UP THE JUNCTION

The bar hadn’t changed in all of the 20 years they’d been going there. Then, fresh out of school, they were impressed by the huge ‘Junction’ sign made of wrought iron to look like old pipes, the electric blue neon heralding exciting times, Midori and lemonade, and the prospect of a snog and/or a chicken kebab after last orders. Now, at almost 40, they were impressed if they could get a seat by the window.

The place was quiet, as it always was on a Tuesday night. Lucy had wanted Friday but Milly had insisted midweek was the only time her Alan would mind the kids. “You don’t babysit your own children,” Lucy had chided, but settled for Tuesday in the end.

The domino players were over in their usual corner and Karl the barber was propping up the bar. He’d been in prison for knocking over a teenager in his 4x4 while drunk, but the experience didn’t seem to have affected him much as he had a frothing pint and a large whisky sitting in front of him. He was talking football with the young guys behind the bar while Donald the butcher and his gangly son, Brian, sat next to him, looking straight ahead and saying nothing as they slowly emptied their pint glasses. Lucy sighed as she told Milly to find them a seat while she got the drinks in.

“Cheers, Big Ears,” she said, raising her Bacardi at Milly. “It’s been a while since we’ve been out.”

“Well, we’re not teenagers any more, Lucy. Some of us have responsibilities now. And the kids are–”

“Ah, ah, ah,” said Lucy, shaking her finger. “No kids talk. We’re on a night out.”

“Sorry,” said Milly.

They looked round the bar for inspiration, the air thick with Rive Gauche wafting through from the lounge, mingling with a sour smell that seemed to be coming from the gents’ toilet. Lucy eyed the group of young girls next to them, the velocity and volume of their chatter indicative of a joie de vivre she vaguely remembered.

“Oh. My. God!” said Milly, grabbing Lucy’s arm. “You’ll never guess who’s just come in?”

Lucy looked round but didn’t see anyone she recognised.

“It’s wee Colin Shrimpson, I mean Simpson. At least – I think it is.” Milly squinted. “He’s certainly not wee any more. In fact, he looks pretty good.”

Lucy strained to get a better view. “Colin? I haven’t thought about him for years.”

“You went out with him for most of fifth year. The trousers up his ankles and the face like a pepperoni pizza? Free school dinner ticket and he still looked half-starved. You were always too good for Shrimp.”

“Don’t,” said Lucy. “He wasn’t so bad.”

Although no one else had liked Colin, they’d had some good times together. His dad was out of work too, so he understood what it was like to grow up wearing your cousin’s hand-me-downs and not being able to go on school trips to France or even Butlin’s one year. But Lucy was never going to settle for Colin, who was clearly going nowhere. Otherwise, she’d end up like her mum, scraping by. She’d felt bad about hurting his feelings but you had to be selfish sometimes if you wanted to achieve your ambitions.

Milly carried on. “He ended up going out with Penelope Millar after you dumped him. Remember her – hair the wrong side of auburn and smelled like mature cheese. Always had her head in a book. Total loser, much more Shrimp’s style. I always knew you’d outgrow him. You were going to be a famous writer, move to London and do something with your life.” There was a pause, before she added, “I mean, you probably still are.”

Lucy sniffed. She hadn’t written

Colin had grown, both up and out, and he towered over their table, his shoulders broad under his well-cut jacket

seriously for years – it was hard to keep hoping when all you got were rejections and, anyway, when did she have time to write? She’d been working full-time at the call centre since she was 18 and her dad said she had to get a job and hand in rent money. “Colin was alright you know, even if he was one of life’s losers. There’s folk like him and Penelope in every school in every town. They just have to pitch a bit lower, that’s all.” “Christ, he’s coming over!”

Milly smoothed her hair and Lucy pouted her lips and checked her nails. “It is Lucy, isn’t it? And Milly?”

Lucy looked at the suited gent speaking to them, and looked again. Colin seemed to have grown, both up and out, and he towered over their table, his shoulders broad under his well-cut jacket. “Do we know – oh, Colin, isn’t it?”

“It is. I came in for a quick drink for old times’ sake. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone from school still here.”

“What a coincidence,” said Lucy quickly. “We’ve not been here for years either. Have we, Milly?”

“Er…”

Colin smiled, his teeth preternaturally white against his smooth tanned skin. “Can I get you both a drink?”

Milly patted his hand and said, “Och no, you put your money away Shrim– Colin. I’ll get these.”

Colin took Milly’s seat opposite Lucy and said, “So – how are you?”

“Oh, busy with my career,” said Lucy, draining the last of her Bacardi with an unfortunate slurp. “I was promoted to supervisor last month. Only temporary, but it’s a miracle to get promoted at all when you’re up against all those psychology graduates.”

“You didn’t fancy university?”

Lucy bristled. “I could’ve if I’d wanted to. But… Anyway, what about you? I heard you went to college. What was it… bookkeeping or something? You were always good with numbers.” “Medicine.”

“Sorry?”

“I read medicine. At Edinburgh. Thank God we all got grants in those days, otherwise… I did try calling you a few times. Even went round to your house once. Your mum made me tea and a bacon sandwich. She didn’t tell you?”

She hadn’t needed to tell her, Lucy had been at home, hiding behind her bedroom door until Colin left. “Er, no, she must have forgotten. You know what she’s like.”

“I always liked your mum. You know, I used to be jealous of your family? There was always so much going on, the boys fighting, your dad scrubbing his hands right up to his elbows in the kitchen sink and your mum shouting everybody down for a square sausage. And there was always a pot of soup on the go.”

Her family didn’t sound that bad when he put it like that.

“Are you still writing?”

Lucy blushed and said, “Writing? Me?” “I used to love your stories. I still remember the one where the guy killed his neighbour with a giant frozen lamb shank. That was brilliant!”

Suddenly, she remembered. Colin had been the only one who’d believed she could be a writer. That’s what they’d talked about – their dreams and how they’d achieve them. Even when her dad had cracked up laughing and said how could someone like her be a writer, Colin told her to ignore him and keep writing.

She smiled at him and leaned in closer, catching the expensive spicy scent of his skin and the glint of a Gucci watch.

“So – you’re the man to see if I get flu then?” she said, fluttering her eyelashes hard enough to cause a breeze.

“Well, not really, I’m more of a… neurological man.”

“Neuro–? You’re a brain surgeon?” Colin shrugged. “Head of neurological surgery at the Royal Holloway in London, in fact. If you’re asking.”

Lucy stared at him.

“Here we are,” said Milly, coming back with the drinks and three bags of Scampi Fries. “I got you another pint Colin, was that right?”

Colin raised his hands and said apologetically, “Thanks. I’d love to stay, but I only came in for a quick one. I’m already late for Penny.” “Penny?”

“My wife. You might remember her – Penelope Millar?”

Milly and Lucy exchanged glances. “You married Penelope Millar?” said Lucy. “Don’t tell me – she’s a brain surgeon too?”

“No, far from it.”

Lucy breathed out in relief. “Penny was always more interested in English than science,” continued Colin. “Her fourth novel’s just been optioned for a film, actually.” He paused. “So it looks like we’re all doing well.

Great to see you again.

Still hanging out at the

Junction after all these years! Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?”

Elissa soave’s debut novel (HQ,£14.99) is out now