Weightless

Michele Gorman

Published by Michele Gorman at Smashwords

Copyright © 2014 Michele Gorman

All characters and events in this
publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are
fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.  No part of this
publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or
transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior
permission of the publisher.

The Expat Diaries: Single in the City

The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie

The Expat Diaries: The Twelve Days to
Christmas

Christmas Carol

Bella Summer Takes a Chance

Writing as Jamie Scott

Little Sacrifices
The Angels of Ropemaker Place

Chapter 1

‘Ow.’ My beer bottle clinked against my teeth
as I felt a hand gently grasp my shoulder from behind.

‘Oh my god, Christy, is that you? How great
to see you!’

‘I’m not-’… Christy, I was about to say. But
then I turned and saw whose hand it was. ‘Hi.’

‘Ten years, can you believe it?’ asked Jack
as his smile threw me back to our last year in school. ‘You look…
different but I’d still recognize you anywhere. Did you come from
France or are you based here now? Wait, we both need another drink
and then we can have a proper catch-up.’ He pointed to my bottle.
‘Another beer? I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, okay?’

He loped off to the bar where our former
classmates jockeyed for the overworked barman’s attention. And I
admit it, dear Reader. I ogled him. I took in his broad shoulders
beneath the fitted black jacket, his long jeans-clad legs and wavy
blonde mop of hair.

Jack Winslow, my unrequited love, had
actually just spoken to me. He was buying my beer! … All right, so
he thought he was buying Christy’s beer, but still, beggars shall
not be choosy about free drinks.

When the reunion invitation arrived with the
school’s annual newsletter I chucked it into the bin. Those
newsletters arrived every year in December, as welcome as a urinary
tract infection. They’d wheedled my mailing address from my Dad and
I didn’t have the guts to ring them to opt out for fear that they’d
extort me for a donation for the playing fields or something. I’d
been miserable on those fields. I hated every rain-soaked blade of
grass that slipped me up and each ankle-twisting rut.

Jack returned with our drinks. He set my
empty bottle on a nearby table for me. ‘Cheers. To old times,’ he
said.

‘Cheers. Jack Winslow, I can hardly believe
it’s you. Here’s to new times, eh?’

His grin faltered, then widened. Great work,
Annabel. Two minutes into the conversation is just the right time
to suggest a future together.

‘Believe it,’ he said. ‘So tell me what
you’ve been doing for the last decade. Are you living in London
now?’

I nodded. ‘I live in Notting Hill. Well,
according to the real estate agents anyway. My closest Tube is
Shepherd’s Bush though. Where are you living?’

‘Well as long as we’re speaking in real
estate agent, then I’m in South Hampstead. If we’re being honest
then I’m off Finchley Road.’ He stared at me. There were tiny lines
around his grey eyes and his lashes were darker than I remembered.
‘I’m really happy you’re here.’

I smiled, surprised that he even knew who I
was. Then I remembered that he didn’t. To him I was Christy. Of
course he’d be happy to see her. Christy and Jack were our school’s
answer to Brangelina, though I don’t think they actually went out
together. They just swanned around the school in their own golden
glow, the central figures in our teenage romantic fantasies.

Jack and I stood at the edge of the room
together watching the crowd. Five minutes ago I was just Annabel
Markham, aka AnnaBall, Annabell-end, all-round bully fodder and
soft target. Suddenly I was promoted to head of the class.

What a difference short-sightedness
makes.

‘Do you wear glasses?’ I asked before taking
a swig of my beer.

His brow furrowed as he hesitated. ‘Ah,
well, no. Why?’

‘Oh, well, I guess I remembered you with
specs, that’s all. I wasn’t implying that you need them.’ Please
shut up, Annabel.

‘Oh, you mean reading glasses. Yes, I did
sometimes, for my astigmatism. But that’s been corrected now.’

He kept staring at me like he had more to
say. Surely he’d figured out that I wasn’t Christy. Aside from
being among the tallest girls in our year, we looked nothing alike.
My hair had been much darker, for one thing. And my waistline had
been much bigger for another.

But he really did seem to think I was
Christy. Which wasn’t at all how I imagined my night would go when
I’d first walked in.

I nearly didn’t turn up at all. Who
willingly
goes back into the bear pit once they’re freed?
Someone who’s flippin’ out of her mind, that’s who.

My heart started rattling in my chest before
I’d even set foot through the Richmond pub’s door. Upstairs, a
table was set up beside the function room’s entrance. Two women
waited to label the alumni but I didn’t recognize them and it was
easy enough to sidestep their markers and Scotch Tape. I was
well-practiced in the art of creeping about.

I should never have let Kate convince me to
come. Of course all the feelings I’d packed away over the years
wouldn’t stay neatly stowed. They’d wait till I was surrounded by
my classmates to spring their locks.

To my relief, at least there was no break in
conversation when I stepped in to the room. A few faces turned
curiously but, recognizing neither friend nor foe, quickly turned
away again. After twenty minutes I was still alone on the fringes
of the party. I may as well have been sixteen again.

Actually, that’s not quite true, because I
was rarely left alone then. Given the alternative, this was a bit
better.

So Jack’s chattiness came as quite the
surprise. He’d said about ten words to me during the whole of
secondary school.

‘Do you see any of the old crowd yet?’ he
asked, scanning the room.

My skin suddenly crawled with dread. What if
Christy herself was somewhere in the room? Or her friends? They’d
know in a second that I was an imposter. Then they’d single me out
in front of the whole room and it’d be eleventh grade all over
again. ‘No, no, I don’t see anyone.’ I started edging toward the
door.

‘Me neither. But I might not recognize some
of them. People can change a lot in ten years.’ He glanced again at
the crowd. ‘Isn’t it odd? When you’re in school you can’t wait to
get away from everyone and when you’ve left you’re excited to see
them again.’

Speak for yourself. ‘Surely you didn’t hate
school though. What’s there to hate when everyone loves you and
you’re the teacher’s pet?’

He laughed before catching himself. ‘You’re
exaggerating. I was never the teacher’s pet.’

‘But everyone did love you, so there’s no
use denying it.’

‘What about you? The school went into
mourning when you moved to France. Seriously, they flew the flags
at half-mast. Bereavement counsellors were called in.’

I could think of at least one girl who
wasn’t in mourning when Christy moved away. ‘No black arm
bands?’

‘They changed our uniforms. Head to toe
widow’s weeds for the girls and black suits for the boys.’

‘Well that was a long time ago,’ I said.
‘They probably renamed a building or something and went back to the
usual uniforms eventually.’

He touched his beer to mine. ‘Immortalized
in concrete. That’s my dream. Hey, what do you say we get out of
here? No one else is here that we know anyway.’

‘Definitely! Let’s go.’ Before Christy
sodding Blake turned up.

I’d tell him later about the confusion.

Chapter 2