What If

By JSom

What if…..

Catherine

Catherine pushed open the heavy door and juggled with her handbag, briefcase and umbrella while switching off the alarm. Her cleaner, Rosa, had been in today and had placed her post in a neat pile on the hall table. As she kicked off her shoes and propped the dripping umbrella against the jardinere in the porch, she noticed that the letter on top had a familiar, although not immediately recognisable, emblem on it. She picked up the bundle and walked across the soft pile carpet onto the cool tiles of the kitchen floor to pour herself a glass of wine. It had been a long day and she still had to finish off her speech for tomorrow’s conference.

While sipping her chablis, she rifled through the envelopes, mainly junk mail and a couple of bills. Of course, it was her old school’s crest, Harcourt Hall, no doubt requesting her to present prizes on speech day or attend a careers evening for the sixth form girls. Both events, she had come to realise seemed to be part and parcel of academic life. To her surprise, however, a card fell out of the envelope inviting her to a thirty-year reunion for the class of 1988. The current headmistress was hosting a garden party in the grounds followed by a short tour to show them what had changed since their days as pupils. Dinner had been arranged at a local restaurant and overnight accommodation could be reserved if required. Catherine’s instinctive response was to tear up the invite and add it to the mound of recycling on the kitchen table, but a beep from her mobile alerting her to a new text message distracted her. As she settled down to put the finishing touches to her conference lecture, her thoughts kept drifting back to thirty years ago and her final year at school. What had she hoped for as a slightly naïve eighteen-year old and would her teenage-self recognise the adult she was today?

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The alarm went off at 6 o’clock and Catherine groaning inwardly, grabbed her phone and checked the news headlines, while struggling to open her eyes. She stumbled out of bed and into the shower. Although confident her speech was ready, she still needed to get herself presentable and into town before the conference kicked off at 9 o’clock. For as long as she could remember, Catherine had always hated rushing and being late, something her brother still teased her about today.

At the afternoon’s drinks reception, a “networking session” according to the conference pack, Catherine’s mind wandered. She continued to smile and exchange pleasantries with her fellow academics, but her thoughts were of that fateful period at the start of university, which, if she was honest with herself, had shaped her adult life. Yes, she had already chosen medicine as her degree, but would she have pursued a career specialising in chronic digestive disorders if it hadn’t been for Ally? Now an eminent medical professional, but when needed most all those years ago, she had done nothing to help her roommate – had her whole career been based on that one moment of failure?

Throughout her medical, and latterly academic, career, she had extolled the importance of considering patients as a whole and not just as people with a physical problem to be fixed. Nowadays, mental health and general wellbeing were hot topics, but when she had started out as a junior doctor and while studying, things had been very different. If someone had mental health issues they were referred to psychiatrists as quickly as possible and GPs washed their hands of people with “depression” by dolling out anti-depressants with alarming frequency.

Ally had been diagnosed with Crohns disease in her mid-teens, something she had told Catherine as soon as they met. She had seemed so matter of fact about it and had explained that it wasn’t a life-threatening condition, that Catherine had paid it little attention and had thrown herself into student life. As Freshers’ week gave way to the academic term, it became clear that she and Ally were never going to be great friends, but their relationship was slightly more than one of mere tolerance. Catherine quickly became accustomed to Ally “looking after her” – making hot drinks and bringing her snacks, while studying, even doing her laundry on occasion – none of which Catherine ever offered to do for Ally in return.

Catherine met Chris, a second-year economics student, very early on and her life soon centred around their blossoming romance. Together with lectures, tutorials and lab sessions, she had little time to spare for anything else. Consequently, she hadn’t been aware of, or at least hadn’t allowed herself to notice, Ally’s change in behaviour. They weren’t doing the same course, rarely went out together socially and so it was only when they were in their room that they were together and Catherine put Ally’s mood swings down to the fact that while she had found herself a boyfriend and was revelling in university life, Ally was struggling to find her feet. Maybe a typical teenage reaction, but the mature Catherine admonished her eighteen-year-old self for being so thoughtless and cruel.

On that dreadful evening, which Catherine had tried so hard, and for so long, to put behind her, her memory of the petty argument she’d had with Chris was crystal clear. He had wanted to stay in the pub watching football with the rest of his team mates from the rowing club, while she had hoped for a quiet, more romantic evening. She had gone back to her hall at 9 o’clock, much earlier than of recent, and although the door to her room was unlocked, she was greeted with darkness when she opened it. The glow from the landing lights revealed Ally lying on her bed apparently asleep. Too early for bed and not in the right frame of mind to tackle work, Catherine had settled down with a book. After reading a few chapters, she decided to make a cup of tea before having an early night and realised that Ally had not stirred in all the time she had been reading and the room was eerily silent. Looking more closely, she couldn’t see Ally breathing and when she placed her hand on Ally’s forehead, it connected with cold, dry skin.

