The Name Of The Game

“Mum, you make me lahmahoh so much.”

Where are those blasted straighteners?

“Mum?”

I’m sure they were in here. I really should clean it out.

“MUM!”

My senses come back to me in a snap.

“What?! What do you want?!”

“When are you going out? Scotty is coming over and I don’t want you embarrassing me.”

The pride of my life, my son, is leaning against my door frame,, mobile in one hand, absent mindedly twiddling it and a cup of coffee in the other. Too old before his years is Joe, but he is good to me.

“I’ve told you Joe, I’m not happy about Scott coming - wait, lahmahoh?”

“Yeah...y’know...El Em Ey Oh...Laugh My Arse Off?”

“Joe, what have I told you about bad language?! Not in the house!”

Bless his heart. I know I’m smiling as I chastise him, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he ignored me and get Scott to come over after I’ve gone. I know I would.

“Fiiiiiiiine...so when are you going out?”

He opens his phone and starts pressing buttons in pre-emption. Each click is a click of disobedience, I just know it. He’s had to grow up so fast, I wonder if it’s my fault sometimes. Like with his father, God love him the fat sack of crap and the problems he’s had at school because of his sexuality. Maybe me faulty genes have really screwed him over. My straighteners are so in my drawers!

I walk across the room to my dressing table, open my drawer, take out my straighteners and plug them in. As they warm up I turn to my pride and joy, stern face on.

“Not long, longer if you keep bothering me! Now, go text Joe that he isn’t coming round. Call me a prudish bitch if you must.”

“How come you ca swear but I can’t?”

“Because I’m allowed. Now go!”

And off he goes, mock-sulking, formulating a plan. I hear him traipsing to his room and he begins talking as I raise the straightening irons to my hair.

Half an hour later and I’m being bundled into a taxi by Joe and as he’s waving me off down the street I see why he was so eager for me to go. We turn the corner into Carnaby Road and I see Scott, his beau. I knew he’d disobey me. I gave Scott a smile and a wave and he blushes, knowing that I’ve caught them out, not that it’s going to bother them. I try not to pry too much into their business, but I just want them to be safe. They might as well be happy. Not a stitch I can do to stop them it seems.

As my mind drifts to how they met and how they have been seeing each other I think about my actual plans for tonight and panic sets in.

Joe and Scott were childhood friends, just like the people who I am meeting tonight. The only difference is that I’ve not seen my childhood friends for twenty years, tonight is our reunion, and Joe and Scott see each other nearly every day.

It’s a common story according to most, about friends leaving school, keeping in touch for a little while and then losing contact and getting on with their lives, each day cementing the thinking that they would have less and less things to talk about as each life grows in it’s own gnarled way, like branches of a tree growing around each other, different knobbles looked similar but not connecting.

My girls have been apart for twenty years, and it’s only tonight that we’re getting back together.

It’s only been three days planning, but then again I suppose the plans aren’t that extravagant. Going for a meal at El Happy Sumo, a Tex/Sushi bar. Meet at eight. Back by twelve.

It was Monday that Hilly rang me almost completely out of the blue. I had had a divine phone call the day before, where your psyche plugs into the cosmic balance and predicts the future. Simply put, I thought of Hilly with no prompt and lo and behold, she rings me the day after.l It was a short and sweet conversation, but they always were, Hilly wasn’t the most conversational of people. She would rank up there with the most intelligent in the class, but when it came to drama, or performing things in English, then she would be panicky and distracted. Sweaty sometimes. It seems she had learnt to hide her panic now, because I’d imagine she was bricking it when she rang me.

She said it would ‘be just swell if everyone could meet up, and she how we’ve all gone in in twenty years.’

Probably is going to be swell for the others. With their hoity toity jobs, and the higgledy-piggledy hair extensions. I think secretly there was a reason that we drifted apart. We only seemed to band together, not because we had things in common as such, but because we saw in each other things that we saw in ourselves, and that was the fact we’d been branded outsiders. I was the mercifully flat chested one, and not much has changed. Hilly, real name Hilary Brant, was the swotty one, Marcia Watson was the only who felt she was better than everyone else, with her blonde bob and matching alice band and cardigan sets, Matilda ‘Tilly’ Matheson was the fiery, temperamental one who stood up against that damned Stacy Jones, the Alpha female of 11B.

It’ll be good to see The Girls.

I grab my bag and pull out my phone and tap my home number into the screen. It rings three times before Joe picks up. There’s giggling and Joe quickly hushes whoever it is.

“Hello. Scott residence, five four eight double five double two.”

That boy is trying far too hard to cover his tracks, he never answers the phone like that unless he knows I might ring.

