Don't You Forget About Me

“They’re not real, Cara. It’s just all stereotypical. Hate to break it to you but it’s all fictional this, you know.”

“Yeah, but how do you know what you’re meant to do in actual real, real life?”

“You don’t. You just accept your lot and get on with it. I don’t believe in all this controlling your destiny business. Shit happens and then you get on with it. Simple as.”

I didn’t agree with Verity on that one. Surely we could have everything we wanted in life, just the same as everyone else. I wasn’t sure I was happy to give in and accept my lot.

“Yeah, I know they’re fictional, but at least they have a clue where their life is leading. I haven’t got the foggiest! I’m not academic; I’m not sporty. I never once got an A in anything and was never picked for the netball team. So what have we got left after The Brain and The Athlete? Oh yeah, The Basket Case and The Criminal.”

I contemplated whether a career in the pirated DVD sector would suit me. Okay, yes, it was highly illegal, but the pirate DVD lady always looked so happy, it was clear she had an enormous amount of job satisfaction. It might almost be worth going to prison for. Something will come up, I thought to myself. I’d find another job, one I liked and one that wouldn’t get me arrested.

“Then there’s Princess,” said Verity.

“Come off it. We are too skint for that. And we couldn’t really be any of the other Molly Ringwald characters in any of the films because we were crap at art and we didn’t like The Smiths, plus we hadn’t even heard of sushi in those days – let alone take it into a detention. What I would have given for a Saturday morning in detention with Judd Nelson!”

“We’re the skint ones,” said Verity. “That’s who we are.”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to watch The Breakfast Club any more. It made me think about what school was really like. I’d often landed myself in detention, but it was nowhere near as fun as a detention in Shermer High School, Illinois. I’d never had a gun in my locker or taped Larry Lester’s arse cheeks together or any of the other things I aspired to do. I was just often late for registration, which meant spending first break picking up litter on the playing fields while Sister Mary Margaret shouted at us. I didn’t try as hard as I could not to be late, as it meant I didn’t have to spend much time in the social areas where the popular girls like April Webster and her cronies would mock my charity-shop and hand-me-down clothes.

At primary school April and I had been friends. Mum used to take me with her in the school holidays when she cleaned houses in the nicer parts of town. April’s mum was one of her customers and me and April would play for hours in her garden while Mum cleaned and did the laundry. Her mum was kind and brought us out jugs of orange squash with ice while April and I played on the swings or shared secrets in her tree house. April had an older sister and when it was time for secondary school to start, April’s mum gave us her old school uniform and school shoes. It was like new, and no one would have known except April must have told her friends. On the first day at school, every time I walked past one of April’s friends, they would whisper about my shoes and my second-hand clothes. April wouldn’t say anything, but she went along with her friends laughing.

I couldn’t tell Mum how they teased me or ask if I could have new clothes, but I cried on the way home, walking ahead of Verity and Stubbs until they caught me up. Stubbs made us laugh in between kicking a ball about between him and Divvy, so by the time I got home I had stopped crying. By second year, I’d had enough of the taunts of “bag lady” and I did everything I could to make myself invisible. I didn’t put myself forward for anything. I didn’t speak up in class to avoid drawing attention to myself and I didn’t try to make other friends. I just stuck with Verity, Stubbs and Divvy. I missed out on so many moments: the school plays, the discos, the school trips, as I did everything I could to be as inconspicuous as possible.

“Imagine if we’d had a high school prom like that,” I continued.

“We did have a prom, sort of,” said Verity. “The leaving disco.”

“I didn’t go to the leaving disco, not after the awful Christmas disco we had the year before,” I said. I hadn’t gone like I didn’t go to most things.

“Yeah, well you didn’t miss much. All we did was drink squash from plastic cups in a school dining hall that smelled of gravy and onions. I don’t think anyone even actually danced. It was hardly like a John Hughes film.”

I wondered where my perfect moment was and if it would ever arrive, and I began to bristle thinking about that school disco.

“Shall we go to the social club, then?” I asked.

“I’ll get my coat,” Verity said. “Think we’ll find your Blane or your Judd Nelson in there?”

