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I've always tried to avoid high-school reunions. The only reason I wound up going was because my brother went to the one five years previously and when the next one was announced he kept banging on about what a good time he'd had and how good it would be if we both went. So it was that I walked into the foyer of the school hall and presented myself to the ladies at the registration desk. I didn't know either of them but they checked me off on the sheaf of papers they had and gave me a name tag. I wasn't really looking forward to it. A failed marriage was about the high point of my life at that time. With an inward sigh I pushed the door open and stepped through.

It was relatively early still, so I wasn't surprised that the place wasn't packed. ‘80's music, heavy on synth and drum machine rhythms, was playing on a hidden sound system. The hall had been decked out for the occasion with one entire wall devoted to school photos. I found Dean lurking around one end of the temporary bar talking to a couple of guys from his year. He was four years older than me and I'd never hung out with any of his friends so I said hi to them and wandered over to the photos. I'd never realised how much of a dork I looked when I was younger. Bad hair, bad teeth and bad dress sense; it was no wonder I never got laid while I was there. I turned away with a rueful shake of my head and looked around again. A group of people were standing off to one side and one of them looked my way and waved. I sauntered over with my beer. They were all people from my year or their spouses or partners and I learnt the secret of reunions. Remembering, reminiscing, sharing ...

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