“Hey sweetie, who was that I heard?”

“When?”

“Just there. I heard someone laughing didn’t I?”

“Might be a crossed wire perhaps maybe?”

“No, you can’t get them anymore babes. Is Scott there?”

“Not that I know of. He might be abseiling down the roof as we speak thought. I do hear banging.”

“Don’t be facetious boy. I know he’s there, I saw him at the corner of Carnaby Road.”

“He could’ve just been walking his dog.”

“He could’ve I suppose...”

“See. It doesn’t look good being so untrusting Mother, try and relax a bit.”

“He didn’t have a dog mind you.”

“Well he might’ve just been going for a walk.”

“In the rain? At night?”

“Yeah, he’s ... quite poetic like that. (Stopit!)”

“What was that?”

“Nothing...”

“You just said Stop It.”

“No I didn’t, it must be a crossed line.”

I love his brain sometimes. Give him this, he’s quick off the mark with his lies.

“Ah right, never mind then. What you upto?”

“Nothing much, just tidying my room a little, putting things away, you know, general hiding of mess.”

“Good lad. You had your tea?”

“Mum, you left, like, fifteen minutes ago, I’ve not had chance to have a good shit.”

“Joe.”

I employ my best reproachful tone.

“Well it’s true. Are you alright? You there yet?”

“No, not quite, couple more minutes.”

What follows is ten seconds of silence as I begin to weight up asking a question that I know to answer to already.

“Mum, you know that you need to go. You know you want to as well, so such it up and get in there.”

I know he’s right, and I’m stunned at how intuitive he is with his dear Mama, but truth be told, we are awfully close since his Deadbeat Dad was kicked out. He, like me, is an outsider at school so I think he might be able to empathise with my fear of the past. Would he want to delve into a past where he was unhappy?

The taxi pulls upto the restaurant.

“Honey, I need to go, I’m here.”

“OK Mum, have a nice time, and don’t worry. Speak to you soon. Love you. Mwah.”

“Okay honey, speak to you soon.”

I hang up and turn to the taxi driver who is looking at me with an expected glint in his eye.

“That’s five forty love.”

I hand over six pound coins, tell him to keep the change and step out of the taxi, keeping my dignity intact, just in case The Girls are looking out of the windows. Blue light spills over my red Topshop pumps and green Miss Sixty skirt giving it an odd colour, not quite one colour, not quite the other, but a mish mash of all. I step through the main door and into the main foyer. There is a barrier with two samurai swords crossed with a sombrero on top, like some twisted skull and crossbones. Behind the barrier was loud laughing and happy conversation. There’s no children’s voices I notice. To the left and right of me are podiums with signs that say ‘Please wait to be seated’, so I take a pew on the fluffy seats flanking the podiums.

As I sit, trying not to fidget I hear a voice over my shoulder.

“Is that...Joey? Is that you Joanne?”

I turn and look between a podium and the barrier and sat at a communal sushi table are Tilly and Marcia, halfway between standing and sitting, ecstatic expressions on their face. Tilly rushes toward me and wraps me up in a hug that pushes back all of the misgivings I had about that night; all the worries I had about wondering whether the three had been so much different to me but looking at these girls of my past, women of someone’s present I see that both are just normal thirty six year old women. Both look similar to how they did, but there are slight changes, like Marcia has brown hair now, but she still wears cardigans, which is odd, and Tilly has some lines here and there.

“Come, sit.”

I get dragged down and sat on a mat by Tilly. Seems that she’s developed her upper body strength because she has the strength of an ox I tell you.

“How’ve you been? Did you find the place alright? Isn’t it just darling?”

“Yeah, dead easy to find. Hopped in a taxi, dropped me straight at the door, just had to find my way from pavement to foyer. And I know that I can manage that. The decor is certainly different. How did you find out about this place?”

“Hilly comes here all the time apparently. She says that it does the best burritos. It’s so playful! I wouldn’t even imagine putting Mexican themed things together with Oriental styling. It works so well don’t you think?”

“You always had a taste for the exotic. Remember that dress you wore to the prom? I would never have crossed lace with PVC, but you made it look not horrendous.”

Marcia was sitting in silence, watching us play verbal tennis and for a second I didn’t know why, but then more barriers to the past fall apart and I remember something important. Marcia always suffered from a stutter. It seems that she still has it, unless she’d be talking away like the best of them.

“Marcia honey, are you alright?”

“Y-y-yes dear.”

She smiles that smile that smashes all the wooden gateposts of days gone by and it all comes spilling back, dripping over rational thought and hopping over twenty years.

“You got that stutter still dear?”

