Carol nodded. ‘OK.’
‘What about if we tried to get the drama group back together?’
‘The drama group?’ said Carol in amazement.
‘Uh-huh, why not? It’s a great idea. The last tour was so good. How about one last time with feeling, do something, maybe a read through and invite the rest of the class, too. It’ll be twenty years ago this July.’
‘A read-through of what?’ Carol asked incredulously.
‘Well, Macbeth would seem the natural choice.’
‘You can’t be serious. A reunion is going to be tough enough. I was thinking more about where we’d hold it.’
Diana looked affronted. ‘We wouldn’t have to learn it or anything, just do a read-through of the highlights. You know, witches, murder, madness, suicide, trees moving, ghost, Macduff, the end—it’d be great. We could invite everyone else who was interested from school to come along and watch us.’ Diana paused, waiting until Carol looked up. ‘I’m sure Gareth will be there.’
‘Sorry?’ Carol felt a little rush of heat and then cursed herself for being so silly.
‘Gareth.’
‘What do you mean, Gareth?’
‘Oh, come on. Don’t play the innocent with me. Gareth Howard, boy wonder. The Gareth Howard. He’s on the website, which re ally took me by surprise. He always used to be so cool, I couldn’t imagine him being on there at all, to be honest. But anyway, I emailed him and he mailed back and he suggested we chat, so I sent him my number and he rang me back more or less straight away.’ Diana paused for effect. ‘And the first thing he wanted to know was how you were.’
‘Oh right,’ Carol snorted, but even so she felt her jaw drop and her stomach do that odd little flipping thing that stomachs do; twenty years on and the first question on Gareth Howard’s lips was, how was Carol? ‘You’re pulling my leg.’
‘I’m telling you the truth; I’m a vicar’s wife, for God’s sake. He sounded re ally disappointed when I said we hadn’t seen each other for years.’
Carol stared at her. ‘You’re making this up.’
Slowly Diana shook her head. ‘Cross my heart,’ she mimed.
‘It’s ridiculous,’ Carol said, blushing furiously and then she flicked quickly on to the next page of the album, barely registering the pictures as the heat rushed through her, driven by a pulse set to boil. Gareth Howard, of all people. How many times had she and Diana run and rerun and replayed things he’d said, picking over the bones to try to work out what every syllable, every last nuance and gesture had meant. She had spent more time trying to translate Gareth Howard than she spent on the whole of her French O level.
Wasn’t it true that Carol had fancied him for years before the tour, that she had fantasised about him long after she got married? Hadn’t she loved him just a little; what if he had loved her a lot? Carol shivered and tried very hard to regain her composure.
‘A reunion sounds like a great idea but how the hell are we going to get everyone together? How would we find them all, for a start?’ Carol said as evenly as she could manage, also realising that she had just said ‘we’.
‘Oldschooltie—I’m sure that everyone on there is probably still in touch with one or two others, and maybe the School will help if I contact them. I think we should try for the drama group first and then if that doesn’t work just go for a straight reunion. I don’t know if you’ve looked lately but there are an awful lot of our old class on there.’
‘It sounds like a brilliant if slightly crazed idea,’ Carol said cautiously.
‘But?’ said Diana
‘But nothing. I was just wondering how many people would actually want to come. Chances are that they’re all spread halfway round the globe by now. Have you thought about where we could hold it? A restaurant or a hotel?’
Diana hesitated for a few moments and then said gleefully, ‘Actually I’ve got a brilliant idea. I don’t know if it’ll come off—’
‘I’m so glad you clung to your natural modesty.’
Diana pulled another of her famous faces. ‘What about if we tried for a weekend—as you said, people could have miles to drive.’
‘And?’
‘And there is this fantastic old country house I know in Oxfordshire. It’s used as a Christian retreat normally, but I’m sure they could find us some space if we asked nicely and it would be peanuts to hire for a couple of days. They’ve got loads of room and this re ally nice hall with a stage and everything.’
Carol refilled their glasses and then said with a wry smile, ‘So, Svengali, what else have you got in mind? World domination? Spit it out; there is just bound to be more.’
Diana had the bit between her teeth now. ‘How about—and this is in an ideal world, if we can get the hall—the drama group arrives Friday, everyone rehearses Saturday and then we put the performance on, on Sunday afternoon followed by—I don’t—maybe a traditional English tea for everyone. They could bring their families. This place is in its own grounds; the garden is big enough to lose half Wembley in, and it is a lovely house.’
‘Bloody hell. We’ve come a long way from a few school photos and Oldschooltie.’
‘Oh, come on. If we don’t try it we’ll never know, will we?’ Diana said briskly.
‘God, I bet you run a mean jumble sale.’
Diana refilled her glass. ‘You better believe it.’
‘Are you sure that you re ally don’t mind doing this?’ Carol stood near the front door. Her suitcase was over by the hall stand, she was just about ready to leave, and was only too aware of what a stupid question it was. What on earth would she do if Raf turned round and said yes?
‘I’ve already told you a dozen times, it’s fine. Besides, you’re always telling me that I’m a Friday-to-Sunday thing. Today’s Friday, I know my place.’ Raf grinned at her grimace and waved her away. ‘Relax, go, have a good time and don’t look so worried. We’ll be all right. I’ve got the list. I know what to water, who to feed and what to turn off. You’re OK about the directions? You know where you’re going? You’ve got everything you need?’
Carol patted her jacket theatrically. ‘Uh-huh, I think so—let me see: dagger, eyeliner, bad attitude—just about wraps it up. I’m just going to go and say goodbye to the boys and then I’ll be off. Oh, and did I ever mention, don’t fuss?’ she added, acting playfully grumpy, touched that he cared whilst all the while struggling to suppress the feeling that she was sloping off for a dirty weekend.
She glanced in the hall mirror and tugged her hair into shape. She’d had it cut and coloured. It looked great. She looked great.
So, OK, Gareth Howard was going to be at the reunion too. So what? So what did that re ally add up to in the great scheme of things? Nothing, not a thing. Anyway, he was probably old and bald and…Carol stopped herself from conjuring up an image of an older worldweary Gareth Howard, aware that Raf was still talking and that she was still smiling and nodding inanely and not listening to a single word he was saying.
The fantasy Gareth refused to be old and bald; instead he looked more or less exactly the same as when Carol had last seen him, just slightly thicker-set with greying hair, swept back from bold regular features that made him appear distinguished and sexy as hell. Carol sighed; the bastard.
Tucked into the top of her handbag was a battered copy of Macbeth—stolen