Monday 1 May 1978
The postscript hit like a main event.
The door shuts behind Cece as she enters the cafe. The High Street is unusually quiet, and the streets are damp with overnight drizzle. Cece’s wearing the Kickers again—and white socks.
It’s just coffee—just a catch-up. Just a post-party debrief between girls.
Except Tracey knows. Everything.
In the days leading up, Tracey was eager to tell Cece that Robbie had been everywhere—garage kisses, hedge kisses, tennis, snooker, near-seductions and his place. Tracey had reason to believe she’d won. Robbie had gone along with it. In a way, he had liked her. Her confidence. Her slight chaos. The way she joked about Mike’s failure to kiss her properly.
But then came Cece. And the floor. And the scarf. And the quiet, astonishing realisation: He was in love.
He wrote it down. Friday 28 April. “I love Cece.”
And then—Saturday the 29th—he was gone and packed up with the other boys, back to Brougham School and the sandstone cold. No final message. No damage control. There is no chance of intercepting.
So on Monday, 1 May, Tracey sits opposite Cece at a café near the tennis club, stirring sugar into her tea with the precise movements of someone biding time. She smiles. Asks about holidays. Mentions Robbie. Waits.
Cece is unaware for now.
Tracey begins gently. “Oh, he was everywhere, wasn’t he?” A laugh. “I mean, parties, tennis, my house, your house…” A pause. “Snooker. My garage. More snooker. You know how he is.”
And then, softly: “I thought we were a thing, you know? I did.”
Cece nods politely. Then frowns. There was another layer to this that Tracey was so far unaware of. She’d heard it all from Helen who’d got to know Robbie’s twin sister Kizzy. Their Form Photo was on the back of her wardrobe apparently, used as a dart board. Whoever it hit, that’s who they hit on. ‘They’ used advisedly, Robbie was taken directions from his sister. She’d been the fixer.
2028 — Robbie Reflects
I wasn’t there. Of course, I wasn’t. I was halfway up a hill in Cumbria with a sketch book wondering wondering if Cece would still feel the same when I came home. She didn’t.
I heard later from Momo, she wrote, saying that Cece had cooled. She said she’d been confused and needed to take things slow.
Kizzy was furious. Said she’d known it—Tracey, the last uncontrolled variable.
Momo (2028)
Tracey didn’t ruin it. She just told the truth.
Robbie (2028)
And Cece saw it for what it was: I’d been trying to love everyone and had only chosen her at the end.
I don’t blame her.
KIZZY (2028): I should’ve warned her. I should’ve stopped Tracey.
MOMO: You couldn’t have.
KIZZY: He’d fallen in loved with Cece. That should’ve been enough.
Leave a Reply