Page 125 of Don't You Forget About Me

I smile. I once thought I’d never hear the words I wanted to from Lucas. ‘It wasn’t for you to save me. It never was. And you coming here tonight, it’s enough, Lucas. I’m not just saying that.’

We gaze at each other. There is an obvious question about whether there’s anything left, but I don’t have the strength or will to ask it. Tonight has restored so much decency and dignity. Putting Lucas in the position of saying:That doesn’t mean I want to resurrect anything now,would ruin it. Oh God, and imagine if he pretended otherwise out of pity, or guilt. I reason with myself: you threw yourself at him, and he passed. If he’s not offering anything now, then assume his views haven’t changed since that night.

There’s a long pause.

‘You’re not coming back to The Wicker, are you?’ he says, eventually.

‘No. I’m not. Sorry. I love it, but I feel like I’ve drawn a line now. I’ll go back, on the other side of the bar, see Dev, see Kitty. And you’re going back to Dublin?’

‘Yeah. The plan was always I’d help out at the start, to launch it, and then we’d hire a manager locally.’

There’s my answer to the previous question. Of course Lucas doesn’t want to throw his lot in with me, anyway. Look at who he is now and look at who I am. We made sense in a very different era.

‘Right. Devlin said you didn’t like Sheffield much,’ I say.

‘It’s got its good points,’ he replies, with that smile, that bloody bastard heartbreaking smile.

I put my hand out for Lucas to shake. He gives a small, sad laugh, and accepts it. Even just touching him now feels like a hole opening up in my gut, ready for me to fall down as soon as he’s gone.

‘I’m glad I’ve known you,’ I say to him.

‘The feeling is entirely mutual,’ he says.

I open the kitchen door and Lucas walks back into the sitting room.

‘Is that a hutch?’

‘Yeah it’s my tortoise.’

‘Oh my word, Jammy’s still going?’

‘You remember his name!’

‘Yeah. Imagine how many times I was trying not to catch myself out by referring to something I knew from when were at school.’

He grins and I marvel at how there is now nothing unspoken between us. It’s such a good feeling. I like being able to feel good about him again.

As I open the front door, Lucas turns and takes a deep breath and says: ‘Gina.’

‘No one calls me Gina!’

‘I know,’ Lucas says, ‘That’s why I want to.’

We gaze at each other.

We have word for word recreated a conversation from our time in the Botanical Gardens. I thought I was sole keeper of this flame. He’s already made it clear I’m not, but this call-and-response is proof.

‘When I saw you again at the wake, you were every bit as luminous as I remembered from school. He didn’t take that away. Don’t ever let any man take that away from you.’

And before I can react, he pushes his hands deep into his pockets, nods at me, and walks off into the night.

I close the door. A hot flash flood of tears courses down my face. They’re sad tears, but other things too.

Lucas McCarthy came back into my life and do you know what, it turns out I’m glad he did. We got a few things ironed out. And he has a fabulous dog.

I exhale. Sometimes the truth is messy and difficult but it isn’t always best left. Sometimes it saves you.

Upstairs, a voice roars:

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