“Doubt it very much,” I replied and laughed.

“That’s good. Because you don’t need a Blane; you need a Duckie. Everyone does,” Verity said as we left the flat.

I shook my head. I still had hope I’d get my happy ending. I’d find my perfect job, one where magic happens, and if my Judd Nelson came along, all the better. I still believed I could find the job of my dreams, creating little moments of magic for people. I just knew I would be able to create events that had that wow factor, moments people would talk about for ever. I had the battered sausage to thank for that. I knew that if a chip shop pork product was the most exciting thing that had happened in my week, I had to make a change. I made a resolution to myself I would start applying for events jobs first thing on Monday and vowed to myself I wouldn’t let my previous experience put me off. It was time to start again.

*

The social club was in the old cinema. Even though the building tried to stand majestic, the gaudy “Bingo” sign mocked the building. The bingo ran in one room and there was a tired-looking bar in the other. Verity worked there at lunchtimes, serving pints of mild and cheese rolls to pensioners.

An old man sat in what used to be the cinema ticket booth and asked us for our membership cards even though he knew we didn’t have any. We decided we would never become members, as that would make us sad and socially inadequate, so each week we forked out the fifty pence visitor’s entrance fee.

We walked through, past the main bingo hall and up into the bar where Stubbs was taking advantage of the lack of customers and leaning on the bar pencilling answers into a crossword in the newspaper. I glanced around at the ceiling in the bar area. It was so ornate, beautiful really – all intricately carved cornices and light fittings, which must have once held chandeliers. I loved it here even though it wasn’t a cinema any more.

Me and Verity, already a bit tipsy from the wine, demanded that Stubbs answer our questions.

“Stubbs, when we were all at school, would you rather have been an athlete or a basket case with dandruff?” Verity giggled.

“Not following you, ladies,” he said.

“Ah, but you see, Verity…” I pointed at Stubbs “…Stubbs was always good at art, good at everything really and he likes cool bands, so for all intents and purposes he is Molly Ringwald out of Pretty in Pink. And you lived in the rough part of town, so Stubbs, you are Molly Ringwald.”

“I am?” said Stubbs, mildly irritated by our line of questioning. “Well, thanks for that, you pair. You learn something every day.”

“I’m trying to find out what my thing is,” I said. “The choices are basket case, athlete…”

“Basket case,” Stubbs interrupted.

“Hey, I hadn’t finished yet! Criminal, princess…”

“Basket case,” said Stubbs.

“Oh shut up, you. What would you be? What’s your thing?” I said. I probably would have said Brain. Stubbs had been to uni.

“I didn’t know I had to have a thing,” he said. Stubbs totally didn’t have a thing either. I doubt he would want one. He was quite happy trundling along, not wanting to seek out anything new.

“Did you ever wish you were one of the popular kids at school? Or the rich kids?” I said.

“Nope,” he said firmly. He folded his newspaper up and moved behind the bar to pour our drinks.

Verity and Stubbs and I had been in the same form at school and sat at the same table. Verity and I had bonded immediately over knowing all the words to every single John Hughes film. While Stubbs didn’t really like those movies. He’d roll his eyes at us as we flicked through magazines, but he didn’t say much. He was always quiet and hid behind his too long fringe. It seemed like a lifetime ago now.

Stubbs had moved away too after sixth form and had gone to art school in London for a while. He’d met his girlfriend there on his first day and they had been together ever since. Until he’d decided to move back to the Midlands and she’d decided to stay in London. He didn’t hide behind his fringe any more; his hair was still longish, but brushed back off his face. He was taller than he’d been at school and despite working in the bingo hall, he always managed to look tanned.

“Do you wish school was different, Verity?” I asked. “Don’t you ever wish it was like a John Hughes film?”

“You and your bloody proms again. I don’t really think about school much,” she said.

“I do. All the time.” All the time I was at school, I couldn’t wait to leave, but I often wondered what it would be like to go back, do things differently.

I turned to Stubbs who was looking at me with his head cocked.

“I suppose what I really want to know is,” I continued, “if you could have your time at school again, would you do things differently?”