All these years later, Catherine acknowledged that this was the first dead person she had seen, but at the time she was engulfed by panic and ran out of the room screaming. People rushed out onto the corridor, all the time Catherine was shouting for someone to call an ambulance. The night warden appeared and brought some order to the chaos. Ambulance men came and took Ally’s body away on a stretcher and Catherine was kept in the warden’s rooms overnight. Someone had thoughtfully retrieved her nightwear and toiletries. The next day a policeman came to take her statement and was quick to reassure her that it looked like a simple case of suicide. Catherine remembered how the word ‘simple’ had jarred with her at the time, but then she supposed the police saw a lot worse. Apparently no note had been left, but it looked as though Ally had taken an excessive dose of sleeping tablets and had never woken up.

The weeks that followed were a blur for Catherine. She remembered the funeral and witnessing the obvious tension between Ally’s parents. There were rumours of them having separated almost as soon as Ally had left home for university, which together with a flare up of her Crohns disease had left Ally despondent and alone. The aftermath of Ally’s suicide was, for Catherine, almost like starting university afresh with the slate wiped clean, but the immense feeling of guilt never left her. Although she was allocated a new, single room, usually reserved for final year students, she moved in with Chris and two of his friends in the centre of town. Her parents hadn’t initially approved, but in time they came to accept this was the best way forward for their daughter. Chris was a constant source of support at the beginning, but by the end of her first academic year, even to him it appeared as though Catherine had forgotten the traumatic incident of the autumn term and had moved on.

In her final year before embarking on the clinical part of her degree in Manchester, she retained occupancy of the flat. Chris and the other flatmates had left, having graduated in the summer, and she now shared it with two American girls doing a ‘junior year abroad’. They were rarely present having a jam-packed social calendar, with little chance for studying, let alone entertaining their rather serious flatmate. This suited Catherine, who, more than ever, was focussed on her work and, without Chris to distract her, was rarely seen anywhere other than the library or medical buildings.

Although, she and Chris were officially still a couple, they now saw each other on a monthly, rather than daily basis as he had embarked on a training contract with a renowned investment bank in London, a five-hour train journey away. His new-found wealth as a member of the salaried workforce allowed for frequent European city breaks and weekends in country hotels, a stark change from their student days drinking in the Union bar and back-packing between youth hostels. She always made the trip down to London to save Chris from booking the Friday afternoon off work for the train journey, but as the year progressed, Catherine became increasingly studious and her visits to Chris dwindled.

To the surprise of her tutors and herself, although she rarely admitted it, she achieved outstanding results in her final exams. Chris came to her mini graduation along with her parents and brother. It had been an enjoyable day, kicking off with the ceremony in the morning followed by a posh lunch in a local hotel and afternoon garden party in the college gardens. At the end of the evening, when she and Chris were walking home from the graduation ball, he had stopped, bent down on one knee and asked her to marry him. Even now, so many years later, she could still remember the shock of his proposal and the look on his face when she’d said no. More than anything, she’d been surprised that Chris still saw a future in their relationship and didn’t think there was anything more than geographical distance between them, whereas Catherine had come to accept that their time together had run its course and they were headed on two very different paths – her to the clinical part of her degree in Manchester and him to the corporate world of the City.

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Until relatively recently, Catherine had considered herself fortunate: she had a job she loved, and one which ensured her a comfortable lifestyle and trips to far-flung destinations around the globe. She had a ‘no-strings attached’ partner, an American visiting professor at Cambridge University, with whom she had shared many an intellectual debate over dinner, and she had none of the usual worries about money, children or relationships that seemed to concern her colleagues and friends. However, in her forties, she’d noticed things starting to change: out of nowhere her partner had announced his intention to marry his research assistant and was now father to three-year-old twin girls and a nine-month old baby boy. The man who had once declared himself a career-driven academic was now the consummate family man. Catherine’s initial bitterness had dissipated into mere wonder that someone she had thought she knew well could change so dramatically. She still missed the easy companionship of their relationship, but couldn’t imagine herself surrounded by the clutter and chaos of a husband and children – the antithesis of her pristine home – maybe she was lucky after all?

She’d also realised that her friends had gradually moved away, started families and new lives and had little time for get-togethers. Her parents, who had always supported her and been a constant source of encouragement, had suddenly become old, suffering from various illnesses and ailments. It was only last year that she’d finally given in to her brother and sister-in-law’s constant nagging that they could no longer look after themselves properly and had agreed for them to go into a retirement home. Although it was a luxury (and expensive) care home, with kind and efficient staff, it wasn’t what Catherine had always promised her parents and she couldn’t escape from the feeling that she’d let them down.

On paper, she had everything she had hoped for when she was that adolescent school girl setting out in adult life, but what worth were these tangible items to her now and how different would her life have been if she hadn’t had Ally as a roommate in her first term at university?

Cat

Cat grabbed hold of the dogs’ collars to prevent them from barging their way further into the house, shaking their wet coats over everything in their path. She kicked the post clear of their muddy paws and towelled them dry before letting them go to their water bowls in the lower hall. Now the dogs were sorted she could concentrate on herself. She shrugged out of her wet waterproof and left it on the coat stand to dry before retrieving the letters from the floor and took them into the kitchen to look through over a cup of coffee. She wasn’t due at the farm shop until 12pm and so had an hour to herself.

