in a month. So much for my own grand entrance!

Nevertheless, I hadn’t wanted to seem churlish and ignore Jason so I wondered over to my old gang leader. When he turned around he was confronted by me holding my arms outstretched and smiling like a father welcoming home a long lost son.

‘Ugh!’ Jason stepped back almost falling over his girlfriend, startled by the vision in front of him. It was then that I realised I must have looked like a complete tramp; my designer stubble had grown beyond its name and the hair on my head was overdue attention. The image I must have presented was further enhanced by the scruffy and torn jeans and paint daubed t-shirt; the impish face of my boyhood idol, Marc Bolan, the lead singer of the Glam Rock band T.Rex, was emblazoned across my t-shirt. The liberal splattering of emulsion, even on my Doc Martin shoes, all painted a picture of someone that should rightly have been sleeping under a cardboard box.

‘Jason, it’s me - Richard, it’s been a long time mate.’

There was no response as I became conscious of the inspection my one time friend was making of my appearance; in fact it was very blatant as Jason’s eye’s travelled slowly from head to foot with a distinct look of disgust on his face. I wondered just how different I must look from the brusque and macho exterior of the tailored man that was now scrutinising me. And a hot wave of jealousy washed over me as I realised that from the outside Jason really did seem to have everything. He’d even regained his perfect smile with a false tooth.

‘Yeah,’ eventually came the considered and drawn out reply, ‘it’s been a long time....mate, we’ll have to catch up sometime,’ then roughly, he put his right arm around his girlfriend and manoeuvred her in the opposite direction before quickly walking away. The mocking words,
‘
like never,’ coming from the receding woman as she and her companion began to laugh.

I stood there, frozen in disbelief. They were actually laughing at me and the anger building inside was beginning to boil my blood. I realised then, the extent of my school day stupidity and shallowness; what a fool I’d been and what a mistake I’d made in not approaching Helen when I had the chance. I’d been an idiot and it made me even more determined to put things straight if she did turn out to be here.

But what if she reacts the same way that Jason had?
Should I wait for Pete to turn up with my clothes? At least I’d look respectable. I stood thinking, before my subsiding anger made the decision for me.
No
, I thought, if she was as shallow as they were, I needed to know. I wasn’t going to change and I’d see just who actually cared about me as a person, not as a clotheshorse with a credit card.

I pulled back my shoulders and walked through the heavy wooden doors and into the school. Several faces stared at me; they wore a mixture of vague recognition and vacuous expressions, but no one acted on their suspicions and approached me.

As I walked along the corridors I was amazed to see the change in appearance that had occurred in some of these people that I’d once spent every day with. While some hadn’t changed at all, some had turned into their parents, putting weight on or taking it off. Whatever their shape they had all made an effort to dress well for the evening and I began to wonder if some of the looks were perhaps justified. Was not making an effort considered an affront to their collective pride?

Anyway, I couldn’t continue to pursue that line of thinking, because there was a finger being poked into the base of my spine and a familiar voice saying, ‘I always knew you’d end up as a tramp Rich.’ Pete was holding up a suit holder and training bag. ‘I think you’ll be needing these matey.’ he said.

‘No, I won’t,’ I said, holding up the palm of my hands to my friend, ‘I am not dressing up to impress anybody tonight Pete, but I will tidy myself up and put on whatever shirt you’ve bought, I think I'll leave the rest in the cloakroom.’

As a compromise, I cleaned the worst paint from my boots and put on the cream dress shirt that hung down and covered the top of my worn jeans. I no longer looked like a tramp but didn’t look aloof and unapproachable either. When I'd finished changing I brushed my fingers roughly through my hair and walked out into the corridor.
Now to find Helen
, I thought.

The same old glitter ball was throwing the same old shadows around the hall, and the smell of the highly polished wooden parquet flooring pulled me through the years. I felt like I’d fallen through some sort of warp in space and been transported back across time. I walked around the edges of the hall trying to see into the shadows that cloaked the corners, because, unless Helen had magically transformed into a diva like Olivia Newton John at the end of Grease, that was where I’d find her.

In the corner to the right of the stage a group of women were standing around scanning the crowd for the grown up versions of the boys they’d once had crushes on. And I thought I saw her, yes, sitting down and in deep conversation with a woman that I recognised as her best friend Jean. Helen was here! No, she hadn’t turned into a diva, but she had filled out and blossomed. A simple blue summer dress and an expensive hair cut complimented her classic features, and she stood out from the overly made up women around her.

