It’s 1976, the year of The Great Drought, and our sun-kissed knees line up next to each other in neat rows.

The school photo has faded, of course, but I can still name pretty much every person in my class. Susan Hooper – the Queen Bee – was the Person Most Likely To Be Famous.

She did tap every Saturday and owned a real flamenco dress and castanets.

Alison Wright – Class Meanie – always had a Bolognese stain round her mouth and used to bully me.

Nicky Porter – Class Geek – constantly had a plug of luminous green snot up each nostril.

And then there were the Gallagher twins, Roy and Floyd, the Class Troublemakers.

I’m proud to say that, aged eight, I was going out with both of them.

I would go round to their house and drink strawberry milkshake.

We’d play The Professionals then bounce on their beds. Completely innocently, of course.

Floyd once took me to the school hamster cage and put the two hamsters’ noses together. He said that was him and me.

It was the closest we ever came to a physical union.

And here I am in 2008, potentially about to meet them all again.

It’s our primary school’s 50th birthday and a reunion has been organised.

None of your cyberspace Friends Reunited malarkey, this is real.

I don’t know why I’ve come. I’m just intrigued. And maybeI need to square up to Alison Wright once and for all. I’ve not kept in touch with any of them, although a few years back my Mum rang me in a state of excitement.

“Wow!” she shouted. “Those Gallagher boys you were at school with are top of the charts!”

“That’s Noel and Liam Gallagher, Mum. Not Roy and Floyd,” I sighed.

Going back into school makes me feel sick. Everyone’s got name badges. I’m immediately accosted by a large lady with a sweaty face and purple highlights.

I look at her badge – Susan Hooper. She’s a full-time mum of five. We’re suddenly aware of a figure skulking near us. Crumpled suit, thinning hair, lots of tattoos.

“Floyd?” I ask tentatively. He shuffles uncomfortably. When I ask where Roy is, he says: “Inside”. It turns out he means prison, not the dinner hall.

We all peer into our drinks and I scan the room quickly. “So, anyone seen Alison Wright?” I enquire.
“Oh, didn’t you know?” says Susan, “Alison passed away.”

A strange chill passes through me. I wish I’d just stuck with the photo. You see, that’s the problem with reunions. You should never go back.

I want to remember us the way we were – full of hope, shiny and new, not old, wrung out and on life’s downward slope.

In one uncomfortable evening, the photo album inside my mind had been ripped up, the creases on our shirts replaced by creases on faces.

So take my advice – the next time a reunion invite plops on the doormat or pings into your inbox, shred or delete it. Keep those memories intact.

Mel is appearing in the musical Eurobeat at London’s Novello Theatre from September 4.

 

What school reunion experiences have you had? Do you still stay in touch with old school friends? Would you like to meet up with people again or, like Mel, would you prefer to keep them as memories?

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Photography: Rex