While the coffee brewed, she started to open the post. There were a few clothes and food magazines, (when did she start shopping by catalogue rather than going to actual shops, she wondered), a credit card bill and a white envelope embossed with Harcourt Hall’s crest. What on earth could her old school want? She was surprised they even knew her current address as she was no longer in touch with anyone from her school days. The card inside announced a thirty-year reunion, in bold capital letters with the details in smaller typeface below. Cat’s initial thought was to question whether it had really been thirty years since she had last been at school at the ‘end of A’ levels’ party that the teachers had thrown for them. She spent the next fifty minutes reminiscing about her adolescent dreams while getting ready for work.

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Cat stirred as soon as the faint sunlight seeped through the thin curtains and reached over to turn on her teasmaid and put on the television to see the morning news. Although she no longer had a regular job, working only part-time at the farm shop, she still got up early every day. After a quick shower, she dressed in her usual dog-walking clothes – old jeans, a warm jumper, her tatty, but still waterproof, coat and mud-stained wellingtons.

As she walked along the lane, dodging puddles from last night’s downpour with the dogs scampering along beside her, she watched the early commuters heading into Manchester. Cat had always liked this time of day, it gave her chance to wake up fully before having to be sociable. Other than a few fellow dog walkers to whom she gave a silent nod, and the trickle of cars driving into town, she was alone and could think. The invitation to the school reunion had triggered memories of all those years ago when Cat had started out as an earnest undergraduate, full of hope, excitement and a tinge of nervousness. She remembered thinking that this was going to be the beginning of the rest of her life. And it was, but maybe not in quite the way she had expected.

At the start of term, her parents had dropped her and all her luggage off in her university hall of residence and after ensuring she was settled in her room, they had returned home to look after her younger brother. She remembered feeling a little jealous of some other first years on her landing whose parents were making arrangements to take them out for tea or dinner later and felt very alone, sitting on her bed waiting for the arrival of her roommate, not knowing what to expect. Ally turned out to be nothing like she’d imagined – loud and self-confident, but not someone, Cat thought, who would easily fit in. Very early on in the term she decided that they were never going to be bosom buddies, despite Ally’s best efforts to the contrary – tagging along to the student union freshers’ discos and joining the same clubs, being just two examples. Cat remained civil, but distant, and settled on making her own circle of friends, both in their hall and from her department. She also met other students, through the various sporting activities she threw herself into, determined not to let any opportunity slip through her hands. It was early on in freshers’ week that she met Chris, a second year economics student, captain of the rowing club. He was just the right amount of confident without being brash and, other than rowing, they enjoyed the same things. They soon became a couple and Cat happily settled into his friendship circle.

Looking back now, Cat supposed she had been a typical, selfish teenager concentrating on her own life with little time to pay any attention to her roommate who had become increasingly sullen as the first term progressed. Had she had any inkling of what Ally was going through and if there had been the openness that exists nowadays around mental health and depression, things might have turned out so differently – possibly she would have been more sympathetic and patient towards Ally, that’s certainly what her mature middle-aged self would like to think, but Cat was not sure that as a teenager, she would have been.

On the Monday evening that changed everything, Cat had rushed to finish an assignment due in the next morning in anticipation of a quiet evening with Chris, who she’d arranged to meet in the pub after dinner. As she walked in, she was surprised to hear the television behind the bar blaring out and a crowd gathered round it watching a football match, not quite what she’d envisaged! Chris greeted her with a peck on the cheek and then returned to his companions who were cheering loudly, apparently Scotland had just scored. She didn’t particularly like football and couldn’t see the point of an international match that wasn’t part of a tournament. Chris’ friends, most of whom had joined him at university from his old school, the prestigious Fettes College, were Scottish and were taking great delight in teasing Cat that “we’re beating you sassenachs”. At half time, she told Chris she was going to have an early night and was expecting him to join her, so was a little surprised and more than a little annoyed when he’d accepted this without comment and returned to the football. Fuming, she marched back to her hall, determined to have a good old rant about him with Ally, but when she got to her room, it was in darkness and all was quiet. She could see Ally asleep on her bed. Sighing heavily, she debated whether to review her work from earlier or go down to the Common Room to see if anyone she knew was there playing pinball or watching TV, but in the end decided on staying in the room to read by her bedside lamp, so as not to disturb Ally. She’d been reading for about half an hour when she decided she might as well have an early night after all, but as she was getting ready for bed she realised that Ally, usually a loud and restless sleeper, had not moved or made any sound in all the time Cat had been back in the room. She leant over her and gently put her hand on her forehead, fully expecting her to wake up with a start, but she didn’t. She checked for a pulse as she’d watched people do on all the crime dramas her mother loved so much, but when she could feel nothing she panicked and ran out of the room screaming. People rushed out onto the corridor and someone turned on the lights, at which point it became clear that Ally was dead. Amidst all the chaos, Cat retreated into herself and was only partly aware of her surroundings. She spent the night in the warden’s rooms and slept deeply as a result of the sleeping tablets someone had forced down her. It wasn’t until the next morning, when she was giving her statement to the police that the blurry dreamlike events of the previous night became reality. The policeman’s reassurances that Cat could not have prevented her friend’s death as in all likelihood she was already dead when Cat had returned to their room, did not assuage her tremendous feeling of guilt. What to the authorities was a simple case of suicide by overdose, felt to Cat, like a personal failure.

