Page 115 of Don't You Forget About Me

‘Got a Georgina Horse Poo here for you,’ says the pallid girl on the desk, into the phone. I am tense with worry. I have no Plan B if he says no. ‘Sure, go on down, it’s on the left,’ she says to me.

I’m vaguely stunned. Robin’s show is calledMy Ex’s Diary, and he doesn’t think I’m here to tear a strip? Then it dawns: he doesn’t think or care about my motivations all that much. Ironically. My Ex-Girlfriend Who I Was Never That Bothered About’s Diary.

‘It’s good to see you,’ Robin says, after I knock and push the door open. He’s positioned at his laptop, wearing a t-shirt that says You Versus The Guy She Told You Not To Worry About with cartoon characters underneath. A large bottle of chocolate milk is next to his rose gold MacBook. Pretty ironic he’s about to spend an hour and a half ripping the stuffing out of my adolescent nonsense. At least when I was behaving like one, I was one.

‘You look sensational in this lighting,’ he adds, pen in corner of his mouth. Obviously thinking that by being here, I’ve finally come to my senses, and might be up for some preshow warm-up.

Ugh.

‘You read my diary,’ I say, flatly.

‘Had a little scan through,’ Robin says, with a ‘Forgive Me’ teeth grit.

‘You absolutely despicable, evil, morality free, thought rapist,’ I say.

‘Thought rapist!’ Robin puts his pen down. He is half affronted, half whirring about whether he can use this encounter for his act, too.

‘Really. You piece of shit,’ I conclude. ‘I don’t know how you can live with yourself. Reading a woman’s diary, a woman you were in a relationship with. Then putting it in your act, and leaving her to find out by accident, hours before you entertain hundreds of strangers with it. Please at least tell me you know who and what you are?’

‘You left me alone in your bedroom! The drawer was half open! It was practically an invitation.’

Rav’s cookie jar.

‘… I thought it was very sweet, very innocent, and that wonderful wry Georgina voice coming through so strongly … I was so infatuated, I wanted to know how you tick. Then I got jealous. Like, who is this rival who you desired more than life itself? Whose touch you craved like a drug?’

I flinch. Who would want anyone reading their callow erotica, much less hearing it repeated on a stage? If Lucas ever found about this show, he would surely work out it’s based on him. The two other performances he’s seen by Robin were about me, after all.

He’s trying to weaken me, and it won’t work.

‘It wasn’t for you. You didn’t ask to read it, you didn’t tell me you had. Please explain when you thought it was OK to share it, and humiliate me in public? I mean, walk me through the thought process?’

‘Right, a few points. No one’s being humiliated. It’s a very tender, very life affirming …’

‘I’d rather affirm your death.’

‘Hah! No, it’s not in any way vicious and your identity is completely concealed in it. I mean the whole thing even plays on whether you exist! Seriously, watch it. Make a judgement after.’ Robin sips more beer and does a palm upthat’s thatgesture. ‘I did try to meet you and warn you, but you wouldn’t consent.’

‘Yeah, because your campaign has been about getting me to date you again. Nothing about “oh hey, George I’m about to use your diary, any views on that?”’

‘Er well, sugar pie, last time I saw you, you were telling stories about me making a pissed-up idiot of myself in front of your fam. No application for permission was received by me. So who’s using who here, exactly? Looks like we’re doing exactly the same thing.’

I knew he’d say this, and it makes my hands curl into fists.

‘The diary is completely different. What happened at my mum’s house involved both of us, and what happened in my diary happened tomeand me alone. This is a transgression of totally different magnitude and nature, and you know it.’

He shrugged, completely indifferent.

‘Seems like I’m in trouble for simply playing this game better.’

Game.

‘Fuck you, Robin. Have you even thought about the context around what you’re using? What might have happened with that boyfriend off the page? What else might have gone on in my life at that time?’

‘Well if he dumped you, he’s the fool, isn’t he?’

Imagine. Imagine being a man, and thinking your approval has such value, that this sort of oily fob-off compliment can stitch a wound this big.

‘You are a disgusting person. Don’t hide behind this light-hearted, carefree bullshit. What you are doing to me is utterly serious and completely unfunny.’

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