30 June 2024
Im on the commuter train heading into Manchester for my old schools 30year reunion. Its hard to believe I havent set eyes on any of those faces since leaving Sixth Form. Straight after leaving school I packed my things and went up to Leeds for university, then straight into a graduate job. When the first salary arrived I decided I wanted more, so I opened my own consultancy. The road has been anything but smooth highs, lows, and everything in between.
In quiet moments I scroll through old group photos on Facebook, remembering the lads and the endless jokes we used to share. One name keeps popping up: Emily. Back in those teenage years I fancied her, though she never gave me the time of day. I was the quiet, bookish type, and she seemed to prefer the excitement of the rugby team and the boys who rode motorbikes. The last time I tried to impress her, I handed her a bunch of wildflowers, but she hopped onto Jamess bike, never even glancing at the bouquet, and sped off with a cloud of dust. I never approached her again.
Ive never been particularly close to anyone in our year; I spent most of my time buried in textbooks. Only a handful of us Mike, David, and a couple of others would stay after lessons for extra maths practice, preparing for the Alevel entrance exams together.
I arrived at the venue in a good mood, a small parcel in hand for each old classmate nothing extravagant, just something to show I remembered them. We gathered in a cosy café, laughter echoing over the clatter of cups, while stories of school days floated around. My eyes kept drifting to Emily, who sat at the far end, constantly scrolling on her phone. After school she did end up with James, but they havent lived together for years. I learned she now raises a sick little boy on her own.
When I finally worked up the courage to speak to her, she snapped at me.
Do you even know what its like to live in a modest terraced house, worrying about everyday bills? Ive seen your sleek flat on Instagram. Your wife doesnt work, youre always at the spa, and you have a handful of children studying abroad while Im trying to keep my son alive.
Emily, am I somehow responsible for your troubles? I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
In this country theres barely any money for children with special needs, yet people like you sit on your piles of cash and act as if youre doing the world a favour! she shot back.
I felt a heat rise inside I hate when the subject of money comes up. I had a reply ready.
How many sick children have you helped, Emily?
My own. I send messages of support whenever I can.
I regularly donate sizable sums to charities I just dont trumpet about it. So who is really making a difference?
Its simple for you. Giving an extra £100,000 doesnt make you poorer. My help costs me the very breath I breathe. Do you know how I earn? I catch the first and second bus each morning just to make a few pence.
A few tables away, some people nodded in Emilys direction, others stayed silent.
When the evening wound down, I left the gifts on the side table and asked the waiter to pass a folded envelope to Emily. I walked out into the chilly night, thinking about how we all had the same starting line. Many of us scored similarly in school, but I chose books over a pint in the yard, avoided the corner smoke, and chased a university degree instead of a local trade course. I took the risk of stepping out of my comfort zone to launch a business.
Ive stumbled, learned, lost, and earned all on my own. It isnt fair that some now condemn me for my success, as if I stole their fortunes. I didnt; I built them.
How many of us know people like Emily, or the other lads from my class, who tally other peoples money? Some were born into wealth and received a good education, but there are countless stories of those from modest backgrounds who made it on their own. Everything lies in our own hands, and each of us decides which path to walk.
Robert.