In the weeks that followed Ally’s suicide, Cat moved into a single room in the hall and continued with her life, pretty much as it was before. As she and Ally had not been close or spent much time outside their room together, it didn’t take long for her to move on – at least that’s what everyone assumed and outwardly it was true, but Cat never quite recovered from the feeling of uselessness, which had plagued her on and off throughout her life since that evening. Her romance with Chris continued, as did her involvement in university sports, becoming captain of the netball team in her final year, but she applied herself to her studies much more seriously than before and became particularly interested in mental health and how physical problems contributed to depression and mental illness. All very straightforward in today’s society, but something that was not often linked when Cat was studying.

Cat’s final year differed from that enjoyed by most of her peer group. Early on in the Michaelmas term she realised she was pregnant, so partying and alcohol-fuelled nights were replaced by fitting midwife appointments in between lectures. Her nervousness around finals had less to do with whether or not she’d done enough work to answer the questions, but more from worries that her waters would break in the examination hall or that she’d need to go to the toilet urgently in the middle of one of the three hour papers.

She had made the decision to keep the baby straightaway and her parents were fully supportive. Without them she would never have been able to complete her degree. Initially, Chris too had been loyal, making the long train journey north to see her every weekend. In time though as the pregnancy continued, it became clear that this was not what Chris wanted. They had never discussed it and Cat was aware that she had made the decision to continue with the pregnancy alone. On one of her rare trips to visit Chris in his London flat, she became aware that he had started seeing someone else and instead of righteous rage, she realised she wasn’t upset. From that point on, it was just her and Sam (her unborn son).

Although she graduated from the first part of her degree, Cat made the decision not to join her fellow students on the clinical course straightaway, as she didn’t think it would work with a tiny baby at home. With her parents’ encouragement and quite a bit of financial help, she moved to Manchester ready to start the second stage of her degree after a year’s gap. By this time Sam could be in nursery and Cat could at least devote daytimes to study. Her father, having recently retired, suggested he and her mother moved nearer to her, so they could provide additional childcare as and when needed. Her younger brother had recently started university in Edinburgh so there was nothing keeping them tied to the South of England.

Cat applied for medical-related jobs which she thought she could manage with a baby at home and was fortunate to be offered a junior (very junior) research post at a local pharmaceutical company. Although a lot of her time was taken up with photocopying and binding reports, she thoroughly enjoyed the short stints in the lab and applied herself far more than her cohort of junior researchers, many of whom seemed to be failed medical students and were treating their contracts as an extension of university life.

When her fixed term contract came to an end, Cat was offered a permanent position. It was still at a relatively low grade, but it was to work in a small team on a research programme in an area that Cat was finding increasingly interesting. She spent several sleepless nights agonising over whether to take the job or to return to university and complete her degree. She was acutely aware of the many sacrifices her parents had made, including their move to Manchester to give her and Sam a home and enable her to resume her studies. She had started to feel settled in the company, her position as a single mum didn’t seem to bother anyone, and she would continue to earn a salary (albeit a small one). She was also not sure where a medical degree would lead her now her circumstances had changed. She could hardly rely on her parents to cover long stints as a junior hospital doctor and so doubted if her dreams of cardio-surgery would ever materialise. If she was successful at all, she was more likely to become a GP in a medical practice dealing with common ailments, which had always been something she wanted to avoid.

In the end she had plumped for the job, which had led to a career in medical research and drug testing. It had recently been brought to an abrupt end due to largescale redundancies at the company. Although not always fulfilling, she suspected life as a doctor wasn’t constantly rewarding either, and it had allowed her to work normal hours and therefore bring up Sam to become the well-adjusted young man he was today. She admitted to herself the early years were hard. Added to the guilt of letting Ally down was now the guilt of depriving her son of a father. She had always been honest with Sam and never prevented him from having a relationship with Chris, who was now married with a family of his own. As Sam reached his teenage years, being a single mum almost became the norm as so many of Sam’s school friends’ parents were splitting up. If anything, it was Sam who had the more stable family home.

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When Cat got home from her morning stint at the farm shop, the dogs bounded over to greet her with such force they nearly sent her flying. It was as if she’d been missing for days rather than the regular couple of hours she was out most mornings. Her mobile bleeped to indicate a text message: ‘Hi mum, thinking of coming home this weekend and there’s someone I’d like you to meet. Will you be around?’

