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thousand friends. Or is it three million? But they
only recognise about five of them.”
    Bill, Ben and their entourage came back into reception,
laughing loudly. ‘You fuckin’ didn’t?’ one of them enquired. ‘I fuckin’ did’
another responded. ‘Fuckin’ hell’ a third piped in, their voices so alike it
was hard to tell who was doing the talking. This time they did notice Bridget
and David. Bill, who was at the front of the group, stopped and looked down at
Bridget. The other men formed a row behind him, facing her. ‘Bitch,’ he
declared and the others thought this was highly amusing. ‘Yeah, bitch’ another
of the faceless nobodies muttered as he followed Bill back into the bar.
    “They are…” David began.
    “Never mind them, they aren’t worth thinking about. What
happened with Marianne?”
    “Initially very little. She wrote a brief hello, not much
more than a ‘yes I do remember you’. I wasn’t going to let her get away with
that so I wrote back, rather a long message that I soon discovered was being
read by all her friends and their friends. Apparently she was teased about this
long lost admirer of hers. It was embarrassing as I’d written how much everyone
at school had fancied her and asked if she wanted to meet up for old times’
sake.”
    “How did she reply?”
    “She started off with advice about how to write something
on Facebook that only the person it’s sent to can see. Then she gave an update.
To cut a long story short, she got married to a man training to be a cleric soon
after leaving school. Now she has five teenage children, two dogs and a
hamster, and works as a librarian in the law department at the university.”
    “Marianne a librarian! Hard to believe. In fact being
married to a vicar and with loads of kids presumably from the same father is
also a revelation.”
    “Well in our short flurry of messaging she mentioned the
reunion and gave me the email address of the organiser, that woman who likes
standing on tables. Marianne intended to come along herself but emailed me with
only a couple of days to go. Her husband had organised a surprise weekend away to
celebrate their wedding anniversary and she had to cancel. I’d signed up for
the reunion and booked the hotel by then so I thought why not.”
    Bridget glanced at her watch then across to the night
porter who was leaning over the reception counter reading a newspaper. He
yawned, she yawned too. The 1980s hits were still blasting out. “Well, I’m glad
you made it, David. But I’m afraid I’m done for the night, if you don’t mind.”
    “No, I’ve had enough, too. Well I don’t mean enough of
you, just that if you’re heading off then I don’t feel like mixing with anyone
else.”
    They stood and took the wide staircase with its plush red
carpet and ivory and gold striped wallpaper up to the fire door on the first
floor landing.
    “I’m this way,” Bridget announced.
    “Me too.”
    They walked along the corridor glancing at the prints of
hunting scenes until Bridget stopped at Room 134. “This is mine.”
    “I’m next door. 136.”
    “Coincidence. Hey, it’s been nice chatting David, I’ve
enjoyed this evening loads. Maybe see you at breakfast.”
    David didn’t reply. He was too busy thinking of something
to say to prolong their time together, the closeness of their bedrooms a
nagging contributory factor. Possibilities crossed his mind. Fancy a coffee
before bed? Would you like to see if the décor in my bedroom is the same as
yours? Shall we share a bed tonight?
    She took hold of his shoulder and planted a kiss on his
cheek. “Goodnight,” she said key in hand, and he was still thinking of the
elusive one-liner after she had closed her door and left him standing alone in
the corridor.

The Reunion – R J Gould
Chapter 5
The days after that dreadful Saturday when Jane walked
out, the days he hadn’t wanted to tell Bridget about, had been hell. The Sunday
morning meeting with Jane had