A Season of Hopes and Dreams. Lynsey James

Where’d you find it?’

      ‘In this old shoebox,’ I reply. ‘I haven’t seen it for years! Apparently, I wanted to be a world-famous dancer, swim with dolphins and move to New York. After the accident, I… I kind of gave up on everything.’

      She sighs and reaches across to pat my hand. ‘Do you ever think about the accident?’

      A lump rises in my throat and I blink back tears. ‘Sometimes. Not as much as I used to. I don’t even really remember that much, to be honest. It felt like everything went on hold after it, though, since I couldn’t dance. I just kind of gave up because my dream was over. But not any more. I want things to change, Emma, and I’m going to start by making a whole new bucket list!’

      A bright, beaming grin crosses my best friend’s face. ‘That sounds brilliant, Cleo! What sort of stuff are you going to put on your new list?’

      ‘I’m not sure yet,’ I admit. ‘I’ve been thinking about it all day and I’m pretty excited to get started! The more daring the better, I reckon. Maybe I’ll end up sky-diving or swimming with sharks? Who knows? It just feels like it’s time to start dreaming again.’

      Emma reaches over and pats my hand. ‘That’s awesome to hear. I know you like how things are right now with your job at the bakery and everything, but it’s great you’re starting to think bigger. You could take over the world if you wanted to, Cleo Jones.’

      I feel my cheeks begin to heat up. Emma and I have always been each other’s biggest supporters; we’ve even nicknamed ourselves Team Cheerleader.

      ‘Oh, I meant to ask,’ I say, suddenly remembering our conversation from earlier, ‘what was that invite you were talking about earlier?’

      Emma frowns and cocks her head to one side. ‘What are you on about?’

      ‘The one you mentioned at Carb Counters. Now who’s in Cloud Cuckoo Land, eh?’ I remind her. ‘You asked me if I’d had it too, remember?’

      A look of recognition dawns on her face and she smacks her palm against the table. ‘Oh God, that’s right! I forgot all about that. I was checking my emails the other day and this box popped up inviting me to our ten-year school reunion! Did you get one too?’

      My hearts sinks a little. A school reunion is about on a par with a trip to the gym for me: utter torture.

      ‘Not sure,’ I say, with what I hope is a nonchalant shrug. ‘I haven’t checked my emails today.’

      Emma takes a sip of her gin and tonic, then puts it down as she remembers something. ‘Oh, and you’ll never guess who’s organising it: Amanda Best!’

      Emma’s last two words send a shiver of dread down my spine. I haven’t heard the name Amanda Best for a while, and I’d hoped never to hear it again.

      ‘Oh!’ I try not to let my unease seep into my voice. ‘That’s great. God, I can’t believe it’s been ten years since we left school, can you?’

      Emma smiles kindly and pats my hand. ‘You know you don’t have to pretend to be excited, don’t you? I can read you like a book! School wasn’t the easiest time for you, was it?’

      No, it wasn’t, I want to say, and that was largely thanks to Amanda Best. Instead, I shake my head and smile. What’s the point in raking over old ground? Plus, I have bigger and better things to focus on now.

      ‘That was ten years ago,’ I say, picking up my drink. ‘I’m over it.’

      If my best friend isn’t convinced, she doesn’t show it. She raises her glass and smiles. ‘Good, I’ll drink to that! Now, let’s see if we can find ourselves some hunky blokes in here tonight, eh?’

      I chuckle as I down the last of my drink. ‘Emma, it’s the Bell and Candle! I don’t think there’s a guy in here under the age of fifty tonight.’

      ‘You never know until you try! Who knows, your dream guy could be sat a few feet away from you right now.’ She gets up and grabs me by the hand, pulling me from our secluded little corner of the pub to the main bar area.

      Within seconds, Emma’s hopes of a manhunt are dashed. As I predicted, there are a few clusters of old men enjoying a convivial pint, some middle-aged women and a couple of people I recognise from Carb Counters. There are no hunky blokes for Emma to get her hands on, that’s for sure. I can’t pretend I’m not pleased; when it comes to guys, I’m usually left chatting about the weather with some bloke whose friend is interested in Emma.

      ‘See, I told you there wouldn’t be anyone. Now why don’t we head back to the booth before someone else nabs it?’ I suggest.

      Just as we’re about to go back the way we came, the door swings open and Scott – or Mr Gym Gear, as I named him earlier – walks in with a small group of men trailing behind him. He sees me, lifts a hand and smiles. I do a clumsy sort of wave and can only imagine how ridiculous my attempt at a smile looks.

      Emma nudges me. ‘And just who is that? He’s definitely under fifty, Cleo!’

      I shake my head and shrug, as though guys who look like Scott walk into the Bell and Candle every day.

      ‘Oh, he’s just a bloke. You know… a bloke.’

      That’s not enough for Emma, however. ‘Oh yeah, and how does this guy who’s “just a bloke” know you?’

      ‘He doesn’t!’

      She frowns. ‘But he waved at—’

      I grab her by the hand and drag her back to the booth, which, as luck would have it, no one has nicked yet. The last thing I need is Emma mounting a full-scale assault on poor, unsuspecting Scott.

      ‘He’s just a bloke I met at the gym today, that’s all,’ I say when I’m sure we’re out of earshot. ‘He helped me when I got my feet stuck on the rowing machine. Nothing else to it, I’m afraid.’

      Emma arches her eyebrows and folds her arms. ‘Well, well, well, Miss Jones, you are full of surprises! Why don’t you go over and chat to him? Before you dragged me over here, I saw him heading towards the bar.’

      I roll my eyes and grin. ‘Oh yeah, he’s really going to want to talk to the absolute lemon he had to rescue today, isn’t he? He’s just here for a quiet drink, so let’s leave him alone, eh?’

      It’s too late now; Emma is in full-on fantasy mode. ‘I can see it now; we’re at your wedding and at the point of the speech where I tell everyone how you first met…’

      ‘So I’m getting married now?’ I chuckle. ‘Dear God, I only met him today! Now, I’ll buy another round of drinks if you promise we can change the subject when I get back. How does that sound?’

      I lift the empty glasses and wave them tantalisingly at her. If I know Emma as well as I think I do, she won’t be able to resist the lure of a gin and tonic.

      She purses her lips, pretending to seriously mull my offer over. ‘Hmm, OK, you’ve got yourself a deal!’

      I mosey on over to the bar, hoping there isn’t too much of a queue and that Scott’s nominated one of his mates to get the first round in. I cringe as I remember saluting him then running off earlier today. Not exactly the elegant, graceful impression I’d have liked to create.

      Sure enough, there he is, leaning on the sticky bar top as he waits to be served. He runs a hand through his thick, dark hair and strokes his stubble as though he’s in deep thought about something. For a second, I consider approaching him and saying hello, but change my mind and stand at the opposite end of the bar. I might’ve been brave enough to start thinking about dreaming again, but talking to a guy I made a fool of myself in front of is stretching things a bit.

      I feel Scott’s eyes on me, but I don’t look back. He’s probably recalling my embarrassing rowing-machine incident today and laughing to himself.

      Except