Cat smiled to herself. Okay maybe this wasn’t the definition of ‘successful’ she had envisaged thirty years ago when setting out for university, but all in all it wouldn’t be a bad outcome if her son who she’d brought up almost single handedly to be a charming, self-sufficient young man was bringing home a new partner. She noticed the invitation where she’d left it on the kitchen table, picked it up and threw it in the bin. Any mild curiosity about her old school and class mates, would be more than outweighed by seeing her son happy and embarking on the next stage of his life.

Cathy

No sooner had I pulled into the drive, than the doors swung open and Ed and Lucy tumbled out and charged towards the front door. I unlocked it and Ed raced in to do the alarm code, while I went back to retrieve random bits of uniform, sports bags and the food shopping. Although I shouted to the children for help, I was ignored and by the time I’d locked the car and gone back inside, the hall was a colourful medley of rucksacks and miscellaneous items of clothing strewn everywhere. Judging from the sounds coming from the playroom, their owners were already installed in front of the X-box. I should have been a diligent mum and enquired about homework, but opting for a quiet life, instead I picked up the post and carried the heavy supermarket bags into the kitchen.

Once I’d put everything away, I thought I’d better get on with dinner so it would be ready for when Chris got home. I really had become the epitome of a suburban housewife hadn’t I? When did that happen?

Ed appeared in the doorway demanding snacks. Presumably he’d just been killed in Fortnite and was having a breather before the next battle. Looking at the pile of post I’d dumped on the kitchen table:

“Aren’t you going to open these letters, Mum? What’s Harcourt Hall?”

“That’s the school I went to. No idea why they’re writing to me now though.”

“You’re not thinking of moving us to a different school, are you?”

“Don’t be silly, it’s a girls’ school anyway, so wouldn’t be much good for you!”

This seemed enough to sooth Ed’s concerns. I gave him some apple juice and cookies to tide him and his sister over until dinner. Instead of starting to chop the vegetables I’d taken out of the fridge for tonight’s stir fry, curiosity got the better of me and I tore open the letter from Harcourt Hall.

‘Dear Catherine, you are cordially invited to a thirty-year reunion for the class of 1988’, how on earth have they got hold of me? I haven’t had anything to do with school since I was at university, unless Jane passed on my contact details, although she could have asked first! I suppose it might be quite nice to have a look round and see what school looks like now and some old friends again. Will I even remember everyone or worse still, will anyone remember me?

The front door slammed announcing Chris’ return home and snapped me out of my reveries. Our evening meal was nowhere near ready. Not that he’ll mind, he’ll probably go and play with the kids for a while leaving me in peace in the kitchen. He wandered in, gave me a kiss and asked how long until dinner, while pouring me a glass of wine, before disappearing to get changed, crunching on some carrot pieces he’d pilfered from the chopping board as he went.

Later that evening once I’d got the children off to bed and Chris was doing a conference call with some US colleagues in the study, I thought about the reunion invite. It wasn’t really my thing. In fact if I’m honest with myself, I’m no good at being sociable. While it sounds fine in theory, when I’m there I never enjoy myself. I much prefer spending time with the family or a few close friends than having to look interested in other people and their frankly boring conversations. Anyway, I haven’t done much with my life have I, so it’s not even as if I could ‘show off’ to former class mates. Being a mum of two and working part-time as a doctor’s receptionist is hardly an achievement is it and a far cry from my childhood ambitions.

Mum and Dad had dropped me off at my hall of residence leaving me to unpack and get settled in. They needed to get back to Ollie, my fourteen year old brother. Granny and Grandpa were fetching him from school and were staying the night, but I don’t think mum wanted to leave them for too long. I suppose she was conscious of their age. It seems obvious to me now, I certainly wouldn’t leave Ed and Lucy long with either my parents or Chris’ as they’d be absolutely shattered after a couple of hours. As a nervous eighteen year old though, I wished they’d stayed a bit longer, or at least until my room-mate had arrived. I agonised over which of the identical twin beds to choose, the one near the window overlooking the cobbled street below or the one by the door, which had the advantage of being nearer the sink. The one by the window had better light, but then I might feel trapped in. I didn’t have to wait too long before Ally came bursting through the door carrying a massive sports bag which she dumped on the nearest bed (solving that dilemma), followed by her parents with the rest of her belongings. Her father neatly placed two large suitcases in front of the wardrobe and her mother whispered good bye before they disappeared back down the corridor. They’d spent even less time in the room than mum and dad and hadn’t bothered to introduce themselves. Ally didn’t seem worried, instead she produced a kettle from somewhere and started making us a cup of tea. So, this was it, the start of student life and all the adventures it might bring.

The first few days and weeks of term were an endless stream of freshers’ events, introductory lectures and administrative tasks. I met lots of people and clicked with some much better than I did with Ally, but it was a bit like the old adage: you can choose your friends, but you can’t pick your room-mate. Pangs of guilt followed me as she insisted on tagging along to parties and coffee catch-ups, but I didn’t do anything to stop her. At a beach party one evening I met Chris. How glamourous and Californian that sounds, in reality a few of the boys from the rowing club had started a camp fire using broken oars and bits of boat, around which we’d huddled drinking cider and eating charred marshmallows. Self-confident, but not cocky, equally at ease with club mates and the fresh, new faces of first years who’d been encouraged to join the rowing club’s annual bash with the promise of free alcohol. As an inexperienced eighteen year old from an all-girls’ school, I assumed he would be way out of my league even if he was unattached, which in itself seemed pretty unlikely. But when he sat down next to me later, there were no nerves (the cider probably helped with that!) and we chatted about family, school and courses. He was in the second year doing economics and seemed quite impressed that I was studying medicine:

“That’ll come in useful with some of our rowing injuries.”

