Reunion

Reunion

By Patrick Westwood

Gerry was dead.
He flat-lined from the neck up and the waist down. The only organ with
independent life was his stomach, and he was feeling sick. Apathy
prevented suicide; he was going nowhere. With no way forward and no way
out he needed to go back to his roots. Back to find the hurdle that had
tripped up his being for the past twenty years. Back two hundred miles
to find the genetic ginseng that had once fuelled his existence.

How could he go back in his Ford Mondeo. He was Gerry Lord, a
flamboyant figure with a name to match. He was once the centre of a
universe much brighter than his current constellation. He was now Gerry
the bore. Gerry the stingy dad. Sandra his wife of twelve years had for
the past twelve months been working out with her personal trainer Rod.
Dyno-rod as Gerry called him. Gerry surmised that Rod had done little
to improve Sandra's figure but was probably keeping her pipes clean. A
chore he had happily relinquished some time ago. Alicia the
thirteen-year-old cynic who had cemented their marriage in the first
place was dabbling heavily with acquired angst. Gerry was past
caring.

He likened himself to a rich tea biscuit; he never lived up to the
promise the name suggested. Past his sell by, he was stale and his
wrapper was wrinkled.

At work he would busily cement the cracks between the slabs that paved
the road to unhappiness. Sophie his most prolific engineer had
requested an exit interview; she nervously told him he could stick his
job because he'd lost direction, lost respect and lost the plot.
Furthermore she was off to marry her first love, after a chance reunion
in London following email communication on the schoolReport website.
She warbled on bitterly about her job and Gerry drifted deep into his
past, with thoughts of Annette Thompson his own historical
Aphrodite.

Gerry was rejuvenated.
He could not get Annette out of his mind. Dormant desire had lain
unfulfilled for two decades; despite losing his looks, his image and
his will to live he still felt he had a chance.
Disappointingly Annette wasn't registered on the site. He emailed lost
acquaintances that still lived in Norwich with old pal bullshit. He
didn't care about their travels, marriages, kids, cats or mortgages: He
wanted knowledge. He had no friends from his school days, it was easy
for him to mysteriously disappear and crop up again when it
suited.

Richard Pembridge had predictably followed his father's fat footsteps
into estate agency and never moved. Richard had boasted how he had
slept with Annette when they were fifteen and Gerry had boasted how he
had broken his nose in a fight the same year.
Richard was throwing a party, a school reunion party. Gerry needed an
invite. All the old acquaintances were going and Gerry had to bury the
hatchet to get on the guest list.

" Hiya Richard, saw your name on the schoolReport site and felt I had
to email you. A lot of water under the bridge since school. I hear
you're doing well in the family firm. I'm working for an engineering
company, happily married with a darling daughter. Hope to hear from you
soon."

Did the trick, invitation by return.

The next six weeks were hard work. Gerry had to slim fast, with a shake
for breakfast and lunch instead of his usual meals. He was so committed
to the burn he upped his intake to three cans a day for the last
fortnight. The image was simpler, directing the hairdresser to delete
ten years or thereabouts. Fifty quid well spent. The clothes were more
of a challenge, taking advice from high street vendors did little for
his confidence. He needed help, and he could hardly ask Sandra. Gerry
decided that as he hadn't a clue expense was the best policy.

Driving nervously to the next town, bags packed, Gerry pulled into
Hertz car rental. If the Mondeo had feelings Gerry was dispassionately
callous as he transferred his things into the gaping boot of a 5 series
BMW. Litter as well, to give it that lived in look. Exit.
Two hundred yards later he stopped the car to remove the Hertz logo
from the rear window. He was on his way back, looking and feeling a
very different man.

At the hotel where he was both partying and staying, Gerry subversively
watched people arrive. He recognised so many faces, though their
features had been caricatured and bloated in the dehydration of time.
The names of many eluded him, wiped from his memory as if his brain had
had an improper shutdown. Their ordinariness concerned him. Pembridge
fawned embarrassingly; he was clearly out to get laid as he welcomed
his guests with lascivious fervour.

Richard and Gerry passed pleasantries before passing each other
completely.

Annette arrived with her friends as Richard was giving his
over-rehearsed speech. Gerry cringed as a geriatric Mr Price was
wheeled onto the stage, billed as a celebrity. Annette looked good,
older, but who didn't. Gerry's beeline became fly like as Richard
swooped to dominate her time.

The wine eroded the competitive rough edges of Gerry's defensiveness,
making him more lucid and interesting by the time Annette condescended
to entertain him. He was flattered. He had witnessed the closeness of
her and Pembridge for too long, he felt capable of murder and amused
himself at the furore such an action would kick up. He reminisced at
the infamy he and the late Paul Arrowsmith had when they were
front-page news in the local paper. 'Twocking' was almost unheard of
then. Paul died in hospital; the lamppost had taken the shine off his
sparkling personality. Nobody mentioned him, so Gerry raised his glass
in the recognition of absence.

Annette and Gerry flirted through another bottle, they even danced:
Gerry was more used to digging out old 45's at home and dancing alone.
He had fun. Pembridge had moved on to another woman, Gerry recognised
her and recalled a brief sexual encounter they once had. A knowing
smile lit his face.

As the evening dwindled without so much as a fight, the bar closed and
the hall emptied. Gerry ordered room service, coffees for he and
Annette. She was on the brink of leaving her fourth husband and
resettling in France. She was saddened that she'd never had children,
or made a success of herself or her marriages. Gerry was beyond talk,
he made his move and Annette reciprocated. The two coffees developed a
film overnight.

Breakfast was less appetising and the sharing of mobile phone numbers
had a suspicious ring.

Annette waved as the BMW purred through the lion pillared gates. Gerry
was on the road again. He dreamt of France and the possibility of a new
life. His dream was interrupted by the remembrance of Paul Arrowsmith.
Despite the reports, he knew it had been his idea, not Paul's to nick
the car in the first place. What the hell, it was history now.

He removed the bags from the Mondeo and entered the house. Sandra was
out as usual. As he walked up the stairs he found Alicia sitting on the
toilet. She was busy watching blood drip from the cut on her wrist into
the washing up bowl she had strategically placed between her
feet.
Gerry was home.