“I suppose, there is one thing I’d do if I had the chance.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” And he nodded his head towards the corner table where April Webster and her friends were sitting.

“What is she doing in here?” I said.

Having caught Stubbs looking over at her, April advanced towards us, Luis Vuitton handbag swinging at her side, blood-red lipstick, meticulously applied eyeliner, and false lashes, which were much longer than her dress.

“I wonder if Barry M know she’s raided their warehouse?” Verity whispered. I shushed her as April’s march came to a halt at the bar. Stubbs suddenly seemed tongue-tied and I got a bit flustered myself.

“So. Are you three coming then?” she asked.

“To what?” asked Verity, abruptly.

“To my ball. It’s going to almost be like a school reunion. It’s nearly fifteen years since we left school,” April said.

“A school reunion? What exactly is the point in having a school reunion when everyone I spoke to at school drinks in here all the time anyway?” said Verity with a sneer. It was actually a very good point and as if to prove it, Divvy McDavidson swaggered back in from the pool room. He pulled down the hood of his parka. I think he was trying to pull off a Liam Gallagher swagger, but in reality, he looked more like Frank. He’d clearly had a skinful again. He pulled up a stool, sat down and slumped over the bar.

April wrinkled her nose in disdain. “You can see everybody else.” I think she wanted us to thank her for honouring us with her presence and inviting us to mingle with the important people. “It’s to help the less fortunate. All the proceeds are going to charity,” she said smugly. “I’ve booked an amazing venue. It’s going to be spectacular.”

“When is it?” I said, wondering how good April’s event management skills were. I guessed they were impressive and much better than mine. April would be able to handle being the focus and would love being the centre of attention, I reckoned.

“Two weeks on Saturday,” she said, stroking her sleek black hair.

“Isn’t that’s a bit short notice?” I asked.

“Why, what else are you doing? Anyway, I’ve been planning it for months.”

Funny she hadn’t thought to mention it to us before, but she was right – I didn’t exactly have a scintillating social life.

Stubbs still wasn’t saying anything. He was looking at the floor, hands in his pockets. His hair fell over his eyes and it reminded me of the shy boy I had known at school.

“You’ll come, won’t you, sweetie?” she said, reaching over the bar and touching his arm. He looked up from beneath his hair, raised his eyebrows a little to indicate a yes.

Then, still digging her claws into Stubbs, she turned to me and Verity. “Oh and you know who else is coming don’t you?”

“Oh let me guess, is it Divvy by any chance?” said Verity motioning with her head to the crumpled parka in the corner. We could just see his head poking out as he snored on the bar. “Because if it is, then I’m definitely coming. Who wouldn’t want to spend an evening with him?”

Divvy lifted his head, but it seemed like too much effort to keep it there, so he slumped back down again.

“No, it’s not Divvy. I doubt he’ll be able to stand up that long. So do you want to know who it is then? Someone else who got back into town recently?” she asked.

“I’m guessing you’re going to tell us anyway,” said Verity, knocking back the last of her wine while I nervously sipped mine.

Don’t say his name. Not him. Don’t say it.

And then of course, almost inevitably, she did.

Chapter Three

Daniel Rose.

I remember the very first time I saw him. It was just after autumn half-term break in year eleven. Dad was back at work but things were still tight. That year, I had April’s old school cardigan from the year before, but if April knew, she didn’t tell anyone and I’d been able to keep myself under the radar.

But then I’d been late for registration again and Sister Mary Margaret was waiting outside the Science block for me at break time. She gave me a clear polythene bag along with some sharp words and pointed me towards the playing field. If I got back to Sister with a full bag before the end of break, I might have still had time to join Stubbs and Verity for a piece of soggy cheese and tomato pizza in the steamed-up dining hall. If I didn’t manage a full bag of litter within the first few minutes, I’d have to spend the whole of break out there freezing my backside off. I made my way towards the fence where the crisps packets gathered.

That’s when I first saw Daniel. He was leaning on the fence drawing on a sketch pad and as I approached he looked up, ran his hands through his Judd Nelson–style curtains of hair and indicated my litter bag with his pencil. He nodded at me in acknowledgement. He wore a checked flannel shirt over his uniform and I thought he was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

He walked over. “What you in for?” he asked, eyeing me up and down as if to assess my crime.