“‘Fraid so. H-h-h-haven’t had chance to f-f-fix it yet.”

And she’s still smiling. Classy bird. An ugly woman arrives at the table and sits down next to Marcia, who turns and smiles at her, her well-to-do smile keeping them at a distance but still making them feel they are wanted.

The woman’s boobs are huge, I don’t think I’ve seen any as big as that before. They hang over the table like two lamps meant to light the meal. Bet it’s been a while she’s seen her feet. Her face is pulled and stretched to a ridiculous extent. She looks like she’s been startled by a large pink rabbit, a large grin with wide eyes.

I look to Marcia, and then Tilly, who must be able to read the shocked expression on my face as they are halfway to laughing before catching themselves. We all look down at the table, at the empty plates before us. We should probably order. Do we order here? I look around, trying to hide my grin, to no avail, because not a second I hear-

“Whats wrong?”

“Erm...nothing, I was just looking for a waiter.”

“No, the laughing. Why were you laughing? It’s awful rude to laugh at someone.”

Marcia and Tilly watch me with bemused expressions. The woman had an American accent crossed with a cockerney twang. Like a harp being plucked with the strings of a banjo.

“It’s awful rude for a stranger to interrupt someone’s conversation.”

My temper flares wildly inside me for a second, fuelling my mouth with insults a-plenty. Lucky for me, Tilly steps in with a defusing-

“Now girls, don’t make this four hours suck for us. I’m sure that Joey was just ... startled by your appearance. It had been twenty years since she’s seen you, and let’s face it, you were more of a fan of loose black t-shirts back then, not a barely covering tiger print chemise.”

“It’s a dress!”

“Of course it is dear.”

She pats her arm, taking charge of the situation.

“Well, whatever babes, it’s not nice to laugh.”

She finalises the sentence with a sulky tone.

The penny drops as I shout-

“HILLY?!”

“The one and only!”

“Wha- Whe- How are-?! I didn’t recog-”

“No one does darling. Not bad, non?”

I sit stunned, what I know is gawping, at my old friend. She’s turned into a beast! If you took Alicia DuVall and mixed her with the Bride of Wildenstein you might come halfway close to Hilary Brant. Picking up the conversation, and to take attention away from my gawping, Marcia turns around and asks-

“W-w-where do we order? I c-could use a drink.”

“I think it’s a restaurant dear, food is usually the food du jour.”

As we watch her go, The Talking Boobs says that she needs to shake the lettuce and staggers to the bathroom, titties swinging.

Glad that we have a spot of privacy I lean into Tilly.

“What the fuck?”

“I know, she’s just been loo-loo five minutes ago. I hope she washes her hands. Don’t want my fish smelling of...well, fish.”

“Not THAT, HER! What’s Hilly become?”

“She’s a horror and a half isn’t she? Turns out that she had crippling self-confidence issues after we left school and decided, albeit foolishly, that her problems lay in her image, and if she smartened that up then she might feel better. And I suppose it’s worked in a way, but something doesn’t add up. Does she seem like Our Hilly at all?”

“Not a jot, but it has been twenty years Tilly. Things change.”

“That’s true, just look at Drunky McStagger over there.”

We look over our shoulders at Marcia, who is standing, tapping her foot on the bar rail waiting for her drinks to arrive. Watching her there is like seeing Minnie Mouse waiting for her AIDS results to come through, it doesn’t fit, she’s too nice, and Minnie Mouse doesn’t do anal...anymore. My mind flicks to Joe and Scott at home and wonders if this is what will happen to them in twenty years time.Will Joe be an alcoholic? And Scott a disfigured harlot? Jesus, I’ll be 56. I don’t know who should be more scared, me or Scott?”

“Really? Tilly? She doesn’t seem like the type...”

“Exactly, why do you think that it’s happened? I tell you, over the past twenty years, a lot has happened. Would you believe that Marcia had been married four times? Each time ending in divorce?”

“No way.”

“Yes way indeedy. She’s had a difficult two decades without her friends. From what I can gather, she hasn’t made many friends since us, and because she wants a special connection, she lays it on too thick with her husbands, who I’d imagine, complain that she is too clingy.”

“Jesus.”

We sit in silence reflecting on the complete transformation of our friends. Well, me moreso than Tilly. She doesn’t seem too phased.

“What about you Tilly? What have you been upto?”

“Me? Well I’m a high class hooker. Ah look, here’s Marcia.”

Agog, that’s what I am. Even if Marcia’s eyes popped out and danced a fandango on the table I would’ve still been agog. No, not Marcy’s eyes, Hilly’s boobs, that’d be more entertaining. You don’t get enough dancing boobs on TV. But yes, agog. Was Tilly really a prostitute? I admit things were different after twenty years, but THIS different?

