Don't You Forget About Me. Liz Tipping

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