As the fire died down leaving glowing embers, I noticed only a few stragglers remained, some of them the worse for wear, and Ally wasn’t one of them.

“I’d better get back now, not sure where my room-mate has got to.”

Chris insisted on walking me back to my hall and by the time we’d reached the entrance I noticed he was holding my hand. Although I liked him and had enjoyed our evening, I was slightly relieved that he’d promised to go back to the beach and help the others clear up and that Ally was no doubt waiting for me upstairs, preventing any amorous intentions he might otherwise have had.

I realise that sounds pathetic now, but this was a different age and I was a very naïve teenager. My Dad’s departing comment of,

“Don’t jump into bed with the first man you meet” also echoed round my head.

Smiling to myself, it seems strange to think that Chris was indeed the first person I’d ever slept with, now that we are a respectable (boring?) married couple with the obligatory two children, family house and pet dog.

I wonder what I would have done if Ally hadn’t been my room-mate in my first term. Would I be here just the same or would I have achieved my childhood dreams of becoming a cardiac surgeon, in which case how would family life have fitted in? Would there even be a family?

After the beach party, things had gradually developed between Chris and me and before long we were an established couple. I often used to stay at his flat in town and spent more time with his friends, than with my fellow first years. It wasn’t unusual for me not to go back to my room, so Ally must have assumed I wouldn’t be returning that night. The fact that I could have got back in time to save her had been a constant nagging thought for a long time until I had eventually accepted that I wasn’t alone in guilt and nor was I the only person who could have changed things for Ally. But it had taken a long time to reach that stage and a lot of patience and reassurance, mainly from Chris.

That evening, I’d been looking forward to a quiet drink with Chris and wasn’t expecting to find him in the pub with a raucous crowd watching a football match on television. If I hadn’t been so pig-headed and determined to have an argument with him at half time, I would probably have gone back to my room earlier and things might have turned out differently. Instead, I’d got back at about 9 o’ clock in a bad mood and ready to bare my soul to Ally, so I was annoyed with her too, when she was apparently asleep and not ready to listen and sympathise with my rants (how selfish). It wasn’t until I’d been back for an hour or so, that I realised Ally, usually a noisy sleeper, hadn’t stirred. All I could hear was my heart beating louder than a drum as I struggled to find Ally’s pulse followed by a piercing scream, which didn’t sound like me, when I couldn’t find it.

The bedlam in the room and on the corridor afterwards is still a blur to me all these years later. I know the warden took charge and I spent the night in her rooms. The next morning, Chris found out what had happened and came to get me. Without asking, he packed away all my stuff and moved it into his flat. I never returned to our room. I had a breakdown of sorts, as I struggled to accept what had happened and my role in it. The doctors prescribed various anxiety medications, but nothing changed the fact that I was never again going to be an innocent first year enjoying student life to the full. Very quickly I realised, that I wasn’t going to be able to complete my full medical degree and instead switched to a general three year medical sciences degree. Although disappointed, my parents were supportive and I think they accepted it was best for me. The change meant that Chris and I graduated at the same time. I followed him to London when he joined a top, investment bank as a trainee financial analyst and I took a secretarial course, which, combined with my degree, stood be in good stead for my current job working at the local GP.

Kate

As the old Landrover bumped over the potholes, the bright red tiled roof of the Charity’s HQ came into sight and Kate saw her boss, Pascale, rushing over to meet them. As she started unloading the car, pulling out the bulging rucksacks and equipment, he asked: “How was it, as bad as expected?”

Kate nodded in response. She and her team had been on a rescue mission to help some isolated villages cope with the intense flooding the recent monsoons had brought. Things were not much better here she thought, as she gazed at the seemingly endless queue of people snaked round the HQ building waiting patiently for medical attention and food supplies. The lack of noise, a certain indication of the gravity of their situation.

“Here’s your post from the last airdrop. Why don’t you go back to the dorm, get washed and dump your stuff before you start back here. You look shattered.”

Kate took the bundle Pascale was handing to her and nodded. She could definitely do with a change of clothes before facing the next onslaught of human suffering. She threw her things on the floor of her cell-like room and flicked through her mail. There was a letter from her mother, who still failed to communicate with her only daughter by any “modern” i.e. electronic, means and therefore any correspondence at all was infrequent; a handmade birthday card from her nieces; and something Kate certainly had not been expecting, an invitation to a thirty-year reunion at her old school. She wondered how they had managed to track her down, but then realised it had probably been sent to her mother for forwarding.

