Page 102 of Don't You Forget About Me

‘Oh it was, but it was nothing like that. He didn’t complain about the man or get him thrown out, he swore loudly and slow-clapped the staff when they finally did something. He’s a straight up liar. Sorry, artist, using his artistic licence.’

Lucas folds his arms and hisses and shakes his head.

‘You must think less of me for ever entertaining him,’ I blurt. I can’t help it.

I am gratified that Lucas looks genuinely startled at this.

‘Er, no. God, no. I’m not without mistakes myself.’

I swallow. Not a road I want to set off down with him. An awkward silence.

‘“Dave” was Robin though, right?’ Lucas says.

‘Oh, yes.’

‘Please don’t tell me any of that wasn’t true because given how much I enjoyed it, it’d be like hearing Father Christmas isn’t real all over again.’

I laugh loudly. ‘Swear down, every word.’

Lucas looks at me and I see he was trying to cheer me up, and it worked, and I am so grateful that he even tried.

The morning after Share Your Shame, I think, it’s time for me to stop agreeing Robin McNee is a problem, and do something about it.

Here’s the thing, I decide, having slept on it. Robin isn’t a physical threat, he’s a psychological terrorist. Intimidating him with muscle, despite what Clem said – and how much it appeals on a base level – it doesn’t make sense to me. To catch a thief and all that.

So what is his vulnerability? On panels, he’s very much the away-with-the-fairies surrealist amid the bloke-ish badinage. I’m not surprised he’s the one that Kitty considers the star turn. He’s clearly used to this boyish manner meaning he can easily consort with women ten or fifteen years younger than him too, me being a case in point. A whiff of ‘grotty, manipulative old letch’ following him around would do him no good.

I have an idea.

Robin was disorganised enough to use my phone from time to time when his was out of juice. I wouldn’t have suspected him playing around with other women because his phone was habitually unlocked, or notifications appearing with full text of the message on screen: where technology was concerned, he was an open book. I know now of course it didn’t mean he had nothing to hide, he just didn’t give much of a shit.

He called Al his agent enough times from my mobile that I was fed up of getting mis-sent messages from a string of unknown numbers, and so Al is there in my phone book.

I might’ve felt guilty at dragging Al into this, but for the fact he turned up at my workplace and turned amateur documentary maker.

I’m not stupid though. If I’ve stored Al’s number, he might’ve stored mine. And if CLIENT’S EX WHO YOU MIGHT’VE INFURIATED WHEN DRUNK flashes on his phone, I can very easily see him drop-calling me.

I sit on my laptop, doing my due diligence – Al is on Twitter, and active on Twitter at that, which is useful. I fire off a direct message.

Hi Al – this is Georgina, Robin McNee’s girlfriend

Ugh, it says something I find those words hard to type. I’ve restored myself to full privileges as I’m sure Al will simply assume we’ve made up in the meanwhile, and ‘ex’ would signal I might be hostile.

Sorry to bother I’m just a tiny bit concerned about him ATM and wonder if I could run some things past you? Between us? Gx

The main part of getting one over on someone, I have learned down the years, is not rat-like cunning, but the benefit of surprise. Ask any cold call scammer. If Al sat and thought about this, he might shout Robin first and check what was what. More likely, he will simply want to know what’s up. Hence this is a carefully gauged approach, me being both non-confrontational and intriguing, which will see Al unthinkingly take the bait. All I need is for him to answer his phone.

It works.

Hi Georgina! Of course. Chat now?

Yes! Thanks. I’ve got your number, I’ll give you a bell in ten minutes x

NP x

I call. He picks up. I’ll never know if he’d have picked up without the preamble, but I feel vindicated in my manoeuvrings all the same.

‘Hi Al, so. You saw what Robin did in the pub the other day? Getting on the chair?’

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