Not that the other women hadn’t been attractive in any way, and under other circumstances would have drawn my attention. But on that night they didn’t exist; I’d worked myself up into such a state that to me, there was only Helen. However, when I thought about approaching her, my confidence plummeted and I felt ashamed of my previous behaviour.
Stop being a coward
I thought, as I pushed myself forward. I’d never been so afraid to approach a woman before,
why was it so difficult with Helen?

As I approached she looked up at me with that Princess Diana coy look, which so many young women had been trying to imitate. She’d mastered it and it looked fantastic on her, and I felt my heart racing as I considered what to say.

‘Er....Hi Helen,’ I stumbled; I seemed to be having some difficulty in finding words. I opened my mouth several times, but nothing happened. Then, swallowing, I managed to say, ‘how are you?’

‘I am ok thanks,’ she said and pointed to the face peering out through my open dress shirt, ‘still into T.Rex then?’

‘Oh,’ I said, realising I’d left a few more buttons of my shirt open than I’d intended, ‘yeah, I am starting to replace all my old vinyl with CDs now. It’s like hearing them all for the first time.’

‘I am doing the same with all my old records. Nice to see you again anyway,’ she said in a curt and dismissive way.

I reacted quickly, eager not to lose her attention. ‘I don’t think its how I thought it’d be, a lot of the people I used to hang around with are just shallow idiots, and they don’t seem to have grown up emotionally.’

She looked straight into my eyes then and I felt like she'd touched my soul, ‘have you?'

A hot flush rushed through my body and I blushed more than I’d ever done before, ‘yes I have, I know I was a stupid idiot in the past but I’ve grown up a lot.’

‘That’s nice to hear,’ she said with a genuine smile.

I returned the smile and, almost immediately throwing doubt on my last statement, said in a fake upper class accent, ‘Would one like to dance madam?’ and held out my elbow as I attempted an elegant bow which I knew looked absolutely stupid. But somehow I didn’t care.

In the year 2525
by Facade filled the dance floor; just as I remembered it doing when we were at school. My overly conscious movements reminding me why it wasn't my favourite pastime and I felt awkward trying to keep up with the rest of the dancers, as they moved effortlessly to the beat of the song.

I’d never been a great dancer so over the dying beat of the track I shouted, ‘You don’t fancy getting out of here and going for a quiet drink do you, there’s something I want to ask you?’

She looked at me suspiciously, ‘err… ok, but you’re not trying to play any sort of prank are you?’

‘No,’ I said shaking my head, those days are gone, I promise,’
and my name’s not Pete
, I thought to myself.

It was a warm summer evening and the traffic was sparse as we walked back along Strelley Road towards the Pub. A light breeze helped to cool the air as we crossed Bilborough Road and strolled up the country lane that led to the old Strelley Hall mansion house. The noise of the traffic faded and the cooing of woodpigeons seemed to sing us on our way. I couldn’t help but notice the effortless grace in which she walked beside me, and I wondered if it was something posh people were taught, and I’d just not noticed it before.

Away from the main roads of the estate, what little noise there’d been had almost vanished and only the birds and far distant hum of the motorway could be heard. An unexpected nervousness suddenly descended on me but the almost overwhelming demand of the silence to be filled compelled me to make my move, and say what I’d been practicing for the previous few days.

As we approached the red telephone box, that stood hiding in the overgrown hedge, and served more as a romantic shelter to teenage couples than a point of communication, I said, ‘I’ve been thinking about you a lot just lately Helen. I wanted to ask you out at school but I was an idiot. I thought more about what that moron Jason Wentworth thought than what I actually felt,’ I stopped and turned to her, ‘please tell me you’re not with anyone at the moment, because I’d like to ask if you’d go out with me,’ I stood with both hands held in front of me, fingers crossed.

She laughed almost coyly and said ‘No,’ and as a look of disappointment started to cross my face, she quickly added, ‘you’re all right - no, I am not with anyone,’ and accompanying a big smile came, ‘and I’d love to go out with you Richard, I always liked you at school.’

As we approached the Broad Oak pub, which sat back from the lane, enticing its customers in from its hiding place behind the sprawling monster of an Oak tree, Helen squeezed my hand. ‘You might want to reserve your judgement until you get to know me though, I’ve got some pretty strong opinions about certain things and they might put you off completely.’

I squeezed back, ‘I don’t think so somehow,’ and grinning from ear to ear said, ‘I can’t wait to hear them.’

Chapter 18
– This is me

The pub was unusually quiet that night, and devoid of the acrid smell of tobacco smoke that usually hung in the air. But I suppose it shouldn’t have surprised me considering the main patrons were the people we’d just left dancing back in the school hall.
Good,
I thought, as we made our way into a small back room, past the shining horse brass that hung on the exposed stone walls,
we won’t be disturbed
.