A smile crept over Kate’s usually expressionless face as she imagined what her headmistress would think if she could see her now. It wasn’t quite what the genteel girls’ school had supposed to be preparing her for, but then everything might have been different if she had not been allocated Ally as room-mate in her first term at university.

Kate decided she didn’t have time for the luxury of a shower so instead threw on a change of clothes before heading back to help her colleagues. While robotically handing out bottled water and bags of grain to desperate hands, her mind wandered. How different would her life be now, if she had finished her medicine degree and become a doctor as planned. When she had embarked on university life, her medical path was still unclear: to become a GP or to specialise in a particular field. As it happened, neither were to be realised as she had left university abruptly before the end of the first term after the ‘incident’ with Ally. She remembered her parents, her new boyfriend, Chris, university staff and various counsellors trying in vain to persuade her to take some time out and start again the following year as if nothing had happened. Instead, Kate had seen an advert in the Evening Standard asking for volunteers to help with the earthquake crisis in Nepal, no qualifications required, and she had signed up immediately leaving her stunned family and friends behind to pick up the pieces.

After six months doing everything from putting up tents and digging out latrines to handing out water and food parcels, Kate had returned home to consider her future. Her parents had once again tried to persuade her to resume her studies, suggesting applying to a different university, so the memories of Ally’s suicide wouldn’t be so clear, but Kate’s naïve enthusiasm for medicine had been shattered, as soon as she had failed Ally. And that’s how she saw it, a failure, so what was the point of training to be a doctor so she could help people overcome illnesses and injuries if she had been unable to help her room-mate, or, worse still, even to recognise that Ally had needed help.

On her return to England, she’d met up with Chris a few times. At first he had tried to rekindle their aborted romance, but it soon became clear that too much had changed and while Chris’ life still centred around university, Kate’s eyes had been opened to a whole new world of pain and suffering outside this sheltered existence and had decided that was where her future lay.

After considering various “suitable” alternatives to university mainly to appease her parents, from secretarial college, to nannying, Kate started to investigate opportunities with charities working overseas. If she wasn’t going to be able to help in a medical sense, at least she could provide practical assistance as she had done in Nepal.

There were lots of charities specialising in giving emergency help to third-world countries dealing with natural disasters, conflicts and epidemics, but Kate was drawn to those that focussed on medical aid and training. Although she now accepted she would never become a doctor herself, she was still keen to work in that field if at all possible. She realised, that she couldn’t volunteer or live off her parents for ever and would need a modicum of income, but these charities rarely advertised for junior roles and she was a long way from director level. She was therefore compelled to canvas as many organisations as possible to first get an interview and then an offer of employment. In the end, she secured a fixed term contract as a junior administrator in a niche charity based just outside Milton Keynes.

The first few months had been monotonous: endless filing, photocopying and even making tea for her (slightly) more senior colleagues, but she stuck at it determined to prove her parents and others wrong. She was also driven by the need to earn and save money, as her intention was to work for a period and then return overseas in a voluntary capacity to help where needed. Unfortunately the world provided a plethora of natural disasters, famine-hit regions and war-torn countries, so she was confident of finding a suitable placement somewhere. However, the more she worked in her dusty, little corner of the office, the more she was inspired by the work this small charity did. It didn’t receive the attention afforded to other national and global charities and it rarely advertised, preferring to re-invest income into new training programmes for third world citizens and replacement equipment. Although the charity responded to immediate emergencies, its prime focus was on helping people to help themselves.

She had managed to secure a place on a training course as a last minute replacement and was included in a team sent out the following month to set up an orphanage in a war-ravaged African village. From then on, she had not looked back and had spent the last few decades in various stricken regions, providing support where she could. The term “learning on the job” took on a whole new meaning for Kate, but she hadn’t shied away from the frequent challenges facing her. It was a far cry from the respectable medical career which had once been her ambition, but she knew now that she wouldn’t change a thing. She sometimes wondered, usually after a particularly difficult assignment, how her life might have been: would she be as a settled, suburban doctor, a high-flying hospital consultant or would she have turned her back on a career in favour of family life? She chastised herself for these thoughts, remembering that the people she helped on a daily basis had few, if any, choices and yet she had made hers, even if it had initially been a reactive decision.

She made an annual trip home to visit her mother, brother and family, but rarely had a chance to catch up with anyone else and as the years had gone by, the number of people she had once considered friends had dwindled considerably. She had missed her father’s funeral, as all flights had been grounded due to rebel fighting around the nearest regional airport and so had not managed to catch her international plane home. It was something she knew her mother and brother had never fully forgiven her for and increasingly her trips home had involved little time with her brother. If it wasn’t for her sister-in-law’s efforts (hence the birthday card from her nieces) she wasn’t sure if she and her brother would still be in contact. She knew she had disappointed her parents by turning her back on her promising university life and future job prospects, but Ally’s suicide had shaken her more than she’d allowed others to realise and once she had seen the extent of human suffering that existed outside her privileged cocoon, she knew she could not turn her back on it.