I have to shuffle back onto my tatami mat as Marcia sets down a large tray with drinks on them. For someone who’s an alcoholic she’s not very discrete. Where’s her brown paper bag? Although it’d have to be a brown paper tent for this much alcohol.

Before long, all our party has returned to our seats and are chatting like old times.

“Yeah, well I had twins, gotta say, that was such a difficult birth.”

“I’ve been in certain ... movies, yes.”

“So I gave him a shove out the window, it’s not like I was trying to kill him.”

“Joe is a darling child. He’s so good to me. Yeah, he has a partner.”

“I’m just p-p-popping to the bar.”

“Is it possible that things can go there?”

“You’ll be surprised what can go in there darling.”

“You think we should order?”

“Be right back, toilet break.”

“So I said to Ethel, I said, don’t bring that nonsense up in my yard. I know people. Dangerous people.”

Conversation plays back and forth. Crossing things like what everyone is up to now, and our families. After an hour I look at my watch.

“Has anyone heard from Laura?”

Marcia looks down, sees her drink and takes a swig. Hilly is in the bathroom again so it’s up to Tilly to answer.

“Honey, did you not hear?”

I have a feeling the next sentence isn’t going to end well, and my stomach cramps with numbness.

“No. Why? Is she busy tonight?”

“Not quite. She was in an accident. Few years ago. Terrible affair. Did you hear that she got married?”

“Yeah, to...er, was to Moonchild?”

“Something like that. Well it seems that Moonchild wasn’t the only person lighting her fire, let’s say.”

“No way. Not Laura. Having an affair?”

“Yeah, but get this, it was with the manager of the Healthy and Racquet Club. So much for her hippy roots. She said all along that she didn’t see him for his money, but she soon changed when she met him. Her hair was clean, and her makeup was actually applied. Au natural, my ass. Anyway, Moonshine found our and he went ballistic, really hugely. I’d never seen him care so much about something human, pandas and whales seemed to get more emotion that Laura. He went round to the manager’s house and found them together. Grabbed Laura by the hair and started smacking the shizzle out of her. Like really lacing into her.”

“My God, was she alright?”

“Shush, let me finish the story, it gets better. Or worse. He dragged her to his car and drove them home. No one is sure what happened next, but the tale ends with three bodies ending up in the cemetery. Not her manager, but the babs she was carrying. You know how Laura wouldn’t do anything conventionally? Well even her pregnancy was different. Ectopic wasn’t it.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Her manager is a...close friend, sort of. Yes.”

“Crikey. I don’t believe it.”

“I-I-I’m going to the ... b-bar. Anyone want s-something?”

“Er...yes please darling, could I have a double gin and tonic?”

Tilly was totally unphased by Laura’s death. Poor Laura. Marcia half staggered away to the bar, and Tilly leaned in conspiratorially.

“What makes it even juicier is that apparently Moonjuice used to beat Laura regularly. Makes you wonder why she strayed elsewhere doesn’t it? Paid more attention to animals and laced her face. Jesus.”

Poor Laura.

She was the one that we always thought would go onto better things. She had the right amount of interpersonal skills and intelligence to take her far. She was the logical voice of the group back then. And now, now she’s in some hole.

“When was that?”

“About three years ago? Something like that.”

“Could no one have told me? We were all close.”

“No one knows where you went. You just disappeared off everyone’s map a few years back. Just like Laura. But she had an excuse. Whereas you, Little Miss Shut-in just upped and left our strained circle.”

Her lipsticked lips pursed into a pout and an eyebrow raised as she cocked her head to the side.

“Where did you go my chickie?”

“I ... can’t say.”

“Why not?”

“Baaaaack!”

Marcia sang out cheerily as she plonked herself down on her mat. I breathed a sigh of relief as Tilly shuffled back to her mat. Hilly also used this moment to re-enter the table. Everyone was starting to look a little worse for wear. Marcia had rosy red cheeks and a Rudolph-esque nose. Hilly, although looking monstrous already, had gone pale and her eyes have begun to sink, black rings appearing around her eyelids. I know that my hair had gone curly, because of the amount of time that I’ve been playing with it.

The mood of the table had descended  into despair as the flaws and the weaknesses that had been created, or exploited by circumstance over the twenty years began to show themselves. Marcia with her alcoholism was more than abundant, she was starting to sway from side to side, Tilly had developed some sort of delight in other people’s misfortune and created a barrier that stopped her from being bothered by sad things, and Hilly, well, just looking at Hilly was enough to see her weaknesses. Chest support was one.

