Weightless by Michele Gorman

Chapter 1
     
    ‘Ow.’ My beer bottle clinked against my teeth
as I felt a hand gently grasp my shoulder from behind.
    ‘Oh my god, Christy, is that you? How great
to see you!’
    ‘I’m not-’… Christy, I was about to say. But
then I turned and saw whose hand it was. ‘Hi.’
    ‘Ten years, can you believe it?’ asked Jack
as his smile threw me back to our last year in school. ‘You look…
different but I’d still recognize you anywhere. Did you come from
France or are you based here now? Wait, we both need another drink
and then we can have a proper catch-up.’ He pointed to my bottle.
‘Another beer? I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, okay?’
    He loped off to the bar where our former
classmates jockeyed for the overworked barman’s attention. And I
admit it, dear Reader. I ogled him. I took in his broad shoulders
beneath the fitted black jacket, his long jeans-clad legs and wavy
blonde mop of hair.
    Jack Winslow, my unrequited love, had
actually just spoken to me. He was buying my beer! … All right, so
he thought he was buying Christy’s beer, but still, beggars shall
not be choosy about free drinks.
    When the reunion invitation arrived with the
school’s annual newsletter I chucked it into the bin. Those
newsletters arrived every year in December, as welcome as a urinary
tract infection. They’d wheedled my mailing address from my Dad and
I didn’t have the guts to ring them to opt out for fear that they’d
extort me for a donation for the playing fields or something. I’d
been miserable on those fields. I hated every rain-soaked blade of
grass that slipped me up and each ankle-twisting rut.
    Jack returned with our drinks. He set my
empty bottle on a nearby table for me. ‘Cheers. To old times,’ he
said.
    ‘Cheers. Jack Winslow, I can hardly believe
it’s you. Here’s to new times, eh?’
    His grin faltered, then widened. Great work,
Annabel. Two minutes into the conversation is just the right time
to suggest a future together.
    ‘Believe it,’ he said. ‘So tell me what
you’ve been doing for the last decade. Are you living in London
now?’
    I nodded. ‘I live in Notting Hill. Well,
according to the real estate agents anyway. My closest Tube is
Shepherd’s Bush though. Where are you living?’
    ‘Well as long as we’re speaking in real
estate agent, then I’m in South Hampstead. If we’re being honest
then I’m off Finchley Road.’ He stared at me. There were tiny lines
around his grey eyes and his lashes were darker than I remembered.
‘I’m really happy you’re here.’
    I smiled, surprised that he even knew who I
was. Then I remembered that he didn’t. To him I was Christy. Of
course he’d be happy to see her. Christy and Jack were our school’s
answer to Brangelina, though I don’t think they actually went out
together. They just swanned around the school in their own golden
glow, the central figures in our teenage romantic fantasies.
    Jack and I stood at the edge of the room
together watching the crowd. Five minutes ago I was just Annabel
Markham, aka AnnaBall, Annabell-end, all-round bully fodder and
soft target. Suddenly I was promoted to head of the class.
    What a difference short-sightedness
makes.
    ‘Do you wear glasses?’ I asked before taking
a swig of my beer.
    His brow furrowed as he hesitated. ‘Ah,
well, no. Why?’
    ‘Oh, well, I guess I remembered you with
specs, that’s all. I wasn’t implying that you need them.’ Please
shut up, Annabel.
    ‘Oh, you mean reading glasses. Yes, I did
sometimes, for my astigmatism. But that’s been corrected now.’
    He kept staring at me like he had more to
say. Surely he’d figured out that I wasn’t Christy. Aside from
being among the tallest girls in our year, we looked nothing alike.
My hair had been much darker, for one thing. And my waistline had
been much bigger for another.
    But he really did seem to think I was
Christy. Which wasn’t at all how I imagined my night would go when
I’d first