Written for the trennels ficathon, and therefore only of interest to anyone who's read the Marlow books.
It was bad enough getting an invitation to the Kingscote reunion, which had promptly gone into the bin, but then Lawrie had rung.
"Tim! Hasn't it been ages! Are you going to the reunion?"
"Can't imagine much worse. I've no desire to clap eyes on me Auntie, let alone assorted comfortably-married-with-children who measure out their lives with teaspoons and nappy changes."
"I know you don't, clot." Lawrie after all was being seen these days with a girl band singer with pink hair and a permanent trilby. "We could always meet up in the city for lunch," said Tim, safe in the knowledge that Lawrie would never get round to that.
"Oh. Right." Lawrie sounded disappointed, which was briefly cheering, but then said brightly, "Must dash!"
"Me too. Bye."
Tim went through to the kitchen to make herself a consoling cup of strong, sweet coffee, accompanied by several chocolate digestives. It had been bad enough last time, five years before. "I'm in advertising,"" she'd told people, and when they'd asked what she'd done, she'd said airily, "Oh, lots, mainly in print publications." As in newspaper.
She laid out proofs and e-mailed them to the advertiser for approval, then submitted them for printing. Once she'd thought she'd end up copywriting or doing the art-work, but it hadn't taken long to see that her clever little caricatures weren't in the same league as the work turned out by the art department--anything at all, and from any angle, not just quirky people--and the closest she came to copywriting was occasionally correcting typos and grammar.
The office wasn't even much fun. The others were so cliquey, having lunch together and sharing jokes. Someone had once said that Tim's were too cruel, but that just showed they didn't share her mordant--nice word, that--sense of humour.
Of course she could breeze through the reunion like last time, say the same things and fool them all, but she'd know how far short of her dreams she'd fallen.
Most of them had, she supposed.
Lawrie had done the best of them all, with her guest roles in various TV series (stage was far too boring, what with being the same thing every night). "I'm going to be the next Celia Imrie," Lawrie had said the last time Tim had seen her, "but better looking. She's ancient, but still in everything, even that awful Star Wars episode 1." She probably would too, unless she got a film and became yer actual Star.
It was easy to see why Lois Sanger had a thing about the Marlows. All right, Ann and Kay were married and Rowan was farming organic, but Ginty had appeared anonymously in glossy magazines wearing glossy makeup and clothes, and Nicola was something in banking or investments, all that maths paying off, as she'd said cheerfully. Even had a yacht of her own and had crewed on an all-female team in some round-the-world race recently. Something to do with bread?
Tim still didn't have any time for sport, or for that matter any exercise more strenuous than walking to the closest Underground. Which was probably another reason she'd rather not go to the reunion, especially one full of whippet-thin Marlows, now that she was stouter than Pomona Todd had ever been.
Prompt: Some kind of comeuppance for Tim.
I do actually like Tim as a character (perhaps not in RL) but this idea was fun to play with.