“Late,” I said.

“Yeah.” He nodded wisely, looking deep in thought, and gave another flick of his curtains.

“What about you?” I asked.

“This,” he said. He pointed to his blazer pocket where he had torn off his school badge and sewn on a Nirvana patch. “They’re so oppressive here. They don’t let us express ourselves, you know? They said I’ve got detention every break until I take it off and wear their school propaganda, but I said this place was an oppressive regime and it was symbolic of that, you know?”

I nodded, even though I didn’t have the foggiest what he was going on about. I studied him and noticed his trousers were ripped – not through wear and tear; I suspected he had done it himself.

“So, do you want to split this lot between us then?” I asked, pointing at the crisps packets. “We’ve still got fifteen minutes of break left. Or are you just going to stand there and doodle?”

He shook his head. He ripped a page out of his sketchbook, screwed it up and threw it among the other litter.

“Didn’t you like that one then?” I asked, picking it up and putting it in my litter bag.

“Art is meaningless,” he said, motioning his head towards his crumpled-up paper. “And it means everything. You know?”

My God, he was amazing. He was different to all the other boys at school, apart from the curtains haircuts – they all had those, of course, but Daniel was different. Daniel looked like a rock star and he had noticed me. I had spent years trying not to be noticed, but here I was enjoying the attention.

“I don’t know really,” I said. “I wasn’t allow to do art because…well, I can’t draw to save my life and there was that time in pottery where I made the My Little Pony penholder that exploded in the kiln, so I don’t think Mrs Kelly likes me much. So I do Office Studies and Information Processing.”

“Yeah?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. It’s perretttty cool,” I said, trying not to cringe over telling him about the penholder and not sounding like I was cool at all. My social skills were underdeveloped as it was and here I was trying to talk to this rock star of a boy.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding and staring intently. The wind whipped up around us sending the litter up in the air and I instinctively tried to grab them like I was a Crystal Maze contestant. I grabbed a drinks carton and a pickled onion Monster Munch packet and then I stumbled trying to reach for a Wham bar wrapper, which left me nearly upside down.

“Stay there! Stay still,” he shouted.

“What? Right here? Like this?” I was bent over, nearly upside down, unsteady on my feet and talking to him through my legs.

He used his hands to frame me like a film director and then frantically sketched. “Don’t move,” he said, “I’ve nearly got it.”

I could feel blood rushing to my head due to the whole being upside down business. I tried to steady myself by placing my hands on the ground, but the grass was wet and my hands slipped forward, taking the rest of upper body with them. My feet stayed where they were so I landed on my knees.

“Sorry,” I said, wondering what the hell I was playing at. “I slipped.”

He tore the page from the book and handed it to me.

“Erm…thanks?” I said, staring at the page.

“It’s the wrong way up,” he said.

“Oh right.” I turned the page the other way round. “What is it?” I asked squinting.

“It’s how I see you,” he said. And then he left. He was walking off towards the school gates when Sister Mary Margaret went chasing after him.

*

“And what the bloody hell is that supposed to be?” said Verity after break when I passed the drawing to her in double English.

“He said it was how he sees me.” I think Daniel was the first boy ever to notice me.

“He sees you as a weird egg-shaped head, standing underneath a climbing frame?” she asked.

“They’re my legs,” I said, trying to wipe my still-dirty knees with soggy school toilet paper.

“Why are you holding a giant Wham bar?”

I shrugged.

April Webster turned round from the seat in front of us, talking to me for the first time in over a year.

“What are you two looking at?” she sneered and snatched the drawing.

“Daniel drew it,” I said.

“Daniel Rose?” she asked.

“Yes, Daniel Rose.”

Daniel, the only person to notice me.

*

After April had very slowly and carefully enunciated every single syllable in his name, and added in a few extra ones for good measure, she smiled a tight grin. She stared directly at me for longer than was comfortable, and said, “I’ll get you some tickets. We can sell them behind the bar.”