Pascale had called a team meeting after dinner that evening. An abrupt change from the usual daily morning briefing, so presumably something was afoot. Her aching body craved a hot shower and sleep, but she knew that would have to wait until she’d head what Pascale had to say.

As soon as the remains of the evening meal had been cleared away, the medical team, volunteers and admin staff filed into the tiny, airless room behind the storage cupboards, that Pascale used as his office. Kate perched on the edge of a filing cabinet and was surprised to see sitting at the desk next to Pascal a visitor, who judging from his attire, was a long way from his usual working environment. Something about the man seemed vaguely familiar, but Kate couldn’t pinpoint what it was, as she was certain he’d never been to the HQ before. Pascale cleared his throat:

“Thank you everyone for gathering together and apologies for the short notice. I appreciate everyone is busy and no doubt anxious to get on, but I’m afraid I have some important information to share with you all – employees and volunteers alike.

I don’t know how much, or if at all, you were aware that our charity has been in financial difficulties for some time now. Unlike other bigger and better known organisations, we don’t qualify for funding and are completely reliant on donations and sponsorship. Until very recently, we were fortunate to have a high net worth individual, who always wished to remain anonymous, as our principal benefactor. However, the recent global pandemic and resultant economic climate has severely restricted available funds, and so after a period of negotiations, MK MedAid, is being taken over by the International Development section of AB Bank.”

There was an audible intake of breath before questions started flying around the room. Even for the volunteers who were used to working with different charities on a regular basis, being the subject of a takeover was something new. Kate didn’t know how to react, she’d been with the charity for over half her life and couldn’t imagine anything else or understand how it could be run by a bank.

“I’ll try and answer your questions at the end, but if I could just finish explaining. The bank has taken over the affairs of our benefactor and it has been decided that they will be taking an active role in our charity’s operations and Chris Fairclough”, Pascal gestured to the man sitting beside him, “will now be assisting me in managing all the operations directed from our HQ here. Chris, I don’t know if you want to say anything?”

As soon as she heard the name, Kate realised why she had recognised him. He was Chris from the university rowing club, her one-time boyfriend, about whom she hadn’t thought in decades. Was he about to witness another dramatic turning point in her life?

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Catherine sat at the dressing table, putting the finishing touches to her make up, and carefully positioned her wig before going out to the waiting taxi. On the short journey to Harcourt Hall, she went over her speech, thinking that of all the presentations, lectures and talks she had given over the years, this was possibly going to be the hardest.

“I would now like to welcome Ms Catherine Scott to the stage. Catherine left Harcourt over thirty years ago. She is renowned in her field of medicine and has had a successful career, both in practice and, more recently, in academia. On a recent reunion visit to the school, she kindly agreed to attend our prize giving and tell us a little bit about her life. I am sure you will all find Catherine very inspiring, particularly those of you in the sixth form about to embark on your life beyond school.”

As the clapping receded, Catherine moved to the lectern and addressed the audience:

“Thank you, Mrs James, I am delighted to be here today at this special event and look forward to handing out the prizes. Firstly, though I’d just like to say a few words.

It was indeed a long time ago that I was sitting where you are now hoping that the speech didn’t go on for too long.” She paused for the muted laughter. “As I’m sure those of you in your final year here know, leaving school is an exciting, but also slightly nerve-wracking time. You will doubtless have lots of aspirations and hopes for your future and I wish you all lots of luck in achieving those. You also need to be prepared for things not turning out quite as you might expect. Life will inevitably throw different obstacles and opportunities in your path, but I am sure that the foundations that you have built during your time at school will stand you in good stead.

My recent diagnosis of a terminal illness has, not surprisingly, altered my outlook on life. The main thing to remember, girls, as you leave here full of ambition, is that success can be measured in many ways and is not necessarily all about qualifications and high earnings, although the money can certainly help! Most important of all is that you do what you enjoy and what gives you satisfaction. Not all of you will become high-powered executives for multi-national companies or reality TV stars,” Catherine paused, smiling inwardly at the fleeting look of horror that appeared on the headmisstress’ face at the thought of one of her pupils appearing on reality television, “and that’s a good thing as life would be very boring if we were all the same.

As your headmistress mentioned, I have been fortunate enough to work with some outstanding people, have had some amazing opportunities and have been lucky enough to enjoy a comfortable lifestyle. I have therefore decided to put £10m into trust to be used on my death for medical research. In this way I hope to repay, in a small part, the profession that has enabled me to do so much and to live the fulfilling life I have. I would also like to sponsor a Harcourt cup in my name to be awarded each year to the pupil who has shown herself most willing to be a model for the school and wider community by displaying qualities of good citizenship and caring for others, as opposed to academic prowess.

While we will always need high achievers and successful businesses to make the world go round, we should never forget the obligation we have to look after each other as humans. So try to accept others for what they are and don’t shun people, just because they’re different. Realise that even people who aren’t asking for help, will sometimes need it, and, I know it’s a cliché, but a little kindness really can go a long way. I didn’t fully appreciate any of that when I left here and embarked on adult life, but it is something I have attempted to achieve in the many years since.

Now to the prizes!

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