We all looked down at our still empty plates, contemplating leaving and it wasn’t until Hilly spoke that the silence was broken.

“I have a cocaine problem.”

We all looked up and at her. Her eyes started to water, making them the only beautiful part of her.

“I’ve done all these things to my body, my boobs, my face, and I’m none the happier. I look  in the mirror and I still see the same scared little girl that I was when I was little, just with a different mask. The only reason I organised for tonight to happen was to see if someone is worse off than me. And no one is. You’re all happy.”

A single tear, dragging mascara fell down her cheek. I raked into my handbag and handed her a tissue.

“I’m not happy. I have to drink constantly. All I w-want to do is make my ... life change, but I’m too sc-sc-scared to make things change myself in c-c-case they go wrong and I have no one else to blame. I want something to c-c-change my life.”

“I live alone with my gay son, who I think is gay because of my overbearing ways and lack of father, who, incidentally, used to beat me black and blue for the slightest thing. Oh, did I say that my son is gay? He’s probably at home, catching God knows what from God knows who. So yeah, it’s a right laugh at Chez Scott.”

We all look at each other, tears forming, all weaknesses bared, and then to Tilly, who had yet to join in the Friends Reunited Anonymous Meeting.

“What? What you looking at me like that for? I’ve got nothing to say. I’m happy with my life. Jeez. I didn’t realise that this would be some sort of soul-searching journey, I just thought I could have a laugh at how you all suck now.”

She got to her feet, grabbed a bright red bag and began to strike toward the door. Before she left, she turned and looked at us.

“Nice seeing you again. Let’s give it another twenty-thirty years next time.”

And what that sort of insult, she disappeared around the barrier with the twisted skull and crossbones on.

I look at Marcia, who hiccoughed loudly, and then to Hilly, who was dabbing her nose with the tissue I gave her and I knew. I knew that this wasn’t the reason I’d came. I knew seeing the statues of the past being battered by the sands of time wasn’t meant to boost my ego, or make myself feel better. It was to make sure that the people who I loved were alright. To ensure that they were happy.

And it turns out, that in the absence, we had all fallen apart. I wonder if had we stayed in touch we would’ve had a different life. Would Tilly have warned my ex-husband away before I married him? Or would I be able to save Marcia from a life of alcoholism and self-deprecation? Maybe we all could have saved Hilly from becoming a coke-addicted Picasso-esque jumble.

Seeing the girls I havegrown up with, one of which doesn’t want to see us, and the other who can’t, in such state of disarray reminds me why we banded together in the first place. Because of our self-placed title of outsiders. Even now, with the opportunity to move away from being outsiders and change our lives, we still remain on the outside. Not because of the self-placed title, but because of our inability to deal with the World and the pressure it contains.

Is it our fault that we can’t deal with things? I’m sure Hilly and Marcia, and Tilly as well, and especially Laura had to deal with things that would’ve warped their view of the World, and obviously is perspective changes, then so does attitude.

Is it wrong that our attitudes have changed? Do we not all want to be happy? Should we all be happy in our own way?

At this point, I decide to stand up, hug Hilly and Marcia, give them both a kiss and pass on my mobile number before walking out of the restaurant and into a taxi conveniently waiting outside. I give my address and we trundle off.

I flip my phone open and dial my home phone number. It rings for a few seconds before it is picked up.

“Hello, Scott residence, five four eight double five double two.”

“Hey honey, it’s just me.”

“Hey! How are you doing? How did it go? Are they like you expected?”

“I’ll fill you in when I get back, I just rang to tell you to ask Scott to stay.”

“What? Scott isn’t here?”

“Of course he isn’t dear.”

I hear Hilly’s voice saying similar words to Tilly from earlier in the evening.

“Honey, don’t lie to me. I just want you to be happy, that’s why I want him to stay.”

“Sorry Mum.”

“It’s alright honey.”

“Are you alright Mum?”

“I’m fantastic darling. I’ll speak to you in a little while.”

“Mwah.”

“Mwah.”

We both hang up. I look around the taxi and it’s the same one that took me to the restaurant in the first place.

“You have a good time love?”

“Better than I thought I would.”

I look out of the window, into the endless night and see a sight that makes the Tilly inside smile.

Standing on a pavement, leaning into a flash car window was Tilly, fresh from the restaurant. It seems that she too was doing what made her happy. She looked over at the taxi, saw me and then climbed into the car. The taxi drove past, unaware of how happy this journey had made me. We turned into Carnaby Road and I knew that soon I would be back in the bosom of my small family, but a one that was soon to be extended, and that made me happy.