As she flounced off she took another glance back over her shoulder. She walked away towards her friends who were all sniggering and whispering behind their hands and I felt, once again, like I did at school.

The news that Daniel Rose was back in town filled me with a sense of unease. “Well, that sounds about as much fun as sticking hot needles in your eye,” Verity said. “You can count me out, for a start. What a waste of babysitting fees that would be. Talking of which, I’ll have another please, Stubbs. Time is money and all that. You’re not going are you, Cara? Cara?”

“What?” I said, still distracted. “Oh, no.” I shook my head. “Absolutely not. Especially not if he’s going.” I shivered and my face went hot all at the same time.

“Oh come on, you’re not still bothered about what happened all those years ago are you? It’s such a trivial little thing. I don’t know why you’re so fixated on it!” said Verity. She tutted and looked more than a little disappointed in me.

“Hey, I might go, you know,” said Stubbs whose gaze was still drawn in April’s direction, his tongue almost hanging out.

“What? You’re joking aren’t you?” I said, in disbelief. “I thought you didn’t like her.” I felt like Stubbs was being disloyal.

“She’s all right,” he said. “Okay she was a bit of a dick at school, but she’s okay now. People change you know.”

“I suppose so,” I said, still feeling hurt. Stubbs and April together? It seemed preposterous. “You’re seriously after April? You?” As soon as I said it, I realised how it sounded. I could tell by his face I had hurt his feelings. He thought I was saying he wasn’t good enough for her. “I didn’t mean it like that, Stubbs. I just meant that I didn’t think she was your type.”

“I know exactly what you meant, Cara.” He walked off to the other end of the bar where one of April’s friend was demanding cocktails no one had ever heard of.

“Ouch,” said Verity, wincing. “That was a bit harsh, Cara.”

“It just came out,” I said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. But she wouldn’t go for someone like Stubbs would she? Stubbs and April? Come on. Doesn’t seem right does it?”

“I dunno,” said Verity. She looked over at Stubbs. “He’s not bad-looking, Stubbs. He’s just a bit rough around the edges, like there’s something missing. He needs a bit of confidence, yes, but he could totally get off with April if he wanted.”

Although he had been shy, he used to be so passionate about so many things like music and art, and he loved photography. He’d always had his camera with him. Now he seemed to be content calling bingo numbers. It had taken the battered sausage revelation to make me realise my ambition had been diminishing rapidly ever since I had returned. I reckoned Stubbs would need a battered sausage revelation of his own if he was to get anywhere career wise and I wondered for a moment if I could make that happen. He’d certainly need a bit of oomph if he was to get anywhere with April. April had made such a success of her life and I couldn’t see her wanting to so much as look at Stubbs. I watched him with April’s friend as she giggled when he offered her alternatives to cocktails.

“Whereas me, I don’t think anyone would ask me out,” added Verity checking herself out in the mirror behind the bar, pulling at her imaginary wrinkles. “I look so knackered, I don’t think even Divvy would want to get off with me.”

I hadn’t even considered any of the guys from round here as possibilities for romantic potential. I wasn’t staying anyway, I told myself, so I had no time for that. I’d be leaving as soon as I’d worked out what I was going to do. I wanted some magic in my life, my own special moments, and I wasn’t going to find any round here. Maybe it was time for me to leave? Daniel Rose did hold a bit of an appeal but he’d moved on. He’d done something interesting, unlike Stubbs or Divvy.

“As if you would even consider Divvy,” I said and laughed.

Poor Divvy. He did seem to be in a worse state than usual, even for a Saturday. Verity gave him a quick prod to check he was still breathing.

“I don’t think I could bear it – a school reunion, Vee,” I said. “Can you imagine it? It will be all: What do you do? Where do you live? Are you married? Didn’t you move away? How come you are back here?”

“We don’t have to go,” said Verity.

“I don’t want to go and admit I am a complete loser who has been working in a video shop as a Saturday assistant. That’s if anyone even remembers who I am. I need to sort myself out a proper job before I go, but yeah, sod it, I’m going. I’ve missed out all these years. I’d quite like a send-off. And I wouldn’t mind seeing Daniel Rose,” I said.