Page 116 of Don't You Forget About Me

‘Oh, look. You knew who you were involved with. How many girlfriends do you think end up in acts? Loads. Lots. This is what artists do, we cannibalise our lives. We feed on its flesh. You were very into all that until Lou happened. You were quite the fangirl. Look how we met. Tell me this: on the night we met, who was using who? Who dragged who home? You wanted Robin McNee on your score sheet.’

I feel queasy. I’ve learned a lesson: if someone can justify anything they want to do to themselves, they will do anything. What did Lucas say? People with no boundaries are dangerous people.

Robin’s standing up now, brushing the Doritos crumbs off him, preparing to shoo me out.

‘… And I tell you, I could win the Perrier with this. Imagine. You’re too close right now. Years from now, you’ll look back and be so glad of it. It’s a tribute, it’s a love letter. I go on and on about how … mesmerising you are in it, Georgina. I mean, the person who looks a chump in it, is me. You’re the muse. You think Warren Beatty is still bothered that Carly Simon called him vain?’

I try to contain my rage as I know I won’t get him to listen if I go ballistic, but it’s taking every last drop of my self-control.

‘You have no idea who I am. We spent six months going out and you never bothered to find out. You’re using my diary for cheap ridicule, to burnish yourself. You don’t know what’s happened to me, in the past. Or the present. You don’t know the damage or the hurt caused by using what you’ve stolen.’

‘But then do we ever know anyone? I mean the show explores that exact thing. You should come see it! I think once you get past your shyness, you’ll be blown away.’

I’ve been in control up until now, but calling it ‘shyness’ tips me into full blown warlord mode. I slam my hand on the desk, leaning forward, forcing him to take a half step back.

‘You’re not some great, fascinating artist, Robin! You’re a passable comedian trying to elevate himself with bogus sensitive “insights”, pretending to be New Man Caring Dude, when you’re anything but. You’re a selfish twat, posturing as something more interesting than that by using a woman’s words, against her will.’

Robin’s face is all of a sudden, a mask of pained fury.

‘Oh really! Great to have your critical verdict, tavern wench. At least I’ve put myself out there. What have you ever done? Whinged, expected men to help you and coasted on your boobs, that’s what.’

‘Robin. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to cancel tonight due to a sudden bout of ill health and second thoughts. Then you’re going to rewrite the show, before you perform it again, and take out everything from my diary. Do some actual writing. Do what you said, and invent an ex-girlfriend, and her diary entries. Change every last detail from anything that was ever associated with, or adjacent to, Georgina Horspool.’

Robin makes anAs Ifsmirk.

‘If you don’t, I willfuck you up. I will go on every place I can find you discussed online, and I will post about how you have betrayed me. I will give interviews about how it feels to be turned over by someone you cared about. I feel like this is just begging to be inGrazia, orThe Pool.’

‘Mmmm, I mean, that would draw more attention …?’ Robin says, his eyes shifting back and forth, still looking for the win.

‘It would, but I wouldn’t believe that thing about any publicity is good publicity, if I were you. I wouldn’t test it, when it’s mistreating a woman. Check out how a few careers are going, since the man in question was outed as a creep. Other women have a way of feeling solidarity with that woman. They might even turn up to heckle. Comedy festivals might think twice, if I’m ringing up saying they’ll have blood on their hands if they let you perform it. Sooner or later, the story isn’t your life-affirming whimsical diary show, it’s the fact your ex is following it around like a curse, calling it the abusive treachery it actually is.’

Robin exhales windily, but I’m not done.

‘Thinking about those interviews, and the fact I can say we split because I caught you shagging someone else, something you’ve publicly confirmed. I mean, it could get really scummy. I wonder how long it would be beforeIdiot Soupdecide they needed some fresher, more wholesome faces on the roster. You always said you wanted to be like Bill Hicks, being dropped from Letterman. This could be your chance to find out what being too dangerous a comic to touch is actually like.’

Robin is tapping his fingers on his desk, trying to figure a way out. I play my final card.

‘I’m also going to outline this proposition to Al. See if the man who does the sums thinks the risk versus reward makes sense,’ I add, turning the screw as tightly as possible.

‘You can wind your fucking neck in, with this calling my agent,’ he snaps, all geniality gone. ‘That is over the line, he’s a business associate, not someone to be used in your spurned woman games.’

I relish the real Robin being revealed now. Despite his begging for me to come back, I’m aspurned woman, and despite it being a sole act of retaliation, I’m the one playing games. The same old misogyny, behind modern shop frontage.

‘Oh, so different from spurned man games! Like talking shite about me to my parents, behind my back, finding out where I worked—’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re becoming slightly mental.’

And there it is: ‘that one, she’s crazy,’ the last refuge of the arsehole with any woman who calls him to account.

Robin has now judged that given he won’t ever be meeting up with me again, he can invent as he wants.

‘So what’s it to be?’ I eye him steadily. ‘Do we leave here with an understanding that you’re doing some rewriting? Or is it a declaration of all-out war? As you said, tavern wenches don’t have much to lose, compared to great artists.’

He huffs and he puffs and I can see the very moment he decides it’s not worth it.

‘Fine,’ he says. ‘I’ll rewrite it. This was only a preview anyway. You really are a small-minded person, with limited horizons.’

The degree of nastiness affirms he is ditching the show, and needs somewhere to dump his needled anger.

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